Natasha

"We should have demanded to go to Lord Tywin first," Happy said, pacing as best he could in the small room they'd been shown to. They'd been separated into two groups by the commander of the Goldcloaks, with most of the Dornish and Iron Pointe household guards being placed in cells while those with powerful names that got them a touch of respect from the Lords of Westeros had been taken to a room that sat close to the throneroom. They'd been provided food and drink and told to relax and that things would be handled; most likely Varys' doing, who would have learned of the battle at the brothel and moved to quickly arrange things so not to annoy Prince Oberyn. One did not provoke a viper if they could help it, after all. The brothel had proven that.

"You think he would have more love for us than the king does?" Oberyn said lazily, pouring himself a goblet of wine, a few droplets falling onto the table, one of them staining a white runner a dark purplish-red. He looked down at the stains before he purposely dipped his finger in his couple and flicked a few more drops onto the fabric. "He is a Lannister. They spit on all that don't hold their blood." He paused, considering what he'd just said. "Pardons. They pay others to spit on those that don't hold their blood." He raised the goblet to his nose and gave it a sniff, letting out a happy little sigh before taking a quick sip. "At least they are providing us with some refreshment before they begin to verbally chastise us."

'Wine remained the same color on the fabric, no reaction upon touching the table, and the scent is correct. Not poison,' Natasha concluded. She was seated at the table, next to a bowl of fruit. Grapes, apples, a few peaches… all of which had arrived fresh from the Reach. 'Easy to eat with hands. No need for knives or forks. No weapons we can use.'

"He's more rational than the king," Happy said, wisely keeping his voice low. "King Joffrey sees all Starks as his enemy and would happily kill Lord Jon the first chance he got. This stinks of a trap."

"Of course it does," Oberyn complained with a roll of his eyes. "A Lannister trap."

"No, just Joffrey's. Or maybe the queens," Happy argued. "Lord Tywin is far too cunning. He'd have killed us on the road, made it look like a bandit attack."

Jon looked at his sworn sword. "Did you talk to Pepper before we left Iron Pointe? Tony warned you about that…"

'Harruld 'Happy' Hogan. Sworn shield to Antony Stark after his friend was saved from a Yi Ti manticore trap by Antony. Skilled in all manner of combat, master of none though closest with Westorosi Sharp Hammer Style. Tactical genius when it comes to planning out escapes, travel routes, and sieges. Far too paranoid even for the Council. Firm grip on emotions in heat of battle but tends to become nervous with deviations to original plans.'

"No I… okay, I did," Happy admitted. "But I'm right about this. Lord Tywin would actually hear us out, listen to what happened. The Queen will blame us no matter what we say and the King-"

"The King is a child who will do what his grandfather tells him to do," Oberyn said with an annoyed scoff. "Make no mistake about this, Happy, Ser Illyn Payne lost his tongue but that does not mean his words weren't true with Aerys and they are true now."

Jon though glowered at his goodfather. "My father nearly lost his head because Joffrey went back on his word. And Sansa is dead because of him."

"Yes," Oberyn admitted before promptly ignoring that point. "They are Lannisters. We can not trust any of them."

'Prince Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne. My father. Training at the Citadel, with the Second Sons, and several of the lesser assassin guilds. Skilled in combat, best with spears and knives. Master of poisons in both the use of and healing from. Developing own poison known as Elia's Revenge. Skilled at warfare. Considered by the Council to be made an agent but rejected due to lack of focus, inability to control emotions, and hedonistic lifestyle. Lineage led to the Black Widow Project.'

"They would be fools to attempt anything against us," Ellaria stated firmly, taking Oberyn's cup from him and taking her own sip from it. "Dorne would rise up as it has not since the Conqueror himself tried to add it to his collection. They can not hope to fight a war from yet another direction." She paused, idly brushing her fingers over the different fruits in the bowl beside her, before selecting a grape and popping it into her mouth. "And besides," she finally said, "they may hold us… but we hold the princess."

Natasha's father though frowned at that, turning away to look at the wall. "Doran would only do what is necessary. And only without choice."

Ellaria scoffed at that. "He is a fool then. You have said that in the past, don't deny it, I only speak the truth. Myrcella is a powerful tool against the Lannisters… the Imp understood that, which is why he gave her to us in order to forge our alliance. The King and the Queen Mother have clearly forgotten so perhaps it is time to remind them. For the attack on us alone… a pinkie toe perhaps. Wrapped in fine paper and given to her mother as a reminder." She laughed lightly, leaning back in her chair and waving her hand about. "If you are concerned about your nephew and what he might think don't worry. Trystane can still dance with his blond whore if she only has nine toes-"

"We do not mutilate children in Dorne," Oberyn rumbled through clenched teeth.

"She is not a child she is a piece in this Game and-"

"I love you dearly," Oberyn said, eyes nearly sparking with barely controlled fury, "but you will not speak of this again. I have shown you how pain can become pleasure… I will teach you the opposite if you ever suggest again that I do as the Mountain did to my niece and my nephew!" Ellaria pulled back but Natasha could see from the way her own eyes flared and the tightening of her lips that she hadn't been cowed or frightened by Oberyn… no, she merely had decided that it was a wiser choice to remain quiet for now.

'Ellaria Sand. Current Paramour of Oberyn Martell. Wraps herself in all the claims and whispered mockery about bastards and makes it her armor. High stamina and endurance. Unskilled in fighting though not for lack of skill but rather lack of desire to learn. Tries to maintain an air of flippancy and make others believe she is unbeholden to the past but in reality holds grudges tightly and fiercely. Extreme actions tend to be her first choice in dealing with any situation. Distains highborn women yet holds many of their same values including favoring her own flesh and blood children over the rest of Oberyn's daughters. Skilled at connecting with people and pulling off complex plans but utterly unfit for any sort of strategist role due to her inability to plan ahead.'

"This is really going to help us in there," Jon replied dryly.

Clynt, who kept eyeing the door and clearly wished he hadn't been forced to surrender his bow and quiver, nodded in agreement. "I don't suppose we could convince them to give us all separate trials."

"Only if I'm with you," Jon stated in a very Tony-Like manner.

"Because you think I can get us out of trouble?"

"Because I don't trust you not to turn on us the moment you are alone with the Lannisters."

Clynt shook his head at that. "That's very hurtful."

"I've learned to be wary of certain kinds of people. Their loyalties are easily switched."

The archer though folded his arms over his chest. "There are many different types of loyalties. Some as strong as steel and some as weak as parchment. The trick is to know which ones the people around you have."

"Exactly," Jon agreed, the insult clear to everyone without it needing to be said.

"Have I done something to offend you?"

"Mutual friends." Clynt glanced towards Natasha and a rapid Language of the Eyebrows began.

'How bad?' Clynt silently asked her.

'Very bad.'

'Fury?'

'Yes.'

'Fuck. Everything?'

'Everything.'

'Fuck.' Out loud Clynt left Jon alone and instead focused on Happy, "Don't worry about it too much, big man. Jiffsun Davus is a good man, does things the right way. He's not like some of the commanders the City Watch used to have. He'll make sure we get a fair trial."

"He's not going to go against the king," Happy pointed out.

"No but he will get Tywin Lannister and make sure he knows about this. He's smart, he knows who has the power in King's Landing… and at what levels."

Oberyn did not look pleased at all with that information but Natasha knew it had less to do with the logic and more his general desire to see all the Lannisters dead and buried in a twenty foot grave… and not necessarily in that order. "And what of your friend, the other sellsword in my employ?" Oberyn asked. "Will he aid us in any way?"

"Only if it won't get him killed. Bronn is… pragmatic like that."

The Red Viper chuckled at that and held up his goblet in a mock toast. "I can respect a man like that!"

'Clynt, agent of the Council. Real name unknown. Escaped a party headed towards the Wall after he was falsely convicted of rape and murder with the help of the sellsword Bronn. Said conviction caused in part because of mission being performed by Council itself, though he does not know this. Trained by the Council before taking on sellsword profession as cover. Master archer. Hearing loss in left ear after Yi Ti Incident. Loyal to select few, this is also his greatest weakness as it keeps him from being able to both navigate the political structure of the Council and its agents as well as prevent him from taking bold risks to better his life if it would mean abandoning those he is loyal too.'

The door to their room opened and Jiffsum Davos stepped in.

"The King has been delayed but the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord of the Westerlands, and Warden of the West will see you now in the throne room. If you'll follow me."

"Well, this will be interesting," Jon muttered as he stood up. Oberyn drained the last of his wine while Happy and Clynt both scanned the room before falling into protective stances behind Jon and Natasha, though both for different reasons.

"Just be yourself," Natasha whispered as they made their way down the short hallway towards the throne room. "My father will be the tricky one… he won't be able to hold his tongue. He'll taunt Lord Tywin, he'll make jokes. He'll want to get a rise out of him because he understands that he is far too important to be tossed into a Black Cell merely for a brawl at a brothel."

"Even with all the Lannister men we killed?"

"Even then," Natasha confirmed. "At best he could demand us all go into exile but it would be a foolish move. The Lannister soldiers were minor men from families no one truly cares about. 20 of their lives doesn't equal even 1 of ours. No… he won't do much to us but this is not how anyone should have wanted their first true meeting to go. That is why you must merely be yourself. Lord Tywin will respect a man like you, who chooses to speak merely facts and does not feel the need to constantly pepper jests and japes throughout their conversations. Do that and things will be better for us not just in this matter but in all that is to come."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said solemnly.

'Jon Stark, otherwise known as the Ce… as Ja… my husband. I've messed this all up so much but I'm going to make it right with him. He deserves the very best I can give him and the idea that he thinks I don't love him, that he is just my mission, it…'

Natasha shook her head. Her mind was wandering, getting off the facts and where it needed to be. She had been trained since she was 5 years old to understanding everything and everyone in a room around her and how they might benefit… and harm… her and her mission. Her father, her sisters, Antony and Pepper and Happy, even Clynt who was the closest thing she had to a friend. All of them were examined so she might be prepared for the surprise battle and unforeseen complication that was to come. Yet with Jon… she couldn't put him in a neat little box like she did everyone else. She'd try only to find that her mind would begin to wander. Worse, she would be unable to detach herself from him. Her husband.

The answer was rather clear… and frightening for the woman that had been trained to utterly compartmentalize all aspects of her life.

'Natasha Stark. The Black Widow of Dorne. Future Lady of Iron Pointe. Trained in 28 different forms of combat both arms and unarmed. Fluent in 11 languages. Skilled at tactical planning. Weakness?'

She sighed even as she smiled ever so slightly.

'Is madly in love with Jon.'

The Throne Room was just as Natasha remembered it, not that anyone knew she'd been there before. While her father had believed that she was off touring the Reach with one of her instructors in order to understand better how common foods could be used to mask deadly poisons (something the Red Viper was a master of but Oberyn was a shit teacher) in reality she'd been on a mission to gather information concerning intel they'd gained from a member of the pyromancy guild: Aerys' main strategy to end the Rebellion once and for all. Varys hadn't trusted his little birds to go searching for the rumored caches of wildefire so it had been to her, posing as one of the Queen's new handmaidens, to go through the half-sealed tunnels and locate just where they were so Varys and Fury could begin plotting what to do with it.

As she walked towards Aegon's monstrous throne she quietly wondered if there were still barrels under their feet. 'Might be good to take some time to find out… with Fury you can't ever be sure if what he says he is going to do is the actual plan.' It wouldn't have surprised her if the man had left the barrels right there under the city, planning to use them in some scheme or another to counter some threat only he knew about.

She quickly scanned the room, masking her observations as those of a young woman taking in the seat of power of all of Westeros and not a trained assassin figuring out how many people she could kill and still manage to escape. The Small Council was gathered to one side, Varys ending his hushed conversation with that weasel Littlefinger; the man was nearly as bad as the Warlocks of Qarth when it came to plotting. He'd tried to seduce her when she'd last been in King's Landing and she knew it would be even worse now, what with her hair undyed. The slimy bastard had a fetish for red hair thanks to Catelyn Stark, always seeking to capture what he'd lost with her.

The members of Court, otherwise known as the hanger-ons that stayed in King's Landing in a vain attempt to curry favor with the throne and make themselves feel above the greater lords because they could visit the Red Keep whenever they wanted, were standing about waiting to see the drama that would unfold. She noticed some weather worn knight moving to stand next to Jiffsun Davos and Natasha made a note of his features so she might find out who he was. She so did hate when a new player entered the game. And above them all, seated on the Iron Throne, was Tywin Lannister himself. The Old Lion. The Lord of Casterly Rock. Hand of the King.

"Lord Tywin," Oberyn said before the Warden of the West could speak, "I am surprised to see you sitting there. I was under the impression that only the King could mount the Iron Throne."

Happy winced at the flippant tone and Natasha didn't blame him. She loved her father but damn him he had a knack for making a situation worse.

For his part the Hand of the King merely looked down upon them while managing not to scowl. "So it was at the end of Aerys reign, Prince Oberyn. But not at the beginning. There were many days where, while the king was busy with other matters, I sat the Iron Throne and rendered judgment in his stead. When he finally grew so paranoid that it was a death sentence to draw even close to the throne I had long returned to Casterly Rock. When Robert ascended the throne he returned to more sensible customs and Jon Arryn would often hold court for him."

"And Eddard Stark, I am told," Oberyn said, not bothering to hide at all that he knew it was commonplace for the Hand of the King to sit the Iron Throne. "During Robert's final hunt. One of the first times since Lord Arryn died that there was actual justice in King's Landing, I hear. But he didn't actually sit the throne. He chose a plainer chair." He gave a casual shrug. "I suppose it hurt his leg greatly, the one your son commanded to be injured as he did not wish to engage the Quiet Wolf in true honest battle, to climb those steps." Oberyn took a step forward, tilting his head as he gazed up at Tywin. "It is funny… there is not much Eddard Stark and Aerys Targeryn can claim to have in common… but being stabbed from behind by your son seems to be one of them."

"And considering their lusting for power it shouldn't come as a surprise," Tywin responded, his words hard as the stone that made up the Red Keep even though his face was impassive. "And to be factual it was one of Jaime's men who caused Lord Stark's injury. And Jaime killed the Mad King and saved us all from his terrible reign by stabbing the gibbering fool through the front, not the back."

"Of course, of course."

And then, before Oberyn could make yet another comment, Jon surprised the entire court by stepping forward.

"Lord Tywin," he said, his voice somber. The Hand gestured ever so slightly for Jon to continue and Oberyn, intrigued by what the young man was playing at, stepped back and let him take the lead. "I had wished for this to be done under better circumstances but I wish to pass along to you and all of House Lannister the greatest of sympathies from Iron Pointe for the passing of Ser Jaime. While I did not have a chance to meet him personally Lord Antony did and he mourns your loss. It will be many ages before a swordsman of his skill comes from any part of Westeros again. If you are in need of anything, my lord, ask and Iron Pointe will provide it."

Natasha hid her shock well, though it was a close thing. They'd only received the news of Jaime Lannister's death while on the road, not at Iron Pointe, and Jon and Tony had never really talked about the latter's friendship with the Lannisters, both knowing how sore of a subject it was considering what they had done to the Starks. Everything Jon had said had been crafted from whole cloth right there in the Throne Room…

'Impressive,' Natasha thought to herself even as she kept her features impassive.

Lord Tywin dutifully nodded his head after staring at Jon for several long moments. "House Lannister accepts your sympathies, Lord Jon. I have already heard from the Commander of the Gold Cloaks what occurred earlier but it would be the in the best interest of the entire court if you would explain, in your own words, what transpired."

Jon preceded to do just that, explaining their arrival at King's Landing and how, rather than being greeted with the honors they deserved as loyal subjects of the crown (and Tywin's bannermen, Jon had been quick to remind them all), they had been harassed by the guards stationed at the gate. Jon never once showed a touch of emotion as he detailed the mockery he and his party had received by men that should have bowed their heads in their presence. Natasha could see Tywin though clenching his jaw slightly, mentally going over why exactly those guards would have believed they could get away with such actions… and quietly coming to the same conclusion the rest of them had: someone in the Red Keep had decided to try and make clear to the Iron Pointe party that they weren't welcome in King's Landing. It was a classic power play pulled at the worst time and that spoke of Joffrey or Cersei's plotting.

'Varys, even assuming he would have wanted to send such a message to us, which he wouldn't have as he knows I'd take more of his flesh to join his missing balls, would have manipulated others into sowing gossip and rumors among the smallfolk. Baelish would have preferred to try and arrange an embarrassing situation rather than such a heavy handed mocking; perhaps a potion to mimic drunkenness give to Jon at the wrong moment. Pycelle… well, I doubt very much he would do anything at all. More his style to bring up his misgivings in private to hope someone else would make a move while keeping him able to deny any involvement. Lord Tyrell would have told us to our faces that we to leave, if he didn't want us here; his mother would have smiled, greeted us, then begun to plot our deaths. Ser Kevan would never go against his brother. Joffrey or Cersei… the only options.'

Jon continued on, detailing the meeting in the brothel and how more Lannister Guards had spoken poorly to them all before a fight had broken out. And then how the men at the gate had chased them down purely to continue the feud, forcing them to once more spill blood to win their freedom from the place.

"It seems, my lord, the only thing that truly must be dealt with is the lack of discipline among those that guard our gates," Varys finally stated once Jon had finished his tale.

"It is rather concerning that any rebel could easily slip past the Gold Cloaks so long as they put on a rough spun robe," Baelish added.

Pycelle let out a drawn out 'huuurmf!'. "Where were the Gold Cloaks when this occurred? Should they not have been manning the gate? Why were men swore to protect his grace the king doing such… trivial things."

"An important topic that must be considered!" Mace Tyrell chimed in, though Natasha wondered if that was only because he felt left out having not said anything.

Jiffsun stepped forward; Natasha had noticed him having a quiet word with one of his men while Jon told his tale. While he spoke in calm, respectful tones Natasha could read from his body language the rage at the veiled insult to his men and the insinuations that it was his fault that this had happened. "My men were relieved of duty by the slain Lannister soldiers who presented a writ signed by Lord Tywin himself." Tywin head snapped up at that and Pycelle hurried over to Jiffsun who pulled out the parchment in question. "I just received this."

"It is as he says," the Grand Maester finally stated. "This command is written in your hand."

Lord Tywin's jaw locked up even harder and he stood up and made his way down the steps of the Iron Throne till he could reach out and pluck the message from Pycelle's hand. He looked it over before finally staring up at all gathered, eyes blazing with rage. She heard many in the crowd audibly swallow as Lord Tywin looked to them, even the mightiest of warriors and strongest of souls glancing away so not to be the subject of his ire.

"The throne room will clear. Now."

He snapped out the words and like a command coming from the Seven themselves all the members of the court that had come to observe the 'trial' and gossip about what the Dornish/Iron Pointe party had gotten themselves into all but fled the throne room. It was actually rather impressive how quickly they all managed to flee. Natasha had seen crowds panicking as they tried to take flight from fires and killers and every time the end result was clogs at the exit points and injuries from those caught in the crush of bodies. Yet with it only being the command of the Lord of Casterly Rock not only did the audience empty out of the throne room far quicker than she had ever seen but also in a more orderly and controlled manner.

That left only the Small Council, Jiffsun and a few castle guards, and the combined Dornish/Iron Pointe parties.

Lord Tywin stepped away from the Iron Throne and approached Oberyn, holding out the parchment. "This is in my hand. I remember writing it."

"I sense you have more to say," the Prince of Dorne stated. "You are not the kind of man to admit your mistakes. Or crimes."

The Old Lion didn't rise to the bait. "Look below the message, near my signature. What do you see?"

Oberyn cocked an eyebrow but took the parchment, looking it over before making a murmur of mild amusement. "Yes. I see. Did you notice the wear on the folds?" He waved his hand towards part of the message. "Right there. Hastily closed a second time."

"…yes, of course." Tywin took back the parchment and walked over to his brother, handing him the message as if it were a dagger found plunged into the back of an empress. "It seems that someone wishes to destroy the alliance between us all. This message was written three weeks prior. I remember the splot of ink I left below the word 'once'." Ser Kevan handed it over to Lord Tyrell who started turned the paper back and forth. "The date has been erased using some sort of fluid and then mimicking my hand writing to place today's date upon it."

The Lord of the Reach frowned, sniffing slightly the parchment. "This paper… it has a strong odor."

"It does?" Baelish stated but as he went for it Varys took it from Mace's hands.

"The Master of Ships is correct," the Spider said after a few moments. "Lead sugar. A dissolvent. The pillow slaves of Lys use it to remove the paint from their nails." He looked over at Baelish and smiled slightly. "I would have thought you'd have recognized it, Lord Baelish. You always so do crow about how your establishments utilize the most modern of ways to produce the most exotic of beauties."

"I am far too busy serving the Realm to see to how those in my employ remove the paint from their nails."

Oberyn cleared his throat. "As much as I normally enjoy any discussion that involves whores there is the matter of this parchment. It removed the City Watch from the gate, of course, but it did not place those Lannister men there."

"Something that must be investigated." Tywin looked to Kevan who nodded; one didn't need to be a spy to know that the man would be dropping all his other duties to find out who had tampered with the message and, worse, tried to frame Tywin Lannister for an attack on the heir of one of his bannermen and the younger brother of High Born Lord. But Natasha was focused on Varys and Clynt, both of them, after a moment quirking their eyebrows quickly. All three were in agreement: this wasn't Joffrey or Cersei's doing. Sugar lead was not something either of them would have quickly had on hand, and creating a forgery of Lord Tywin's orders was not their kind of plan.

There was another party at work in King's Landing.

'The problem is that their chosen methods make them near impossible to figure out,' Natasha thought to herself as the others began to discuss the false report and her father actually managed to keep his glib comments about Elia to himself and focus on playing politics. 'This is too complex to be a mere catspaw. But it is too amateurish to be the work of a professional. This was done by someone who has some cunning but not the skill or who has resources but not the understanding of how to use them effectively.' And worse of all was the fact that so many in Westeros could fall into that middle ground made things all the more tricky for her. She was grateful Clynt was around because she doubted between herself and Varys she'd be able to figure out just who had tried to get Jon killed or sent away.

"I believe, in the light of this information the events can be forgiven," Ser Kevan stated. "It is clear that you were pressed into defending yourselves not once or twice."

"And," Jon said before Oberyn could speak and truly fuck things up for them, "it is plain to see that it was not by the command of the Crown that we were treated as such, so there is no need to allow these events to color our first meeting."

"A strong and proper way to put it," Pycelle stated.

Tywin nodded. "Indeed. And I believe we have postponed you from settling in long enough. You will be shown to the rooms provided for you for your time in King's Landing. I know the King wishes to hold a feast to honor your arrival-"

One of the side doors nearest to the Iron Throne swung open, crashing into the wall, and through it stepped Ser Mandon Moore, splendid in white, followed a second later by the little shit himself King Joffrey Baratheon.

"Ah, so you are all here," the young man said, casting a lazy glance at all those assembled. Natasha couldn't help but let her gaze slide to the ruins of his face, where his ear had been half torn away and his cheek scarred by Tony's blast. "Good, you know I so do hate to wait on others. It is the duty of others to wait for me." He paused though when he realized the Throne Room was far emptier than normal. "Where is everyone? Where is the rest of the court?" He looked about, eyes widening even as his cheeks grew red. "What did I just say? What did I JUST SAY!?" He jabbed his finger towards the ground. "They wait for ME! I do not wait for THEM! I am THE KING! I have far better things to do than wait for those pathetic fools! I'll see them all beheaded for this!"

Oberyn merely raised an eyebrow at that while Jon pressing his lips together firmly, not realizing that he was mimicking Tywin in his expression. The Small Council had fallen silent and Natasha flexed her fingers, ready to leap into battle if the blond shit decided to try and hurt her or her family.

"I asked them to leave, your grace," Tywin finally stated. "Matters have nearly been settled and I felt no need to waste everyone's time, including yours."

"I will decide if things are a waste of time or not. I am the king, grandfather, not you." He walked to the throne, reaching out to touch it only to suddenly pause, hand stilling a hair's breadth from its surface. Natasha wondered just how many times he'd been cut by one of the many protruding blades that made up the monstrosity before he'd finally learned to be careful where he rested his hands. "Now then I was told that there was a battle in my city. How can that be a waste of time, grandfather? You and Great Uncle Kevan and the rest of the Small Council are always so obsessed with justice and keeping the smallfolk in line. Something I quite agree with." He began to climb up towards the top of the throne. "It is important for everyone to know their place. If there are people in King's Landing that believe they are above the law… MY law… then we'll show them the error of their ways by taking their heads from their shoulders." He looked right at Natasha and her party and smirked. "Ser Mandon, fetch Ser Illyne now. I see no need to take this out to the courtyard. We'll deal with these dogs now. Its been too long since the Iron Throne tasted blood."

'Kill Mandon first. Rush, dodge his swing, palm strike to throat. Break wrist, elbow to ribs, remove sword from now useless hand, slash throat. Varys will take out Ser Kevan, break neck most likely. Clynt will deal with Ser Jiffsun, death most likely. Father sent after Tywin, 70% chance he kills him. 85% if he still has the hidden blade in his boot. Take Ser Mandon's dagger, send it at Joffrey, either shoulder or throat strike. Former resulting in fall from Iron Throne, later death. If former grab and impale on throne. Varys kills Baelish. Clynt knocks out Mace Tyrell. Happy moves to bar doors. Pycelle held, torture most likely needed but will be done. Reveal Jon's parentage, declare him King of the Seven Kingdoms. Father sends word to Uncle Doran, Dorne marches if I am now Queen. Open lines of communication with the North, establish that Eddard can take the title of Prince like the Dornish if he bends the knee. Antony named permenant Warden of the West. Summon the Queen of Thorns, arrange betrothal between Jon and my first son and Willas Tyrell's first daughter. Command the Night's Queen be found and brought before us. Contact Fury-'

"The dogs, your grace, have already been dealt with," her father said smoothly, stepping forward. "It seems that some force decided to select the… well, dumbest of the men selected to protect you and trick them into attacking us in hopes of undermining you. I was more than pleased to slay the fools for you." He gave a bow that only Natasha could tell was mocking. "After all, what good are men that can not tell a true command from their king from a false one?"

Joffrey blinked at that, turning and considering the Prince of Dorne before finally nodding. Because of course flattery worked to make Joffrey forget her rage and of course her father would choose NOW to be polite. "Yes," the bastard born of incest finally said. "Yes, you are quite correct, Prince Doran. Thank you for your service."

"You are welcome, your grace. Though I am Prince Oberyn… my brother is far too weak and sick to make the journey to King's Landing and you are in need of strong men, are you not?"

"Yes, yes I am," Joffrey stated, now descending the Iron Throne. "Have you seen who I have been forced to surround myself with? The old and the weak and the ball-less. It will be good to have more who are more of my stamina around." His gaze slid over the group before coming to rest on Jon. "I recognize you… from that shit hole in the North. You are that traitor Ned Stark's bastard." He walked right up to Jon, trying to look lordly and powerful even as he was forced to look up at the man.

Natasha revised her regicide plans as she watched the brat mock her husband.

"I am. Or perhaps was, your grace, would be the better way to say it. I am Jon Stark, Lord Antony Stark's heir and the future Lord of Iron Pointe, sworn to your grandfather."

"But still a bastard," Joffrey stated with a smirk. He rose up a bit more, probably thinking he was looking intimidating but instead coming off as ridiculous with how he was balancing on his tiptoes. "And your blood is that of traitors. Your father betrayed me. Your brother betrayed me. Your bitch sister sicced her wolf on me-" Jon's eyes flashed at the insult against Arya but otherwise he didn't react. "Tell me why I shouldn't have you killed now."

"My family has declared war on you, that is true. But I am not Eddard Stark. Or any of his trueborn children. Lady Catelyn Stark made that clear to me as she made every moment of my life in Winterfell worse than the Seven Hells. It was drilled into my head since birth that I was not a Stark of Winterfell, that she looked at me as little more than dung on the road."

Joffrey pulled back at that and scowled in annoyance. "I remember Catelyn Stark. My mother didn't like her in the slightest. Said she tried to appear gracious and humble but mother said that she could tell she held herself higher than she ever should. She was born of men with wet ankles who never wore a crown and lady of the poorest of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet she acted like she was a Queen instead of showing deference to my family. A tiresome woman."

"I can attest to that, your grace," Jon said and that comment actually got a true smile from Joffrey.

"I suppose you could, couldn't you? The Bastard of Winterfell… not part of the family but always on the outside. Your father should have done as I did to all of my father's bastards and had you killed at once, so you might never pose a threat. Aegon the Unworthy failed to do that and he ended up with a Civil War. I did what his son Daemon Targaryen was too weak to do."

'Yet you managed to have your own Civil War all the same,' Natasha thought to herself. 'And it was Daeron, you idiot. Daemon was the bastard. Like you.'

"Men are not their fathers, your grace. Or any of their family. I am not Eddard Stark or Robb Stark or any of the rest. Lord Antony is nothing like his father." He gestured towards Lord Tywin. "Your great grandfather was a weak man who allowed his bannermen to openly mock him and rebel. Your grandfather made the Lannisters the mightiest family in all of Westeros outside the crown once more. He is not his father. Just as you are not yours."

"I am his son," Joffrey said automatically, an edge of warning to his words.

"But you are already better than him," Jon pointed out. "I have heard how your father cared little about ruling the Seven Kingdoms. You are here to oversee the trial even though there was no need."

"Yes… that is right," Joffrey said with a cocky little smirk. "My father always was off doing other things, putting his trust in the wrong people. Stannis, Renly, your father… I will not make that mistake."

"Because you are not your father," Jon repeated. "As I am not mine."

"Wise words," Lord Tywin finally said. "And words to remember well when dealing with those that bear the names of foes. Even the Conqueror knew to show kindness to the sons of men that bent the knee after their fathers declared war."

Pycelle let out a cough. "And… let us not forget that your own house, your grace, can trace itself to the kindness Orys Baratheon showed the daughter of the last Storm King."

Joffrey let out a weary sigh. "I have no interest in history, Grand Maester. You know that. Still… your point remains. Yes, I will allow you to be on my Small Council, Jon Stark." He chuckled. "And after I murder your father's family I'll give you Catelyn Stark to do with as you wish. Perhaps I'll even let you do it here for all to see."

Tywin chose that moment to speak up. "I was preparing to have some servants show our guests to their rooms-"

"Yes yes, do as you wish," Joffrey said, his short attention span already having burned away leaving him to search out something else to bring him entertainment. He left without a word, Ser Mandon following right behind.

"Guess that's it for the trial," Clynt said dryly.

Oberyn chuckled at that and motioned for the sellsword and Ellaria to follow him. "The day is still young and the spilling of blood always awakens such an appetite in me. Let us find a way for me to slate it." The Dornish quickly left through the main doors with Jiffsun soon departing to talk with his Gold Cloaks to try and piece together what had happened at the gate when they'd been ordered to leave. That left only the Small Council and the Iron Pointe party standing before the Iron Throne.

"Not going to join them?" Littlefinger asked as the Small Council moved to greet Jon and Natasha.

Jon shook his head. "I only entered that brothel because my goodfather was there. I do not frequent brothels."

"Do not say that too much or you will hurt Lord Baelish's feelings," Varys stated, moving towards Natasha. "My lady, my little birds sent me word of your arrival but they were too late to prevent your most unhappy welcome." He moved to place his hands in the sleeves of his robes but as he did so he used the secret signals taught to all Council agents to sign, 'We'll talk later. Not safe'.

"Perhaps Lord Jon simply hasn't attended the right ones," Baelish stated. "The North is a hard place and I imagine their brothels are as well."

"The only woman I will be with is my wife," Jon said firmly. "We both know the hardships a bastard faces outside of Dorne… I will not subjugate an innocent child to that."

Lord Tywin nodded at that. "You are wiser than most your age… and those far older than you." He gave a wave of his hand, dismissing the Small Council. "If you have the time I will show you where the Small Council normally meets and then take you to your rooms personally. To ensure there are no other guards who believe they might delay you."

"If you have the time, my lord, we would appreciate it," Natasha said with a gentle smile that was well practiced to never reveal how false it truly was.

"You know," Tywin said in an odd show of casual conversation for him, "while you are right that we are not our fathers they influence us all the same. As I saw you there talking sense to another angry king I couldn't help but be reminded of your father." He paused as they reached the great doorway of the throne room. "Tell me, what do you think of the Iron Throne?"

Natasha had been wondering the same thing. What would Jon think of the throne his ancestors had built? The Throne that so many of his forefathers had ruled from. That was by all rights his. Did he feel anger for not possessing it? Greed to claim it again? Many had seen that twisted thing and felt the desire to sit it even without the claim that Jon had. It was her greatest fear in coming here that the longing to take the crown and the throne would overtake him and he would rashly act. She could protect him from so much but she couldn't protect him from himself-

"I didn't pay it much attention, I admit," Jon finally said. "I was looking for the damaged tile."

"The damaged tile?" Tywin asked.

"Foolish, I know. It was most likely replaced by King Robert. Still, in my mind whenever I imagine the throne room I see the damaged tile… from where my grandfather was burned to death while my uncle strangled himself vainly to save him while the mad king cackled in delight. All the while Rhaegar Targeryen was raping Lyanna Stark."

Tywin was left with no words at the bitterness in Jon's tone.

Only Natasha understood the deeper meaning. Of how much her husband, her love, hated the blood that flowed through his veins.

Of how much he hated himself.