Jon

'Why am I doing any of this?' Jon thought as he left his chambers and made his way down the hall, nodding to the Iron Pointe guards who stood a bit straighter when he passed. 'Don't do that,' he thought to himself bitterly, wishing he could actually say those words aloud. 'Don't stand there like I am a member of the Royal Family.'

It was everything he had ever feared. Lady Stark had hissed so many times that he was a threat to Robb, that he would try and claim his birthright. And while he wasn't the Lord of Winterfell he had still managed to rise above Robb. He was Hand of the King and until Robb was the King of the North Jon would have more power than his brother could hope to possess.

And he hated every moment of it.

"There is no use complaining about what is done," his father had told him many times. "It is done. It can't be undone. All you can do is move forward."

So Jon made sure that the pin that designated his rank was firmly attached to his vest as he walked down the stairs, watching as servants moved with crates and boxes all about him. The small section of the Red Keep that had been given to him and his household when he'd arrived was a flurry of activity, with people coming in and out. Which was so odd because every day it got a bit emptier.

"How goes it?" Jon asked Happy as he approached the head of his Household Guard.

"Well enough," Happy grunted.

"You can say it," Jon commented.

"Say what?"

"You're thrilled we're making the move."

"Hmmm," Happy murmured to himself. "I won't claim to be displeased. The Tower of the Hand will be far easier to defend."

Jon decided not to mention that Varys had warned them that there were far more secret pathways and hiding spots in the Tower of the Hand than people realized. More than their section of the Red Keep. Maegor the Cruel had not trusted his hands and thus demanded a way to be able to spy on them, creating secret paths that even now were still being discovered, since their ways were known only to him after he'd had every builder killed. While Natasha and Varys were working on making sure that they monitored those passageways (not getting rid of them as that would only alert their enemies that they were onto them and force them to get more cunning) he thought it best to leave Happy in the dark. The man might have his heart explode otherwise.

So instead Jon merely stated, "Well, I'm glad someone will be happy." He moved towards the door, passing by more servants as he made his way into the first courtyard that led to the main section of the Red Keep where the first of MANY meetings were awaiting him.

"Lord Jon," Commander Jiffsun called out, moving to match his pace with Jon's when he spotted him.

"Anything to report?"

"A few drunken fights but otherwise last night was quiet," the man replied. "With your leave I would like to do a few rounds today, make sure my men are doing what they are supposed too…"

"Go on," Jon said. "We have no Small Council meeting scheduled today… just me dealing with-" He stopped himself.

Jiffsun though smiled, sensing his unease. "You will grow less bothered by this."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jon muttered to himself as he made his way towards the Throne Room, leaving Jiffsun to head off. He would have to sit in judgment for a few hours, hearing the petitions of the people, before he would be allowed to eat his midday meal and then move on to some of the more private, but in no way less tedious, meetings. Everyone it seemed wanted to talk to him now. It was such a strange thing after having grown up in Winterfell as the boy that was seen but never noticed.

He had only just made it inside when he nearly collided with Margaery, who had been coming around a corner rather quickly.

"Oh! Lord Jon!" She proclaimed, pressing her hands to her mouth in surprise. Behind her several of her ladies in waiting trailed after; Jon was reminded of how once Bran, when he'd been just a babe, had went to feed some ducks by the Heartstree of Winterfell and ended up with them chasing after him begging for more treats. She was followed by Ser Oras Fossoway, one of the newest members of the King's Guard that Jon who had selected to keep the Tyrells happy. With only four men named to the group Jon was still working with Natasha to determine who should be added. "I didn't see you!"

'Or you were waiting for me to come around the corner for this accidental meetings,' Jon though, remembering Adrian's warning that the Tyrells were NOT to be trusted. While it might have been the delusional rantings of bitter man Natasha had felt that there was something off about the family and urged Jon to be careful around them. After all they had managed to rise rather quickly in Westeros through knowing just when to ally themselves with people… and when to stab them in the back.

Of course he didn't dare say such thoughts aloud. Didn't allow her to think he suspected a thing. His father's time as Hand of the King proved that even the man that spoke with the voice of the Crown could be cut down easily enough. Cersei wanted him dead, even with her having recently retreated to her rooms, claiming to need time to grieve over the death of her father, and she still had powerful friends. While Jon had Nat, Varys, and Oberyn (and if the man were still there he believed he may have had Namor's backing) the Tyrells were a powerful ally to have. Even if he couldn't trust them.

So instead he smiled and bowed slightly. "No worries, your grace. I was consumed with thought."

"Of course you were," she said with her own smile. "You have been busy as of late. We haven't had you dine with us all in some time."

"Only two weeks," he corrected, "and it is needed. So many deaths… while the War has come to a standstill we still must show we are strong."

"Yes, positions to fill, tasks to complete… are you headed towards the throne room?"

'As if you didn't know,' Jon thought to himself, well aware that at least one of his guards was giving info to the Tyrells… mostly because Natasha was in turn forcing him to only leak what she WANTED him to reveal. "I am. With all that has happened there has been quite the backlog of people seeking out the crown, wanting to speak to the King."

"And of course we can't have Tommen doing that just yet," Margaery stated, spinning around and threading her arm through his. "Would you escort you queen? I want to attend. I feel it my duty."

"Of course," Jon said, despite that being the very last thing he wanted to do.

"How are you handling the recent changes?" she asked as the continued on, clearly not willing to let the silence be exactly that.

"As well as any man can, I suppose. I remind myself that I am not the only one to find their lives radically altered. A few years ago I was merely the bastard of Winterfell, Lord Stark's shame."

"Sometimes I think our Dornish friends have it correct," Margaery stated. "They treat bastards so much better. If I placed two babes beside one another and told you to pick I doubt you could select the correct one."

Jon merely smiled. 'The correct one?' he thought to himself. 'You reveal yourself far too easily.' But he didn't call her out on that, as he couldn't help but wonder if she was trying to see if he actually noticed her mistake. 'I hate these games. Prove myself too smart and I'm a threat. Prove myself too dumb and I'm a threat. Prove myself just right… and I still could be a threat. Damn the South and their constant shifting and twisting.'

"Still, you must not think of yourself in those terms anymore," she continued. "I know that it must be hard… I imagine Lady Stark was not an easy woman to please-"

"Would you be pleased if Tommen brought home a bastard?" Jon asked.

"You blame your father?"

"Wouldn't you?" he pressed. "A man can love their father and still see them as more than a white statue upon a hill."

"I suppose you are right. All have their faults." She laughed. "Just ask my grandmother! She is all the willing to lay to bare all our mistakes, mine included. Still, even with all of the errors we have made we find ourselves right where we need to be."

It didn't miss Jon's notice that Margaery gripped his arm just a bit harder. He wondered if she were dreaming of him and Tommen swapped, that he be the king rather than the boy. It must have been hard for her, knowing that it would be at least 7 years before he could bed her. Perhaps more. In that time much could happen, just as she had stated. Her position wasn't as stable as she might have liked.

It… almost made him pity her.

Almost.

"Presented Queen Margaery Tyrell and Lord Jon Stark, Hand of the King and Regent of his Grace King Tommen Baratheon!" the crier called out and at once all in the throne room turned to see him.

The crowd was far larger than it had been when Lord Tywin had sat in judgment. Then it had been a healthy amount of people but now everyone in the Red Keep and many who dwelled in the more wealth parts of King's Landing were gathered in a crush of bodies. They hungered for a show. They didn't know how Jon would be as Hand and they wanted to observe him. He knew many were hoping he'd be a failure they could mock.

Jon forced himself to look straight ahead, repeating over and over in his head that it was perfectly fine for him to be escorting Margaery as he was… even as he felt the heated stares and knew by nightfall the whispers would begin that he was bedding her. Margaery must have known the same and he wondered why she would take that risk. She couldn't believe it would only harm him… women were always judged far more harshly for such things than men. She wasn't naïve. So why?

He put those thoughts out of his head as she finally let go and moved to stand off to the side, leaving him to move to the Iron Throne. He stared at the thing in disgust, wishing he could melt it right back down into the swords it had once been.

"It is okay to be cautious," Maester Pycelle told him as he trottled up to him. "Take it slow and I am sure you won't cut yourself."

Jon huffed. "The Mad King ordered my grandfather be burned from that seat. Surely you remember, Grand Maester… you were there."

The old man stilled at that and Jon ascended, finally taking a seat.

'Aegon said that he made the Iron Throne because he wanted the most uncomfortable seat in the Seven Kingdoms. That a King should never be comfortable.' Jon mentally scoffed at that. 'No… the ass just wanted to remind everyone of the swords that he had claimed.' He carefully settled himself, doing his best to sit down so he didn't slash his arms up on the damn thing. There were all sorts of little barbs and spikes upon the Iron Throne from the many different swords that had been used to make it and according to Varys it seemed like every week a new one would appear. It was supposed to be blasphemous to demand it cared for as if was the chair of Aegon the Conqueror, greatest of the Targaryen king. But every king had at least once asked for someone to come in and file away this little sharp spot or that. The problem with the Iron Throne though was that it was made up of all matter of swords, forged in a multitude of ways, and then forced together through the hands of a… well, quite frankly shit blacksmith. Aegon was many things but an artist he wasn't. As such the swords never had truly graphed together and thus the weight of the throne would cause pieces to break off, creating new dangers.

The Iron Throne had originally been 40 feet tall from base to headrest but it had begun to shrink down even during the time of Aegon as swords fell off of it. The Targaryens had always been quick to cover that up, claiming that people were just 'misremembering'. It was feared that the smallfolk would think the tearing apart of the throne would been seen as the tearing apart of the kingdoms.

'Which is a load of shit because if that were true the moment Joffrey sat on this thing it would have split in half.'

"As His Grace continues to prepare for the time when he will take the throne," and for Jon that couldn't come soon enough, "I will rule in his stead."

What followed was an hour of petty grievances, boot licking, and political games. This baker wanted to force his competitor to open an hour later… because the petitioner liked to sleep in and hated that he was already an hour behind when he finally started work. A group of fishermen wanted the court to use their catch for a feast and just needed Jon to agree. A landed knight demanded that he be named the new Lord of the Riverlands because he could trace his family tree back to the Mudds… but only through a book that he hadn't brought with him and that couldn't leave his home. A huntsmen who came to report illegal logging in the Kingswood but let slip information that he shouldn't have known and thus revealed that HE was the man doing the logging and was trying to collect coin for tracking himself.

There were some where he was able to help them and he savored those rare moments like a starving man being given a scrap of meat. Farmers who asked assistance in dealing with those they owed money to… willing to pay but not at the sudden increase in interest that was being asked. A poor family who had lost their son and wondered if they might be given leave to travel to the Neck, where they had originally lived, in order to bury him properly. A dockmaster from Dorne who wished to discuss opening a new wharf and hadn't be able to have an audience with Prince Doran and was rather pleased when Jon promised to arrange a meeting with Oberyn.

But there were also the insane and the maddening. Claims by one rather jittery lad that beings from the stars that could turn into wagons and boats were fighting a secret war and he needed access to the castle vaults. He had been sent away by the guards, Jon demanded he not be harmed but not allowed back near the Red Keep. Then there had been the man dressed in the garb of Yi Ti even though he was clearly from the Stormlands, claiming that the reason no one had ever gotten to the Lands Beyond The Sunset Sea was a great fire breathing lizard dwelled in the waters consuming all that came near him… which was fine because beyond the Sunset was an island of skulls where a great ape as tall as the Wall roamed. On and on it went.

"…spice was lost and a bear found it!" a man who looked like he'd done far too much spice himself screamed. "The bear did spice! And now its running around killing people and trying to find more of it! That's the biggest threat to all of Westeros!"

"Yes, the spice bear," Jon said dryly, subtly motioning for the guards to take the man and let him calm down in one of the cells (not a Black Cell… he wasn't cruel). He glanced over at Pycelle who for once seemed just as disturbed as he was over that last petitioner.

"Presenting the honorable Master Tohbo Mott," the crier called out and a man of Essosi descent stepped forward. Jon narrowed his eyes as he heard several people within the throne room began to murmur to themselves, clearly annoyed that the 'foreign demon' was being allowed to approach.

Jon raised his hand. "Before I was summoned to serve King Joffrey ,the Lord of Iron Pointe, Antony Stark, had discussed teaching me the secret of reforging Valaryan Steel." With that he rose and unsheathed Shadowfang, allowing everyone to stare at it. "He forged this himself, the weapon of House Stark of Iron Pointe of the Westerlands." He returned the blade to its scabbard before continuing. "There are only five men in all the world who are acknowledged to know the method and only three have stepped foot in Westeros: Ulyssess Klaue, Antony Stark-" he gestured at blacksmith before him, "and Master Tobho Mott. If there is anyone here who knows the secret step forth now. Otherwise… I will not allow a man of his skill to be hounded by whispers."

The crowd instantly grew quiet, recognizing not only Jon's power in this matter but Tobho Mott's grand skill.

"Thank you, Lord Jon," Master Mott stated with a bow. "Your guardian's work is known to me… I wish I could state that I came here to examine Shadowfang or to show you some of my own work. But I have come seeking aid from the crown." Jon motioned for him to continue. "Last night my shop was attacked. The guards I placed within to watch over my wares were killed and damage was done to it. Taken from me were several Valyrian Steel Daggers, which I had been commissioned to turn into a new blade."

Jon frowned at that. "A hefty loss."

"Naturally the owner of the daggers is demanding repayment. I can not provide him with the sword he commissioned or the daggers he once had… and the cost of such things-"

"I do not see," Pycelle chimed in, "why this is a matter of the court. You stated yourself that you hired guards to protect your shop… it isn't our fault that you were cheap in who you hired."

"Cheap… cheap?" Mott snapped, eyes flashing with rage. "You would know cheap well, Grand Maester… only the cheapest whores for you!"

"Why I-"

"ENOUGH!" Jon roared, descending the Iron Throne, hand on Shadowfang. "This is the throne room of the Seven Kingdoms, not some barn where drunken lads go to punch one another after one too many ales! I will have ORDER!"

Mott quickly dipped his head and Grand Maester Pycelle seemed to shrink in on himself at Jon's words.

"Now then, Master Mott, I feel for you and what has happened. But the Grand Maester does bring up a point… you hired the men you did. It is your duty to protect your own shop. What business is this for the crown?"

The blacksmith, seeing that Jon wasn't dismissing him but rather wanted him to explain, squared his shoulders. "It is the business of the crown when it is ruffians that their own Gold Cloaks are unable to capture." He moved to take a step forward only to think better of it. "I arrived hours later to find the damage… and the evidence of the perpetrators." Mott looked Jon right in the eye. "It was the Spiders."

The crowd murmured at that and Jon let out a mental groan. 'Petyr… Gwen… Miles… what the fuck did you three do last night?'

"I was right!" a rather tall man cried out suddenly. He had short cut hair that must have been rather impressive when he had been young but now was peppered with silver strands. Plastered across his upper lip was a mustache that looked more like mud smeared on a child's cheek than facial hair. He wore simple but rich clothing but it was his voice, loud and powerful, that drew everyone's attention. "The Spiders are a menace and the Crown refuses to deal with them."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "And who are you to speak out of turn before the Iron Throne and the Hand of the King?"

But the man wasn't cowed. "Lord Jonah Jamison!" he called out and Jon racked his brain to figure out just who the hell that was. So many lords were nowadays coming in and out of the Red Keep that it was near impossible for Jon to remember them all. And he certainly hadn't heard of a Lord Jamison. "And don't the people deserve to know the truth about the Spiders? What are you hiding about those criminals?" Others around the man began to nod and murmur to themselves.

"The Crown hides nothing."

"So you just don't know! The Crown doesn't know what is going on! The Spiders are a threat to us all! Capturing innocent people and framing them for their crimes! How many innocent people are in the Black Cells because of you?"

Margaery chose that moment to speak up. "As many as there are men with hearing still who stand next to you." That got a chuckle out of the crowd and Jon decided that for all her underhandedness he could at least be thankful for her speaking up.

Jamison though wasn't slowing down at all even with the laughter. "The Spiders only showed up when the Tyrells did. How do we know they didn't bring them with them in order to stage these attacks and make themselves look better? Those thieves-"

"I think you've said enough," Ser Loras said, Jon blinking at how the man had suddenly just… appeared… next to Jamison. He grabbed the loud mouth Lord by the arm and began to drag him away. "Let's go have a nice walk. Maybe, if you are good, I won't give you a tour of those Black Cells you are so concerned with."

Jamison ripped his arm out of Ser Loras' grasp but allowed himself to be guided away all the same.

With that settled Jon turned once more to Master Mott, knowing that he did need to come to a decision concerning both the theft and the Spiders' involvement. He knew he couldn't deny it… that would raise too many questions. But he also couldn't quite give in, for if he did then he'd have everyone claiming Spider Sightings in order to try and get more coin from the Iron Throne.

He considered his words carefully before speaking. "When your buyer returns you will send him to the Red Keep. I will discuss with him a delay in payment while the Gold Cloaks seek out what was stolen from you. Should they be unable to recover it and your claims that it was the Spiders prove to be true then the crown will pay for the loses." It would be a hefty sum and ruin Jon's hopes that they might work to repay the Iron Bank but he couldn't allow the people to believe he turned a blind eye towards crime. 'And if need be I can consult Tony… perhaps he can find more Valyrian Steel that we might barter with… or something else this buyer desires.'

Mott bowed at that, accepting Jon's ruling and hurrying out.

"That is all for today," Jon declared, turning and moving towards the door. Several people still waiting to present their cases to him called out but Jon shook his head; they had been late to arrive and he would be holding court once more the next day and he would have them be first, assuming they showed up.

"Was that wise, Lord Jon?" Pycelle asked, hurrying to catch up to him. "That blacksmith may have been lying… it wouldn't be the first time one of their kind has claimed to have something they never actually did."

"Perhaps," Jon stated, "but that is why I plan to have Jiffsun personally examine the shop… and investigate this so-called buyer. If Master Mott is revealed to be a liar then there will only be 4 men who know the secret of reworking Valyrian Steel left in the world."

Pycelle nodded at that. "Yes… yes…"

While he didn't trust the old man at all he did have some wisdom and Jon had learned from both Tony and Natasha that one shouldn't turn away a source of information just because of trust. Even if they lied to you… their lies could tell you more than their truths some days. "Who was that man back there… Lord Jamison."

"Hmm?" Pycelle said. "Lord Jamison?"

"Grand Maester," Jon said coolly, "you know that Lord Tywin was… fond of me in his own way. We talked many times." He let that comment hang in the air and forced himself not to smile when he saw the moment the old man cottoned onto the knowledge that Jon knew the doddering old man act was just that: an act.

"Of course, I remember now," Pycelle stated as they continued on. "Lord Jamison is from the Stormlands… a minor lord and not a very popular one with his neighbors. He sided with Prince Joffrey when Stannis and Renly rebelled and thus lost his lands though I suppose with both of them gone they are his once more." The old man muttered to himself for a moment before continuing. "Though I doubt he will have much help in that, should he attempt to regain them."

"I imagine it hard for people to accept you fought against them," Jon said, careful to choose his words carefully; he was after all the son of the King of the North.

"Oh, it has nothing to do with that," Pycelle commented. "He was quite hated before the War."

"Why is that?" Jon asked.

The Grand Maester mulled the question over, finally stating, "Lord Jamison is someone who likes to gather information."

'Something common in this city,' he thought though it wasn't as bitter as it once might have been. Natasha had shown him that while he wasn't good at developing his own spies there was a worth to them.

"Yes, information. The kind that other lords wouldn't like to be revealed. Which lord has a secret bastard. Which lady has been sneaking down to visit the kennel master. Sons that claim to have done great deeds but instead are layabouts and daughters who aren't as witty and charming as their parents would have you believe. But rather than use this information to blackmail them he… reveals it."

"Reveals it?"

"Openly and loudly," Pycelle stated. "It started with… hmmm… now when was it…" Jon let the old man think, his senses telling him that for once Pycelle was not pretending to be a fool and rather was actually trying to remember something. "Ah yes… Ser Fumles. A minor knight in the Stormlands. Or at least that is what he claimed. But Lord Jamison discovered that the man had never been knighted at all, that it had been his brother who had won his spurs."

"He took his brother's accomplishment."

"No no," Pycelle said quickly. "Rather that Ser Fumles' brother, Ser Furk, donned Fumles' armor at the tournament where he was earned his knighthood. Did it for 'brotherly love' and all that. A few maids may have thought it rather beautiful but the Stormlands were in quite a fit over that. Lord Jamison wasn't coy in revealing it either… rather he held a great feast and revealed it to all the guests. His grace tried to take their titles away, of course, but when a knighthood is bestowed it can't be removed. It was just scorn and ridicule they faced. Ser Fumles and Ser Furk are better known as Ser Fumbles and Ser Fucks.

"The Stormlanders thought it amusing… until he began to look at the actions of others. His neighbors refused to allow him onto their lands, lest he go about questioning their servants or the like. He would show up to feasts and be refused entry. People would still come to his balls though. Some out of a morbid fascination with what he might reveal next… others to challenge him should he begin speaking about them. Of course Lord Jaimson is rather cunning… there is sellsword he keeps in his employ, a Dornishman named Gargan the Scorpion, who will fight his battles."

Jon made a mental note to ask Natasha to look up Gargan. "I would think that the only reason one would need to fear Lord Jamison would be if they had done something wrong."

"Oh, yes yes… that WOULD be the case…" Pycelle shook his head as they stopped at a doorway, Jon opening it for the old man. "Thank you," he said as he began to head up the stairs, a bit more spritely than one might have expected from the old man. "Now, that would be the case if Lord Jamison only told the truth."

"He lies?" Jon asked.

"What is a lie?" The Grand Maester stated. "A falsehood, of course. Something that isn't true. But while some opinions can be seen as false many more are the truth to the one speaking it. There are some that say your ancestor, King Torhen Stark, was a coward. That he should have fought against Aegon and that it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees. Others though state that he was the best king that Aegon faced for unlike the others he thought of his people rather than himself. And of those people the split occurs again. Was Torhen given proper respect, in that Aegon only asked for a handful of swords from the Northsmen and none that they actually cared for? Or should he have been given a seat on Aegon's Council for being the only man to wisely meet with him and discuss peace? What is the truth?

"The same is true for Lord Jamison. He is quick to declare men cheats and frauds and traitors… but it is always from his point of view. His vision of things. That is what makes him such a danger though… because he is a man who can drive others to think as he does." They finally left the steps and Jon could hear the cawing of ravens. "He has begun doing the same thing in King's Landing. Holding his feasts, revealing his truths. The Spiders are a common complaint of his though few believe them to be real." Pycelle shook his head. "Spiders that are the size of humans… hmmpf!" He let out a snort. "Still… he is a danger, Lord Jon. It is said that he pays poor people to shout out what he learns to the masses. His 'Buglers' he calls them."

Before the Grand Maester could say more on that however a page boy suddenly came running around a corner, huffing and puffing rather hard.

"What is the matter?" the Grand Maester said, seeing the boy panting.

"Someone has come to speak to the Hand," the boy said, gasping for air.

Jon sighed. "Court has ended, they will need to wait for tomorrow."

"But milord," the boy exclaimed, "he says it is of the greatest importance!"

"Everyone says that." He gave a tired little sigh, patting the boy on the shoulder. "I'll send a guard to get them out."

"You can't send the High Septon away!"

That caused Jon to pause. "The High Septon… is here?" The boy bobbed his head. "Why?"

"I believe to meet with you," Pycelle commented.

"Yes Grand Maester," he said with an eyeroll, "I assumed as much."

"You can not send him away-"

"Yes, Grand Maester," Jon ground out. "Where is he now?"

"I asked him remain in the Silver Room," the page said and Jon nodded at that. It was a good room to keep the man in, as it wouldn't be seen as disrespectful but it also wouldn't allow him much free range within the Red Keep. He had been worried they'd shown him to the Tower of the Hand, which wouldn't do at all. "Good… I don't want him spying on us."

"He is the Leader of the Faith," Pycelle commented, talking down to him in a way that even Maester Luwin never had at his youngest.

"Not mine," Jon retorted, already moving towards the Silver Room.

It took him a good ten minutes to arrive and he nodded to the guards before stepping inside the Silver Room. Within he found not some Septon dressed in fine robes and draped with jewels but rather a man in a simple-spun cloth robe, feet bare and hands heavily calloused, working to clean a window with a napkin and a cup of water.

"Greetings," Jon stated as the old man turned. "My apologizes for keeping you waiting. I was only now informed of your arrival. I am Jon Stark, Hand of the King."

"I am aware of who you are, Jon Stark," the old man stated with a soft smile. His hair was thin, so that it was easy to see his leathery scalp, and the skin around his mouth and nose was loose with age, causing his smile to be all the more deeper. "And I am aware that you didn't know of my arrival. I kept busy, all the same." He gestured at the window.

"Thank you," Jon said.

That caused the High Septon to consider him for a long moment. "You have no interacted with those of the Faith much, have you Jon Stark?"

"I have not," Jon admitted. "They are not found in the North… the Septa brought by my father's ladywife was the first I met."

"She wasn't kind to you, was she?" the High Septon asked. "A pity. There are those of the Faith that believe the actions of others stain a man. That your father's sins against his wife tainted you." He shook his head. "Foolishness. You are not your father so why should his sins be placed upon you? We all are sinners enough without having to deal with the crimes of others." He turned back to the window. "And I imagine your time at Iron Pointe did not afford you much chance to interact with us. Antony Stark is of the North."

"He is but he doesn't believe in much, even the Old Gods." Jon was careful with how he worded that, wanting to see how the High Septon would react to the mention of the North's faith.

"Yes, Lord Antony's… ways… are quite known."

"His blasphemy, you mean," Jon said with a shake of his head, moving over to the window the High Septon was working on.

"You see it as wrong."

"I see no reason to insult anyone for believing in something, so long as that belief doesn't cause harm."

The High Septon nodded at that. "I suppose that it is quite wrong of me to say, considering the position I find myself in, but I have often found myself looking to your Northern believes with a bit of envy."

"Envy?" Jon asked, noticing a spot that the High Septon hadn't been able to reach. He held out his hand and after a moment the High Septon passed him the cloth, staring at him in bemusement as Jon set about cleaning the upper part of the window. Oh, he knew exactly what the man had been going for… he was rather sure he had purposely left bits of the window dirty just so he could clean it in front of Jon. But he could play the game just as well as the man and aimed to do so. "Are Septons allowed to feel envy?"

"They are. In fact they are allowed to feel many emotions. The feeling itself isn't the sin… it is how we treat and react to them."

"Maester Luwin was fond of saying that every emotion had a good and a bad side. Anger could lead to violence but also a drive for justice. Despair was crippling but it also proved that one had once loved and could still do so again. I suppose envy can motivate you to try and gain that which you don't have."

"Yes, quite," the High Septon stated. "The Faith has become too focused on wealth and standing, much like the rest of Westeros. We have our gilded halls and our grand statues… but a crown of gold never fed a man. Never warmed a babe from a winter chill. Never healed a sick woman. You Northerners… you do not need such things to worship your gods. You have the rocks and the stones and the trees. You go out in the crisp morning air and say your prayers and then seek to lead good lives. Same as the Faithful… but you have more coin in your pocket to help others."

"You know much of our faith," Jon said, surprised.

The High Septon smiled at that, holding up the cup of water so Jon could dab the rag in it. "Yes yes… the Faith sees you as godless heathens and you see us as pampered fools. But your faith teaches the same as our own… why can the Seven not be your Old Gods with a different name?"

'Because the Seven never cared for a bastard like me,' he thought, remembering the harsh words the Septa had dripped into Lady Stark and Sansa's ears concerning him. Out loud though Jon said, "I imagine you had more you wished to speak to me about, other than a pleasant discussion about faith."

"It has been pleasant, has it not?" the High Septon said as Jon finished the window. "But yes, you are right… I have come to discuss more with you." He ambled over to the table and sat down, Jon joining him. "I have been elected High Septon. There are those that mock me with the title of High Sparrow but they might call me whatever they wish… so long as I am able to do my duty and serve the people of Westeros and guide them to better lives. Mockery I can accept. Sin I can not. And the Faith has become full of it.

"Change is coming to the Faith. I have begun meeting with representatives from all across Westeros and Essos as well in order to sell off our gold and jewels. The coin will be better served feeding and clothing the poor of King's Landing. The Sept of Baelor will be opening their doors to those that need shelter… so long as they abide by our rules."

"And those are?" Jon asked.

"Oh, nothing dangerous or damaging. Crime will not be accepted. One who has sinned will be forgiven but should they fall again they must… atone." The way he said the word made it clear it wouldn't be chants and prayers that the sinners would need to perform. "There will be no need to steal for we will give to all. The whores will find other ways to spend their days…" He looked at Jon but he merely stared back; while he did not fault those who sought out such things he had never desired a whore and never would. "I seek to merely aid and teach."

"A noble mission," Jon commented.

"It is." He looked about the Silver Room. "The Crown owns the Faith 1 million gold dragons. It is a large debt… and would do much to help us in our quest."

"I am already working on that," Jon stated.

The High Septon raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh?"

"Yes. My new Master of Coin is doing much as you are, cataloging the Red Keep for items we might sell. When King Robert took the Throne-" and Jon didn't miss how the High Septon flinched at that name, "-he wished to destroy much of the Targaryen Legacy but was stopped by his advisors. Had he had his way the plume of black smoke would have been seen from the Wall as he burned it all. Instead it has been placed in the deepest cellars… and I intend to bring it back up. The bones of the dragons alone will be able to cover our debt to you."

The High Septon smiled at that… a forced smile. "That is good. Very good. I am pleased to hear that."

'What were you hoping for, old man?' Jon thought to himself. 'What were you longing for us to give you instead?'

He decided that it would be a wise idea to keep a closer eye on the Sept of Baelor… and the Sparrow that had begun to nest there.

~MC~MC~MC~

OMAKE 1

"Will someone remove that crazy man?" Cersei demanded, looking first at Tywin and then at the man with golden hair, green eyes, and clothed in the tattered remains on a Lannister doublet, a sword that looked a LOT like Brightroar in his hand.

"No… he's not crazy," Tywin said, eyes casted down, ashamed. "It's… it's true. I'm… an imposter. That man is the real Tywin Lannister!"

Everyone gasped.

King Robert stared straight ahead. 'Keep looking shocked and move slowly towards the cake…'

OMAKE 2

Myrcella frowned as Tommen leaned over the seat of their litter. "I heard your dad went to a restaurant and ate the restaurant, and they closed the restaurant."

Deciding not to try and remind Tommen that her father was his father she simply said, frustrated, "My father may have gained a little bit of weight but he's not some kind of food crazed maniac!"

But anything else she said was stopped by the sight of King Robert riding in a wagon filled with northern beer and sausages, happily scarfing them down.

"Aawwwwww," Myrcella moaned.