Cersea II

The wind and rain felt cool and cold against her face. The horse under her going at speeds she'd never gone before. Something she would never be permitted to do under mother's watch.

Ronard and Proud Tusk flew far above, a grey and brown shadow that both resembled dragons if one squinted. The rest of the party tried to keep up with her and Rickard, who laughed as he seemingly overtook her at will. His own horse, a destrier, a dark and muscled thing, big and brawny, yet also bred to be as fast as possible. It was one of the twenty horses Rickard personally owned: destriers, palfreys, chargers and Sand steeds. And he told her he planned on importing more.
"I want at least one breed from every corner of the world." He had proudly proclaimed to her once. Insisting on it, having ordered at least five new ones from the Reach, whom he insisted had the best horseflesh, along with Dorne.
Five weeks on from Rickard's coronation, and since then, she was having the happiest time of her life. Every day, Rickard made sure she was front and centre at court along with him, whenever there was a banquet, a hunting party or at the recent small tourney. He treated her as his betrothed in all but name.

"Come on!" she urged her own brown destrier to pick up speed, the others catching up behind. Hollers and laughter abound.
She had never been much for hunting or hawking before now. Rickard having announced his intention for a party to go into the King's Wood. Now she loved it, the freedom and the rush were undeniable, and while she still loved her harp, this was fast becoming her favourite pastime.

Though in truth, anything that allowed her to be close to her King would be her favourite.
The Kingsguard all tried to keep up, and pointlessly tried to suggest Rickard not to go so far out, and not try any more stunts. Advice that fell on death ears as he sped and would go without using his hands for periods of time, arms out taking in the thrill of the chase across the wide open, forested lands of King's Wood, the massive Wendwater river acted as a path and beacon to follow and was often where they had made camp for the last few days.
Both hawks dove down, clearly having caught their prey.
Proud Tusk had been one of the first of many gifts Rickard had bestowed on her. The hawk, light brown on the top and white below and down to its legs, with deadly sharp claws. It was known as a Red Tail, named for the two brownish red feathers on its backside.
She had named it, Proud Tusk, as only a Crakehall could. Rickard approved eagerly and explained that he named his, Ronard, named after a famed ancient Storm King of the Durrandon line.

Closing in behind them, the hunting party was massive. The field of horse's sounded like a horde of charging cavalry in a war.
Among the guests: Her Uncle, Ser Lyle "Strongboar" Crakehall, Lord Lefford, Lord Baelor Hightower, Harwood Fell, Ser Devan Lannister, Denys Redwyne and his father, Ser Desmond, Lord Mace Tyrell, alongside his Lord Bronze Yohn Royce, all three of his sons and two daughters, the princess Layla, Lord Bryce Caron and his wife, Lady Talla, formally of house Tarly, along with his bastard brother, Ser Rolland, Lady Waynwood and her sons, Ser Harold Hardying, the Kettleblack brothers, Lord Jon Fossoway along with lady Janna, Lord Mathis Rowen, Ser Arys Oakheart, now formally betrothed to Lord Mathis' eldest daughter, Ser Addam Marbrand, Lord Brax, Lord Wylde, Ser Lomas and his son, Ser Andrew Estermont, Lord Jason Malliester with his son and heir, Patrek, Lord Tommen Costayne, as well as Ser Marq Piper, heir to Pinkmaiden.

A bevy of servants, cooks, kennel masters, trackers, attendants and lickspittles followed behind with the guards, standard bearers, Maesters, Squires and Pages.
The two hawks dove down, everyone eagerly waiting to see which would take back to flight first with its talons clutching a kill. As she was new to hawking, she still had long ways to go in training Proud Tusk, but she felt she was getting better, Rickard had even told her so. And she sometimes managed to beat him.

As the light rain continued, but with the sun still shining through into her eyes, the two beautiful but deadly birds of prey shot up.
Of course, Ronard beat Proud Tusk. Much to Rickard's joy.
"Another one taken, my lady." He cheekily remarked. A servant quickly came up to number and collect the dead rabbit for the final count.

"You did well, Your Grace," she circled him, smiles adorned on both their faces. "So well against such a maiden who's only had her hawk for little more than two weeks."
He turned his horse to face her, his riding breeches and boots had a lot of mud on them, so did the back of his woollen cloak over his grey doublet.
"Dear Cersea, Ronard would always beat your hawk if she had a thousand years of training." He proudly proclaimed with a boyish smile.
She rolled her eyes, "As you say, Sire."
His horse ride right next, adjacent to hers, their faces not far apart.
"Such a disrespectful tone need be punished, my lady."
They felt each's facial heat and hot breath, eyes locked on for some time until the familiar sound of hooves gave them the signal to disengage.
The rest of their party had arrived over the small hill, Uncle Jaime leading them, he appeared to be out of breath, golden hair wetly stuck to his head in sweat.
"Your Grace. My lady" He eyed them both. She sensed some discomfort in her uncle, something ever since she had arrived. The twin brother of her mother was strange, he seemed to be unsure of himself around her, sometimes he had been as friendly and warm as any uncle should be, but sometimes he barely seemed to acknowledge she was there.
The others came. Lord Tyrell's face was as red as a plump red apple, boats of sweat running down his face, and she thought she saw even through his silken grey doublet. He quickly snatched a water pouch from a servant and swallowed it down his throat like a man amid the deserts of Dorne.

Later, they made camp to relax and rest from the long hours they had spent on what had been the fifth day of their expedition.
The cooks began to light the fires and get their equipment, while the pavilions were set up to accommodate the lords and ladies.
A final count for the day from the collectors had the King at three hundred and seven heron, rabbit, partridge and other animals. Beating out Lords Yohn and Wylde, as well as Lady Rhysling on the week's final count.
The night was a feast that included many courses of that day's capture, along with much wine flowing. She had sat beside the King as she now normally did, five Kingsguard behind them, including her uncle Jaime. Her king truly enjoyed himself and could be seen smiling again.
Much entertainment was had that night. Strongboar had made an open challenge to anyone who could beat him in an arm-wrestling match, taking on all volunteers: the Kettleblacks, Patrek, Lord Royce and his son, Robar, Lord Malliester and Ser Harold Hardying.
In the end, all had conceded, with her uncle maintaining his reputation as one of the strongest men in the Seven Kingdoms intact.
An impro archery competition had begun, with the brash and proud ser Marq Piper coming out on top, beating out ser Devan Lannister.

The wine had led Rickard and Waymar to reveal how the younger Royce had almost lost an arm to ser Barristan, who chuckled as both began to confirm the details.
In the final year of his fostering in Runestone, Rickard and Waymar had developed a game of tackling and taking each other down to the floor, when they'd least expect it, one or the other would take them to the ground, whether it be training, dinner, a lesson with the Maester, writing a lesson, hunting, hawking or when the other was on his way to his bed.

On one of his final days, it was Rickard who had gotten the most takedowns, and all through the long journey back to King's Landing with the two Royce boys, the heir to the kingdoms had not stopped bragging about it.

The day after they had arrived at the capital, Waymar thought to ambush the young prince in the hallways of the Red Keep. Upon seeing the prince of the seven kingdoms seemingly being attacked, the famed and deadly Ser Barristan had thrown the boy to the wall and drawn his sword and had been ready to slash the attacker who had dared lay a hand on the crown prince, with only Rickard's quick warning stopping him, and the two explaining the whole scenario.

All four had laughed until blue in the face at such a tale. To make up for the debacle and avoid any trouble with Waymar's lord father, Ser Barristan had taken on the young Royce as his second squire along with the prince.

It was good to see Rickard smile, when she had seen him on the day his father had died. He seemed broken and lost. Trepidation and uncertainty were all in his features that she just wanted to console and embrace him and not let go, yet he bore like a true leader should. Since his coronation, he had made the court one truly as whimsical and lively as the ones she had heard in the songs and tales of her youth.

"Sweetheart are you alright?" he asked, that same handsome smile, along with those two eyes as blue as deep ocean pools. They had retired to his own pavilion, some food of cheese, grapes and wine left on the table. Her own Crakehall guards stationed outside alongside the Kingsguard.

She smiled back, "I am, my king, seeing you happy is what makes me happy."

His hand gently stroked her golden hair. He loved playing with her long locks and did so whenever they were like this.

"I need only you as my true light of happiness." He gently whispered. She ignored the urge to look to Uncle Jaime, who appeared to keep his own feelings on their relationship hidden, he stood outside as still as a statue. Eyes watching for the King's protection for any threat.

Bright emerald and blue eyes locked on, never leaving each other, even in front of his nobles, Rickard had stated that he did not care what anyone had to say. If it meant so much, they would say so directly to him.

In his solar one night, the fireplace the only thing illuminating the large room, he had kissed her and held her until both their mouths had ached. His respect for her being what prevented him from wanting to take her virtue then and there.

"I want the world to know what I feel about you, Cersea. That girl and any vows cannot prevent me from following what I feel in my heart."

"Rickard…" she had sighed in pleasure, copping his face.

"Let them talk, let them say what they will. No woman will ever have the love I feel for you. Never."

"Your Grace." A voice broke the moment.

"What" he demanded. Glare on the man who had to nerve to interrupt their moment

An irritated huff from her, but a practical growl from him. A lone rider had come through the entrance, from the looks of things. The young man looked to be out of breath, but immediately froze as he saw how annoyed the King looked. He kneeled in respect.

"My apologies, Sire. I come from Wendwater with a message from Lord Stannis, Your Grace." He handed the message to Ser Barristan, who upon Rickard's nod, read the message for him.

"Lord Stannis requests know when you will be back, Your Grace. Many royal matters require your attention as soon as possible."

Rickard simply rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth, something he always did when irritated. She soothingly stroked his arm, an encouraging smile on her features. That made him lighten up.

"Tell the Hand, that we will return within the next three days. Assemble the Small Council for a meeting then."

The messenger nodded quickly, promising to return to the message to the Wendwater Maester.

After they had been dismissed, Rickard looked to her again.

"I wish we could stay out here forever."

"Such a wonderful thought, your grace… but we have to get back to the real world sooner or later. It is your kingdom."

He gave a small smile, gently copping her face.

"What is a kingdom to the woman I love?" he asked.

She took a breath.

"Rickard…"

The kiss engulfed her again.

Stannis I

"Of that I am quite certain, lord Hand." The eunuch, Varys, had insisted on. The sweet odour of lavender and perfume scent clinging to his purple silken robes and pumicating the air. That smile that even the most ignorant of trusting fools would know to run away from, internally telling him that whatever the Master of Spies said, any truth in the statement would be mixed with a yet unknown agenda, of that he would stake his life on.

Stannis merely maintained his glare; the gathered lords had been worked harder than they most likely had for the best part of seventeen years. Lord Varys playing the loyal fool, Ser Tybolt, heir to Crakehall, leaning back, a bored expression his features, the new Master of Coin by the king's decree. The seat of the Master of Laws still vacant, as was the office itself.

The Grand Maester looked ready to fall asleep any moment.

It was Ser Davos, new Master of Ships, whom was the most truly engaged as he should be.

"You are certain the girl is to be wed to the Khal? And this will gain them a Dothraki army?" he asked of Varys.

"Oh yes, my little birds have foretold of the arrangement in Pentos. A Cheesemonger I understand, has been the one behind the marriage." The spymaster rubbed his hands, soft and plump, like an old wealthy woman's.

The girl of whom he spoke was of one, Daenerys. Viserys, the last of the Targeryen line, had wed his sister to a Dothraki horse lord some days ago, with reports also insisting that they had taken the road to Qohor, making the journey to Vaes Dothrak, east of Pentos.

"If this is true, the king will want to know about it. Grand Maester, that letter is to be sent to Wendwater, they can send a scout to locate the hunting party from there."

That seemed to bring the old man to his senses.

"Oh… oh, oh yes, my lord Hand, right away..."

The new master of coin, Ser Tybolt, finally spoke up. Gruff and plain-speaking, but seemingly well-meaning. Even if the Westerman was not the smartest man for the job.

"So, should we not send a hired blade now, lord Hand? It seems to me, every hour we wait, we allow that much more time for this half-dragon, half-horse warlord to be conceived to challenge for the throne, if it hasn't been conceived already."

"The matter of how to proceed is for the king alone to decide, not you, Ser." He replied, stonily. The large knight simply leaned back again, arms crossed, clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

This had been one of the many matters of the day for the last four hours of this meeting.

Ever since he had been made the new Hand of the King, replacing the aged and tired Lord Arryn, he had been insisting all matters be settled, all reports, taxes and crown expenditure be scrutinized. No more deferring matters, no more one-hour meetings.

This small council would act like a working council, as it should.

The now deceased Littlefinger – who's head lay upon a spike by the Traitor's Walkway, along with his underlings - was a testament to how things would run now. No more corruption would be tolerated as long as he was around.

It had not been difficult to arrest and convict the former Master of Coin. The king wanted him gone as it was, and he had given Stannis the mandate he needed.

Littlefinger was incredibly smart, no one could deny, if they started with his businesses and associates first, he'd have fled the city as soon as he could, and it would have been almost impossible to find him. He had waited two weeks before he had made his move. He'd tricked the Valesman into coming to his office to discuss crown business, seemingly having set his guard down, no longer suspecting danger, when he had his men seize him and take him to the Black Cells.

With the man himself in custody, Ser Clayton Suggs had little trouble gaining the names: two captains in the Gold Cloaks, Janos Slynt and Allar Deem, two members of house Brune, the head of house Kettleblack, Oswell, who's three sons had been spared due to a lack of evidence in any crimes. As well as many spies: whores and servants mostly.

What had come out in the trial was one of scandal and corruption, unheard of in the crown's history. For countless years, Littlefinger had used his position to massively enrich himself. None-existent people were paid coin for none-existent jobs, by which way, the former Master of Coin had pocketed, investing his ill-gotten money to invest in his brothels, which made him even richer.

He had created his own network of informants, as well as a secret group of killers in the Gold Cloaks, knights and minor houses. His organisation had even rivalled lord Vary's, who had taken the stand, who had revealed even more dirty secrets of the disgraced lord, a satisfied smirk on his face the whole way.

The once confident Lord Petyr of the Fingers, who for years, would always revel in making his sly comments and flaunting an expensive wardrobe, now lay broken, kneeling there in chains, unshaven, signs of clear torture, only rags for clothing and begging for any mercy of the king as two Goldcloaks stood behind him. After less than a few hours of the trial, the king had passed down a sentence of death. As well as for all his associates.

They had all followed their master into a life of corruption and greed at the realm's expense. Now they followed him into the afterlife.

Few had mourned the loss of the corrupt little man, aside from the Lady Lysa Arryn, who had been hysterical throughout the trial, even trying to break past the Goldcloaks and shield the man.

In front of the court, she had proclaimed her ever-lasting love for Petyr. And that no matter what, they would see each other again.

From what he had understood, Lord Jon Arryn had guards and Septas posted with the lady every day and night. Even as they left the city to return to the Vale.

A moment of insanity and grief of a distraught woman, many had dismissed it. Though Stannis himself suspected more. But the king had stopped anymore investigating, not wanting to insult Lord Arryn by levelling any accusations against his wife, much to Stannis' own silent dismay, having a strong feeling the woman knew much more.

"As said, on this matter, we have no more to talk about. This meeting is done." The tired lords and Maester, aside from Ser Davos, immediately took their leave.

Both the Hand and Master of Ships walked through the hallways.

"The men will appreciate the higher salary, my lord." Davos stated. He had changed his clothing choice from relatively modest to more appropriate of his new station. A new silken doublet of white and brown, but still with his usual dark green cloak.

"The sailors of the Royal Fleet need more than owed loyalty to be maintained. I'm no fool, a better paid seaman will be better and more willing in war." regarding the choice for the salaries of the Royal Fleet's sailors to be increased.

Davos made a small smile at that.

"As they are, my lord hand, not everyone is happy though. Many merchants especially. Your new tax is unpopular and some whisper you aim to take away their hard-earned coin for yourself."

The new Lord of Storm's End made only what he could muster as close to a snigger.

"This new tax is to be invested in the very city they profit off from. A new water and drain system will be better for this city. As visitors or as native citizens, they owe it to help clean up the city. I will not accept the coin from whorehouses and the city will be better off without them." He announced with a tone of finality.

They came to the entranceway leading to the Tower of the Hand, his new quarters, and the two walked in almost perfect sink as they walked up the stairs.

"I understand, my lord… but I think you're too harsh with this measurement?"

Stannis did not stop but acknowledged him.

"Harsh? Speak more clearly, Onion Knight."

Davos paused, choosing his words.

"Many of these ladies see this city as their home and this their only way to feed themselves and their families, my lord. Surely- "he was cut off.

"These whores have a choice: find a new trade profession and stay, leave and continue to practice their vile trade in some other city, or stay acting as they are and face public shaming, as well as five in a cell."

One of his first acts as Hand was to ban any brothel within fifty miles of the city. The city required morality, and these dens of debauchery were a stain on its conscience and instigators of uncivilised behaviour.

He did not care how unpopular the move was. He had made his choice, and with the King's endorsement, it had been made into law. The whores had two weeks to either leave or choose a more honourable and decent way of making a living.

"My lord, certainly some mercy could be spared. At least some compensation perhaps."

"You are the new Master of Ships, Ser Davos, this area is not really your concern." He bluntly reminded him.

"True enough, my lord, but I only offer my advice as I always have. Not in capacity as Master of Ships, but as someone who's always been honest with you."

"You think very highly of yourself. Not a good attitude for a place like this."

"Perhaps, my lord, but you still listen none the less." He pointed out.

Stannis stopped, turning to face the knight, before he could say anything, the new lord of Storm's End found no real response. Only offering a grunt, continuing his way. Admitting he had no real response.

As they entered the Hand's chamber and office. The Hand took his seat at the desk. He poured himself and Ser Davos some water from a jug and invited him to be seated too. The changes he had made here where not significant, his own Stag banners lay on the areas where the Falcon of Lord Arryn had for many years. He never bothered much with possessions or anything that did not serve much practical value. He had the desk full of stacked and neatly organised papers, his banners and his bed.

"Why should the crown owe anything to women of such an immoral and corrupt profession?"

"It is not such a life many would choose by choice, my lord. I only suggest, give some compensation, to better learn whatever new trade as you said. Surely it will be the better option than leaving them desperate and willing to break the new laws?"

Stannis paused. Giving it some thought.

"The former smuggler now Master of Ships, standing up for whores? "

"I stand by whatever will be the most efficient way of enforcing the King's laws, my lord hand." Davos answered immediately.

After taking some time, Stannis gave an answer.

"I will consult the King. Mayhaps it could be a more productive move than simply lashing every whore who happens to get caught." He conceded.

Davos gave a quick nod.

"A wise move in my opinion, my lord."

"And yet you appear to keep more silent during Small Council meetings. I find myself having to pray an answer, when usually you never know when to be quiet."

Ser Davos, for whatever reason, gave a small smile at that. For what, Stannis could not understand.

"Is something funny, Ser?" He bluntly inquired. He began to shuffle the papers in front of him, his work only a quarter done for today.

"Nothing, my lord, just… I still wonder, to be honest, why me?"

At his first court session, it was the will of King Rickard that he be made not only Hand, immediately after honourably relieving the aged Lord Arryn of his position. Not only that, but he had also appointed him the Lord of Storm's End, as well as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. With its lands and titles going to him and his children until the end of time, as it should have been years ago by all laws of the seven kings. His brother, Renly, was disinherited from the position, as well as loosing his position as Master of Laws.

The moment he could do so without so visibly disrespecting the King, his prancing fool of a brother had stormed off like a spoilt child, ser Loras following closely behind him. With some chuckles and laughter at his expense.

The recognition of these new titles and the new obligations they entailed where what he most cared for… but if he were honest with himself, part of him could have revelled in it for hours at Renly's expense.

It had been unexpected though, that Rickard had left the task of choosing a replacement for the office of the Master of Ships, his own former office, to Stannis himself, having a week to select a candidate.

Stannis had never been a man of the people, neither noble nor common. He was no fool in how most thought of him, and yet conveniently, only now did the many lickspittles come out to offer their friendship.

He had received countless offers, bribes of gifts, coin and even women for the position, disgusting. All names he would remember in the future.

Quite clearly, they had heard wrong, and he made it clear that no amount of bribery would be enough and if they so much as hinted at such corruption again, he would have them hanged.

He had had received so many ravens of offers the nest had almost been torn apart.

His still abed wife had recommended numerous relatives, most notably her uncle, Ser Axelle Florent, who was already serving as castellan of Dragonstone or her brother, Ser Imry. Though a monkey from across the Narrow Sea would know more of sea craft than Ser Axelle or Ser Imry ever could.

He knew only of one man fit for the role.

To shock and apparent offense, he had named the Onion Knight, Ser Davos Seaworth, as his choice. Something was satisfying to see the disbelief on those fool's faces that day at court.

Lord Paxter Redwyne looked the most disgusted.

"An… unexpected choice, Uncle." Rickard had observed. He knew that indicated he wanted good reasons as to his choice.

He had remained kneeling but faced the King atop the Iron Throne.

"Ser Davos is one of the most honest men of integrity I know. He may not be of notable birth." He said as he looked at the Onion Knight, a neutral and controlled look on his face.

"But he knows what is right and just, with a history on the sea and ships, and there is no more man fit for such an office as he is."

He continued to elaborate.

"He risked his life for me and my men. He served as one of my admirals at the Greyjoy rebellion."

"Your Grace." The Lord of the Arbor protested.

The man was in his fifties. A blue silk cloak covered over an orange doublet. A chain necklace of purple gemstones around him. He maintained little of his original orange hair, he was thin of face and balding too, Something Stannis knew all too well of.

Stannis maintained his glare on the lord of the Arbor.

"Regardless of how strongly the Lord Hand recommends this… knight." His bony finger pointed at Ser Davos across the chamber, each word, especially on the 'knight' came out disgusted. "This man is ultimately unfit for such a prestigious position. A smuggler and a lawbreaker, Sire, and quite frankly, of such low birth at that, could not possibly be fit to maintain your great fleet and serve at your pleasure."

Many a mummers seemed to concur with the statement. The Lord of the Arbor's two twin sons nodding simultaneously.

"I must say," his nephew continued. "Lord Redwyne speaks true, you are a commoner and a smuggler." He turned his head towards the Onion Knight of Cape Wrath "Ser Davos, do you anything to say in response? "

His nephew stroked his clean-shaven chin. Eyes set on the man beneath him in every way.

Knowing this was up to Ser Davos, Stannis got up and walked back to the ramparts. The Onion Knight took his place as he too bowed before the king.

"Lord Paxter speaks truthfully, Your Grace. I deny none of the labels he proscribes to me" At that, the court went into uproar.

"Let him finish, my lords!" the king called, holding out a hand for silence which immediately came.

"I don't deny it, I smuggled and stole in my past life… I have no defence, other than it was a life that the Gods appeared to offer me… and now I've served Lord Stannis ever since then, and I do think I know a bit about ships and seacraft myself." He stated, drawing some chuckles at his bluntness.

Stannis knew that right now, Davos's rather unique and plain-speaking manner could be his undoing or a benefit.

"The smuggler seeks to lecture our king!" Lord Paxter accusingly called out.

"I mean not to do any lecturing, my lord." The knight insisted.

"You seek to challenge me, Grand Admiral of the Redwyne fleet, one of the finest in the seven kingdoms?" he spoke incredulously.

"With all due respect, lord Paxter, none of your titles, nor your undoubtedly impressive fleet actually prevented me from sneaking past your blockade, on my own, with a small raft that was barely holding together as it was."

The whole of the court laughed. The ladies laughed, the lords laughed, the Kingsguard laughed.

Even the king laughed, clapping his hands as he did.

The previously tall and proud Lord Redwyne's face went as red as the grapes on his banner. Saying nothing else in turn. Quickly bowing to the king and returning to his previous place, still glaring at the ex-smuggler, who gained a small smirk on his greying features.

"My Lord Hand, I believe you have chosen well. I accept this appointment." The king pronounced his agreement, laughter still emitting from him upon his high throne.

After the Onion Knight left, the lord of Storm's End went through the reports.

He sighed and increasingly grimaced as he went over the latest financial report. As he had known for years, the combined spending habits of Robert and the Queen had placed the Crown into debt, but even he would not imagine just to what extent. Much of it was to House Hightower and Faith. A large quarter went to the Iron Bank in Bravos, some of it to Lord Mace Tyrell, several Tyroshi traders and even a reclusive Lord Tywin Lannister had lent some gold over the years.

While his brother had loved his tourney's, hunting and whores. Queen Lynesse loved nothing more than to bring over fools from Braavos at the treasury's expense to prance around in costumes, along with her damned masquerade balls that she'd brought over from Oldtown.

The Queen of the Arts, or The Arts Queen was one of her monikers.

His confidence in sorting out the situation was not helped by his nephew, who was not turning out to be any more careful than his parents. He might be worse; new wardrobes, shoes and exotic foods even.

The King had told him before he left on his hunting trip that he wanted to build giant statue of his father in the centre of King's Landing.

"A great figure, like the Titan of Bravos. Fully armoured, Warhammer in one hand, shield in the other, surcoat of the stag at the centre. It should be a marvel for all to see. A sign of a new era." He said so with almost childlike giddiness at the Tower of the Hand. Of course, he had no actual ideas on where to get the money for the project, nor thought of the many people, smallfolk and merchants who would need to be uprooted to make way.

When he had asked his nephew just where the people would go, he had simply looked on at him as if trying to solve a puzzle before shrugging.

"I don't know, wherever they will." Before leaving. The basic designs left at the desk.

He hated to think it, but such wild and outlandish thoughts reminded him of Renly.

It was not anyone's place to say no to the king, but he had done his best to honestly bring up the financial costs of such a venture, though his nephew was in no mood to listen then or at any time.

As it was fated, Rickard had unfortunately inherited his father's lack of dedication to his duties as king. Preferring the glamour and attention over the actual work that was required.

For the first three days, he had shown up bright and eager to run the kingdom, fully engaged and willing to hear all.

Of course, on the third day, the young King had left no more than an hour into the meeting and gone jousting with his companions. And since then, had preferred to play his games and throw celebration after celebration; masquerade balls like his damned mother, riding off and spending time with the Crakehall girl and going out to hawk and hunt with the rest of the court.

He was starting to resent the King's companions, young men, their blood up for anything involving danger or women. All inspired by Robert's deeds.

He would need to be ready if his nephew began to hand them any significant power and influence, a king needed competency and wise council, honesty and not just blind loyalty. No good ever came of it and never would. For whatever reason, he had the feeling he would need to deal with that sooner rather than later.

He heard a voice of one of his guards from the other side of the room.

"Lord Hand, Lord Eddard Stark is here to speak to you."

A yes. Lord Eddard, Robert's best friend.

He was half-tempted to send the Northman away, but he decided against it and ordered the guards to let him through.

In walked the Warden of the North, and future good father of the King himself, his daughter a Queen at some point, even as Rickard stalled it and made it clear to even the blindest and dumbest of men that he wished not to marry the Stark girl.

"Lord Hand, thank you for seeing me." The man they called the Quiet Wolf spoke with a respectful nod.

The Lord's long brown hair and beard had some noticeable grey.

Even if he was not a notably powerful man, physically or in terms of influence. The man held a quiet dignity. Reserved and stern.

"What could I help you with, Lord Stark?" he asked, in a manner of blunt honesty.

Dealing with Stark was the last thing he needed. He had much work, as well as his own duties to send a letter to Selyse back on Dragonstone in response to the latest one.

She had fully embraced her new position as Lady of Storm's End, where she and the two children, as well as their household would take up residence when she was healthy again. She had endlessly praised and thanked R'hllor for his wisdom in making the King see reason and to restore them to their rightful place as Lord and Lady of the Stormlands.

Nonsense of course. His nephew had never sighted any Fire god as being behind his choice. Only the laws of the Seven and men, and bitterness towards his younger uncle.

Steffon was growing. Eats well for a babe his size and can keep the castle awake for hours on end. His daughter was well too, loves her brother and is very capable of calming him. Enjoys telling him stories which the babe is receptive to, by all accounts.

Old Maester Cressen was very old now. More and more of his duties were being taken over by the new acolyte, Pylos.

He no longer wished Cressen, a man who had been like a father to him, to strain himself with any further risk to himself. His old Maester of Storm's End deserved peace and rest.

It would be difficult for the old man to make the return to Storm's End, the trip could very well kill him at his age and health.

He would ensure whoever took up position as future Castallen or Lord would treat the Maester kindly.

His attention returned to Lord Stark, who patiently stood there. A weary expression on his features.

"I come to ask a request of you, Lord Hand."

The nerve of this man. He had Robert's love over his own true brothers until his death, while his daughter is made a future Queen.

And now he dares to demand favours?

"I do not recall owing you anything, lord Stark." He acidly retorted.

Lord Eddard stonily remained. Hands behind his back, almost downcast.

"I come here to ask you to watch over and see my daughter is safe."

The request surprised the Storm Lord. Who finally looked up from his papers.

"And what need of me would you need for that. Your daughter is in the Red Keep, safer than many places in this world, and you will leave some of your household guards no doubt."

"Lord Stannis… you have children."

That made him drop any thoughts of work.

"What do you mean?" he replied. Now at his full height, towering over the Northern Lord.

"I ask you, as the brother of my king and friend, to watch over my daughter here…" He paused. Choosing his words. A sigh escaped his lips.

"I did not want this for Arya. I know to be Queen is an honour… but she struggles. I've tried to sooth her, to reassure her that she will learn to accept this… but she, as well as I, have heard what is said about her, what the king thinks of her and it pains me, and while she hides it, it pains her too. I ask only to think of your own daughter. I must leave for home with my family. Bran will stay too, but he fits in well here. I know our paths have rarely crossed, and that you and Robert had problems that were never resolved… but as a man of honour and integrity, you are one of the only men I trust in this city."

His eyes locked to his. Stormy grey eyes.

"Please, my lord, please ensure the well-treatment and safety of my children."

Stannis was silent. He could not truly think. To have such a man whom he has held in silent resentment, even past his own honourable reputation for many years. From Robert's almost bragging in his letters from the Eyrie, of how much more fun the old castle was with his new friend, Ned, later to bragging on how this man was more of his brother than he himself was.

For this man to trust him… he did not know what to do, or say, or think.

"My… my lord?" the low voice of the Quiet Wolf spoke, which broke him from his trance-like state.

"Yes, lord Stark, your children will be safe. You have my word."

Authors note:

Okay, I know I'm probably going to get quite a few complaints about how I exited Littlefinger from the picture this early and seemingly that easy. But here me out.

I love Littlefinger, he is one of my top characters without a shadow of a doubt, and his cold war with Varys is one of favourite conflicts and dynamics.

Problem is not knowing his endgame makes it impossible on figuring out what to do with him and do him justice.

With Varys, we know his plan: Put Aegon (quite possibly Blackfyre?) on the throne. So, I can work with that. Petyr "Chaos is a ladder" Baelish, whom even the great Preston Jacobs cannot give a real answer to? Can't do it.

Besides, it couldn't really go any other way. Stannis doesn't tolerate corruption, and he was going to make a statement.

I think it's time to expand our POVS outside of King's Landing.