"Your Grace?"

I glanced up. Myrcella Baratheon, older than Joffrey or Tommen, who were slain by the boar which pierced Robert, all three dead, Cersei in mourning, Casterly Rock a shroud, leaving me the heiress.

I followed Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard around me, into the throne room of the Red Keep, where all eyes were upon me. I was of age, I was queen absent a coronation, a Baratheon and a Lannister, and I took my place atop the Iron Throne.

"It is done, Your Grace," Ser Barristan leaned into my ear, and I nodded. "We did lose a half dozen good men. Yet Lord Renly and Ser Loras are our highborn captives."

I gave a nod, and faced Ned Stark approaching from the other end, with northern guards and the gold cloaks lining the walls. Petyr Baelish, Varys, Pycelle in attendance. The Kingsguard fanned out in front of me, Cersei though stoic her eyes red, and Ned revealed a sheaf.

"King Robert made me Protector of the Realm," announced Ned.

Cersei promptly took his parchment, and tore it in two. With this Ned then followed:

"Myrcella is no true heir. She is an abomination, born of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister."

"Seize Ned Stark and his men," I called out, deliberately, and as Ned called for the gold cloaks to strike, he whirled as they struck his own men.

I stood on the steps of Baelor, much as assembled in the throne room, with Ned his head bowed before Ser Ilyn Payne, looking upon the crowd who threw rotten fruit and worse. There was the richness of gold and crimson in my gown, and the crown which sat atop my curls, and I turned to the crowd, while Sansa wept, Cersei remained stoic, my counselors watched.

"Ned Stark has proclaimed his crime, and he is forgiven by the crown in the way of life at the Wall," I said, to mutters and glares, " Once the war is over."

As I walked away, Ser Barristan leaned into my ear.

"We have found Arya Stark, Your Grace. She is kept under armed guard."

I nodded at this. "I shall meet my small council in the chambers."

I sat at the head of the table, at which Varys, Pycelle and Petyr were quick to curry favor. Cersei sat at my right side, and Ser Barristan, unusually, attended within. I raised my head.

"Ser Barristan. There are oft some tasks which I may call you upon, which would you swear your blade to me?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Then at once, slay Petyr and Varys on your word ."

It was done, and Cersei and Pycelle stared, and Ser Barristan wiped the blood from his blade.

"There is much to tell, and little of it now relevant," I spoke, to the remaining two. "We have now, on the Trident, a victory from my grandfather who has bested Roose Bolton's force and taken many heads and hostages, and from my uncle, who escaped Robb Stark's trap and took many heads and hostages. The northern threat is no more, the Freys curling in disgrace, the Eyrie silent, Riverrun remains besieged, and the remainder river vassals too weak to fight back."

Cersei glowed, Pycelle warbled, Ser Barristan silent. All thought the same thing, how could a girl of sixteen know such things?

"With Renly and Loras our hostages, Storm's End and Highgarden are taken ill. Stannis Baratheon, doubtless, hopes to claim his home before marching on the capital."

"And Lord Tyrell, Your Grace?" asked Pycelle. "He is not like to keep waiting with his son in chains."

"He attacked our men as we took Renly. Lord Tyrell will present himself, and if he does not, if it comes to it, a wedding to his Willas may be the cost. Yet I would see Lord Tyrell's army prove itself by taking Storm's End if they do not bend, and certainly against Lord Stannis."

"What does Father say?" asked Cersei.

"Stannis has not the men to strike, and Storm's End cannot rally if the Tyrells might go against them. We have hostages to enforce it. Dorne will stay out of action. Yet while Jaime besieges Riverrun and can encounter no issue, there is no need for Father to return here, where the roseroad has been blocked off… "

"I believe, for now, he will rest at Harrenhal with his captives, taking what errant northerners remain, claiming the rest of the riverlands, thwarting what might include an Arryn strike."

"What of the Greyjoys?" Pycelle asked. "When your uncle took Robb Stark, he also took Theon Greyjoy. The ironborn are claiming land in the north."

"Let them," I spoke clearly. "It shall not be long before Stannis attempts a fight against Storm's End or here; he shall not win. The Tyrells will be bound to our cause one way or another; and Storm's End, to either end, capitulated or defeated."

I turned to Cersei.

"It is only sad that I have lost my brothers."

Cersei nodded, ever stoic, ever grasping to rule herself ; and then I turned my head.

"That should conclude matters for the moment. As for appointments, I believe Father will send uncle Tyrion in his stead. He will have his own company of escorts. He will be master of coin, while grandfather will be Hand when he returns."

"My daughter," Cersei peered, all suspicion. "How can you be so certain?"

I stared into her eyes. "Because I am just like grandfather, and then I am not."

I rose, and with a swirl of my skirts, was watched afterwards, and contemplated, that all, surely, could never be as certain as all that …