TW: An insulting term for certain people with mental disorders.

Jon

"Why are we doing this again?" Pycelle grumbled as the wagon continued on, rocking him back and forth and nearly causing him to spill out onto the wooden floor.

The wagon they were all sitting in… well, Jon knew that if he called it a 'wagon' he would get a lot of dismissive looks and sneers, even if he was Regent and Hand of the King. It was a grand thing, so large that even along the wide streets of King's Landing no other wagon or horse could pass and thus they were forced to send out riders ahead of them to clear the street. It was 6 feet off the ground due to having multiple wheels to prevent the axle from shattering and was so tall that Jon could have placed Jiffsun on his shoulders and the man wouldn't have been able to touch the very top of it. The benches were padded and there was a table in the center that, when the wagon was still, would allow them all to dine if they so wished. The windows could quickly be closed with colored glass if they so desired but at the moment were left open, allowing them all the ability to stare out at King's Landing.

There was another bump and Grand Maester Pycelle was nearly thrown from his seat again but Ser Kevan managed to grab his arm in time though, keeping the old man from utterly embarrassing himself. Still, it was a near thing and had the Grand Maester shaking his head.

Jon wanted to shake his head too but for an entirely different reason. 'Is it worth pretending that you are so feeble when you have to make such a mockery of yourself?' He liked to think that he would have been able to spot that the old man was a fraud without Natasha informing him of that bit of information. He noticed how Pycelle made sure to throw himself about only when he thought people were watching. That he was careful to move his arms and legs in a way so that he wouldn't actually be hurt by what he was doing but it would just look that way. How if he were startled he suddenly called upon wells of strength that shouldn't have been there. But he could never be fully sure if he was noticing things just because Natasha had made him begin to look for them or if they were things that he would have noticed right away.

King's Landing and its games… they hurt his head so much.

"It is a lovely day," Varys said as he fanned himself with a Yi Ti paper fan that was printed to depict a large lizard fighting a furry creature holding an axe. "And for once the wind is shifting the right way to make the normal… well, the normal King's Landing… airs far more tolerable."

'Varys pretends to be a giggling girl who gets vague whispers about what is going on, that he has a disturbing interesting in children, and that he fears fighting and finds it a horrid thing. But I've seen him and Nat fight.' That had been an eye opener. Even in his robes (for Varys had said that by this point he was far more used to fighting in them than he was without) he had been able to match her blow for blow, dodging and ducking and weaving in ways that felt wrong for someone his size. 'The worst he's done to children is kill their abusive parents and gotten them out of King's Landing. And that man has killed more men than I have and not just with his words.'

Mace Tyrell looked about, as if it were the first time he'd ever seen King's Landing. "Such an interesting city… this is the Street of Silk, yes?"

"No," Ser Kevan stated. "This is the Street of Steel."

"Of course, of course."

'The Fat Flower. The Retarded Wretch of the Reach. A fool who has bumbled his way through life, laughing at a joke even though he doesn't realize that it is at his expense.' Jon forced himself not to narrow his eyes and glare at Mace. 'At least that's what the Court thinks of him. According to what Nat has found Mace Tyrell isn't a fool in the slightest. People thought that Adrian of the Tombs was being paranoid when he claimed that Mace and the Tyrells were working against him, plotting every failure and misery he suffered. He might have been selling Mace short.'

According to Natasha there were certain things that made her rather… concerned… with Mace Tyrell's power within Westeros. Men he had hired and taken into his confidence. They themselves weren't a danger but they were friendly with others who were friendly with others… 'plausible deniability' is what she had called it, a fancy term for 'if someone gets caught it will never be traced directly back to the lord'. She and Varys had looked into the wealth of the Reach and the amount of coin the Tyrells controlled didn't match up with what was being brought in through the fruits, vegetables, and grains that they sold. Connections to Essos that would seem rather innocent at first until one truly began to look at them, searching for things and discovering that the ties were a bit… off.

'That man is no fool. He just plays the role so well we can't believe he is anything but.' Even knowing all he did he had times where he wanted to roll his eyes at the man's comments. And then he'd realize that was what Mace WANTED.

"Believe me, if we were on the Street of Silk with the wind blowing in this direction we'd be able to smell much fish," Oberyn stated.

"That shows how little you know of King's Landing," Mace said smugly. "We are no where near the sea nor the Street of Flies."

Oberyn had merely smirked at that and Jon saw several of the Small Council wince as they realized just what he had been getting at.

'Everyone thinks that Oberyn is a hot headed fool who thinks only with his cock. He's done much to make them believe that. The man studied at the Citadel and from what Nat says there are many there who mourn his leaving as they feel he had one of the most cunning minds of their time. They think he is full of rage and he is but the fact he hasn't killed any of them… in fact he hasn't done more than be disrespectful… should have made them see that Oberyn had far greater control over his emotions than anyone gives him credit for. Yes, he likes to sleep with anything that moves but considering some of the vices people have there is worse than visiting the whores. And none have ever spoken a bad word of him.'

Jon knew… he had checked, just in case, during Oberyn's visit to Iron Pointe. All the whores,who had tried to get him to… 'sample their wares', had only spoken of the kindness of the man.

On and on and on it went. Everyone hiding themselves. Everyone creating fake personas. Again and again and again. Lies fell from their lips like the rains fell from the skies. Ser Kevan, Lord Otto, Jiffsun. He wondered what other lies they were telling. False versions of themselves that they were presenting to the world.

'Like you aren't?' a voice that sounded like Tony taunted him but Jon brushed that off. He was lying to 1) keep himself from being brutally murdered by the Lannisters for several reasons and 2) keep the people from sticking him on the Iron Throne and forcing him to rule Westeros. But the rest of the Small Council? They lied about everything. And they enjoyed lying. And they seemed to find new reasons to lie every day. Spinning more and more lies. Treating their lies like a mummur putting on a new performance. Donning a new outfit and going onto the stage to pretend to be this person or that. The giggling eunuch. The bent back old man with memory problems. The passionate sex addict with anger issues. The Bumbling lord. The lied and they lied and thought that was all that mattered.

Thinking that their lies mattered because that was what was most important.

And THAT was why he was making them do this.

"What does the Small Council do?" Jon asked them, glancing at them from his seat, staring out the window rather than turning his head in their direction.

"Lord Jon?" Jiffsun said, confused.

"What does the Small Council do?" he repeated. "If you can't answer that then my reason for asking is proven."

Ser Kevan considered him for a long moment before responding, "We see to the rule of the Realm. Ensure that peace and stability is maintained."

"Peace and Stability. For the people."

"Well… yes."

Jon nodded. "Tell me then, Ser Kevan… has peace ever filled a man's belly? Has stability ever protected a woman from a rapist?"

"Such things come because of peace and stability," Pycelle said, speaking slowly like Jon was a small child.

"You're right, of course," Jon said. "You know that. I know that… despite what you might think. Peace and Stability are important." The Small Council continued to stare at him; Varys the most curious and Oberyn the most bored… or at least looking the most bored. Jon didn't doubt the man was actually clinging to his every word. "But do THEY know that?"

Slowly all the members of the Small Council looked out the window.

"We like to think that the people of the Seven Kingdoms raise their glasses to toast their lords and their King. That they thank them for the lives they are able to live. That they understand that the laws are there to protect them and that the lords make sure that the complexities of the world are smoothed over. That they don't need to…" he waved at Mace, "negotiate with the cities of Essos to sell their grains and goods. Or arrange for Maesters to be available for those that can see them for their healing.

"But the people don't think about such things. They pray for fair weather and healthy children. They don't know what we do and honestly they don't care. They see this grand carriage-" That was the name they preferred over wagon; carriage. It was fancy and royal and made them feel powerful. "-and they don't look at it with merely awe. They instead feel rage that we have what they don't and they desire nothing more than to rip us from these benches and take our seats. Same with the guards that march alongside and the man in charge of the horses. Oh, we pay them so we have earned a touch more respect… but they still see us as worthless."

"I don't know about that…" Mace said with a frown. "The people know how hard we all work for them."

"They see our soft hands that have never held a shovel or a rake and our pale skin that has never been burnt by the sun during a hard day's work and wonder why we have some much when they have so little."

That made Lord Otto click his tongue. "You paint a rather dark picture, don't you Lord Jon?"

"If I offered the smallfolk a choice… if I told them "Slit these men's throat, no threat of punishment, and I will give you each a single gold dragon" do you think any of us would live more than 10 minutes?" Jon shook his head. "You overestimate how much we matter to them. If we all dropped dead tomorrow there would be a brief amount of terror in King's Landing but the rest of Westeros would continue on as if nothing had happened." He held out his arms. "That is our legacy, good sers."

He could see they wanted to argue with him. Tell him how he was wrong and didn't understand that they were so very important. That they mattered and the people respected them or loved them or feared them. But Jon didn't let them spout those lies off as they had every other lie they had ever told.

"Do you why certain kings are loved and certain ones are hated? It isn't because they did some grand deeds that are remembered for the ages. Plenty of kings have fought in wars that brought victory or created new laws or signed new treaties. What makes a king loved is that the people see them as a person rather than a far off object. Because when a man is just some distant thing, foreign to his people like the wild beasts of the Shadowlands, it is easy to turn him rather quickly into the source of all your pain and misery. Grand Maester, I am sure you can tell us of members of previous Small Councils that were hated despite being skilled in their roles purely because they were seen as 'the other'."

The Grand Maester murmured at that before finally bobbing his head. "Well… yes. Yes there have been plenty-"

Jon cut him off. "The great kings understand that they must be among their subjects, be seen as someone that is worthy of being defended and honored, if they wish to be honored. Aegon dined with the common soldiers. His heirs made their great tours. Alysanne earned the eternal love of the Night's Watch not merely through selling her jewels but for staying within their walls, dining in their halls, and drinking their black beer and declaring it sweet. Even Robert understood that and good sers we all can say now that Robert wasn't a good king-" He heard someone gasp, ready to protest, but he pushed on, "-but he was loved."

The argument never came.

"Tommen is too young to travel and meet with the people," Jon said firmly. "But if we wish to give him a proper kingdom to rule he must be set up so there is no chance of failure. And that will only happen if we get the people to love those that represent him." He glanced at Varys. "Yes, people do not loves Spiders. Nor vipers. Or octopuses. But we-"

"Octopi."

Jon blinked at that interruption.

"What?"

Lord Otto smiled. "It isn't Octopuses." He worked his mouth, as if he had bitten into something sour and rotten. "It is Octopi."

He stared at the men for a long moment before nodding. "We must show that we understand the people and are worthy of the power they have given us."

The carriage came to a stop and Jon rose, moving to the door at the back and opening it. Steps were just being settled down but he leapt down without using them, bending his knees so he ended up in a crouch before he rose up, looking about and smiling at what he saw.

"We are ready."

He heard the Small Council murmur to themselves as they looked about the large square. It was one that was normally used for mummur performances, festivals, and summertime feasts. Roughly three times the size of the throne room of the Red Keep, the square was unique in the fact that there was nearly nothing within it most days. King's Landing was a cramped place that seemed to forever be pressing in on itself, trying to jam more things together. Alleyways felt like they were shrinking on a daily basis and houses seemed to grow upon each other. And what places had been forced to be kept open still ended up being filled with other bits and pieces of things. Fountains. Raised stone planters full of shady trees. Statues. So many statues. Jon had seen more statues of Aegon the Conqueror than he'd ever thought possible; apparently Robert had thought of having them all destroyed but had been talked out of it because of… well, he wasn't for sure why. Varys probably knew.

But the square that they were in had been left empty for the many different events that were held in King's Landing that were deemed not important enough for the Red Keep (and even then it felt like at times as if the castle were suffering the same problem as the rest of the city). A large open space to set up whatever one wanted.

And Jon had set up plenty.

"Did you order my men behind my back to come here?" Jiffsun demanded, sounding rather annoyed.

Jon hid his wince. "Only because I knew you'd say no." Natasha had been rather angry with his plan, saying that it was far too risky for him to be out and about in the same place for too long. That was why he knew she was currently stalking about the rooftops, making sure no one with a crossbow was waiting to shoot him through the throat. "Hate me, not them."

"I have plenty of hate for all of you," Jiffsun replied.

"So, what exactly is this?" Otto asked as he adjusted his glasses; Jon winced, realizing that the light was probably not doing well for him. He was thankful he had at least thought to have covers put over all the tables to provide some shade. He'd need to make sure Otto's wasn't ever in the direction of the sun.

"Once the Targaryens held open air courts where all could come and speak with them. Alysanne had her Women's Courts but there were also Open Courts where all could approach the king."

"We have that at the Red Keep," Pycelle informed him with a sniff.

"We have a grand castle that takes the smallfolk half a day to reach and then they must stand in line to find out if they will be heard. All of this is determined by servants who believe it is their right, and their right alone, to determine if their problems deserve to be heard. I was selected by Tommen to rule in his name… and all of you were selected to help me. Masters of our own domains. But can a lord, a Small Council member, or a king truly say they rule if they are coddled like children?"

"I don't think people coddle me," Mace said and Oberyn snickered at that, though he quickly hid his smile behind his hand… but also doing it in a way that made clear to all he WAS smiling because he wanted someone to comment on that.

Ser Kevan though frowned. "I do not like the idea that things are being hidden from us."

"Nor do I like the idea that people can not easily speak with us," Jiffsun said with a frown. "I've worked hard to try and make people more comfortable with the Gold Cloaks after what happened with Slynt…"

Jon didn't miss how EVERYONE, even those that hadn't actually met the man, glowered at the mention of his name.

"That is why I have set up this Open Court. We will each have a stall, with guards set up for our protection. But it will allow us to talk to the smallfolk, to hear their problems and determine just what we can do to help them. To understand what their real problems are. And in turn let them see that we are people they can trust with their problems."

Pycelle began to sputter at that. "You… you can not be serious, Lord Jon. It is not our place-"

"Our place isn't to serve the people of the realm?" Jon countered. "I would have thought you, of all people here, would have embraced this. Are you, or are you not, a Knight of the Mind, who wears his chains to show that he has bound himself with knowledge FOR THE GOOD OF WESTEROS." He took a step forward, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching into a dark smile. "Westeros is its people. Without them we'd all die within a week. Do you know how to harvest grain? Bake bread? Obtain clean water? It is the servants and the smallfolk who allow us to live and we will do what we must to help them now."

"I… that is…" Pycelle took a moment and puffed himself up. "This is below us. A good lord has others that do these tasks for them. You show your commoner roots, Lord Jon."

"My brother Tywin used to enjoy catching his own fish."

Jon glanced over at Ser Kevan, interested in why the man had finally spoken up.

"He liked skinning his own deer and boars when he took them. Found simple pleasure in preparing his own meals. Said it reminded him of what truly mattered." Ser Kevan looked to Jon. "I do not think this is something my brother would have done… and perhaps that is a good thing. Too many saw him only as some creature from a story rather than a man and while that is helpful with one's enemies it does not do well with one's subjects."

Jon nodded. "Joffrey's mistake was that he was far too sheltered from the world. Aegon the Conqueror met often with the Smallfolk. Jaehaerys. Baelor the Blessed. Aegon the Unlikely. And if they could not directly then they sent family or trusted advisers to do so."

Now it was Oberyn's turn to speak up. "You say that we should delegate this to others? And what happens when they delegate it to others because they feel it below them? And those delegate themselves. On and on until it takes 20 minute to learn a simple message. But I suppose this can be forgiven… certain men clearly lack conviction to get their hands dirty… or the balls." He purposely looked down. "If they take your cock at the Citadel then I truly am glad I left when I did."

"You… they did not-"

"It is not a matter of missing such things that give him pause," Varys said with a titter. "For I think this is a wonderful idea and look forward to it."

Mace had been… very quiet… during the entire conversation and Jon had almost missed it. The man normally loved to thrust himself into any conversation but now Jon noticed how he had stepped back, remaining silent and allowing the others to talk. 'Trying to see which way the winds will blow?' he thought as Varys, Oberyn, and even Jiffsun began to comment about how they liked the idea. 'With Ser Kevan on my side I now have the numbers. Lord Otto is too new to the Small Council to risk standing against them. And you won't side with Pycelle because he offers too little. As such…'

"A fine idea, Lord Jon!" Mace said cheerfully. "Perhaps I should send a raven to my boy Willis, to suggest that he do this as well. After all, the Reach is vast and filled with many people and the trips to Highgarden are hard for farmers to make. I can see it now… a grand open air court in the middle of fields filled with ripen fruit. A throne room made of cornstalks with one of my strong and capable sons listening to our people…"

'If I give him another hour he'll claim this was his idea and he 'inspired' me to do it,' Jon thought to himself with a slight smile. "You'll be happy to know that the Kingsguard will have some representation here… Ser Loras of course will be at your side…"

But Mace shook his head at that. "Oh no… please no, Lord Jon." He chuckled. "I would just embarrass him. A boy needs to be away from his father at some point, in order for him to grow. You understand that, of course. Please, honor him by having him protect you."

Jon silently accepted and Mace moved to one of the covered tables, the other members of the Small Council moving to their own. Pycelle was one of the last to do so, muttering under his breath the entire time. That left him with just Lord Otto, who looked about with a slight smile.

"A good decision, Lord Jon," he said.

"Just Jon, if you would."

"Only if you call me Otto," he replied back. "And it remains… this is a good idea. I'd rather enjoy not ending up like Jaehaerys the Wise's most famous Master of Coin."

"I hope that not be your fare as well," Jon commented.

Otto though didn't move.

"…you've made an enemy of Pycelle," Otto stated. "He will not forget this insult."

"Otto… everyone on the Small Council is my enemy."

That made the bulky man smirk, patting him on the shoulder with a heavy hand that nearly brought Jon to his knees. Otto might talk in a cultured voice and look like a knight gone to seed… but he had power within his body.

"You might just survive us all yet," he said before he moved to his booth, his servant that was forever a shadow following after him.

Jon shook his head, glancing up wondering if he could spot Nat and knowing that was crazy because his wife would never be spotted-

-and then he saw her, a flirty little smile on her lips as she stepped into view… just before she lifted up her shirt and flashed him.

"Gods damn it, Natasha," he muttered to himself as the damn minx disappeared back into her little hideaway.

What followed was both better and worse than Jon could have hoped for. Better in that while people were at first nervous approaching them all, thinking this might be some sort of trap (he heard one mutter that it felt like an excuse to find people to imprison and he had to admit Joffrey and Aerys would have considered such a scheme… if not for the fact that it would mean that they would have to actually leave their gilded rooms and spend time with their 'lessers') eventually a steady stream of people began to move into the courtyard. It was also far more peaceful than he'd expected, having been prepared for pushing, shoving, and perhaps cowpies being thrown their way. He had heard about the riots of King's Landing when Joffrey had foolishly gone for a walk after seeing his sister off and attracted the rage of the city. He had been ready to show that the new reign was not like the little bastard's. But the people seemed more concerned about getting a chance to plead their case than hurling insults at him.

That said… the issues brought up weren't pleasant.

Jon had gotten a scribe for each table, to take notes, and as the man at his own, Travor, rubbed his aching wrist Jon made a mental note to give him a bit more compensation for the trouble he was going through.

'Its endless,' he thought to himself bitterly as yet another citizen of the city spoke of the troubles they endured. 'A million problems that need to be fixed.' He remembered Maester Luwin talking about how King's Landing had never been truly planned, allowed to just grow into the city it had become, and as such it had far more problems than most other cities had to deal with. Merchants, who had left their apprentices in charge of their shops when they'd learned of the Open Court, spoke of being unable to expand because the streets were too cramped and there was laws about how tall one could build a shop. Women spoke of the threats they faced, be they from neighbors, strangers, or their own families. Children left disappointed because somehow a rumor had spread that he was going to adopt one of them to become his heir and take them to a keep filled with treats and run by dwarves who were forever singing.

On and on and on.

'I can fly,' Jon thought to himself. 'I have the ability to soar through the air. The blast out energy beams that can shatter stone. I am the Hand of the King and acting Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, with power and wealth grasped in my fingers.' He listened on as an old man spoke of his grandson, too sick to get out of bed, and how the maesters that were supposed to travel and help the sick of King's Landing never seemed to come to Flea Bottom. 'And I can't help them all.'

"The poor souls," Ser Loras said as the old man shuffled away after Jon had assured him that he would look into why the Maesters weren't doing as they were supposed to. Jon could see that despite his words the man didn't believe a word he had said. A servant mentioned that Jon would be given a moment to rest and drink and he accepted a goblet of watered down wine, taking a sip from it. "They are told in their little villages that King's Landing is a place where anything can happen and the smallest man can rise up to be wealthy and powerful. They arrive here full of hopes and dreams and end up ground up by the miller's stone that is this place." He glanced at Jon. "Something has to change, doesn't it?"

"It does." He could see near the back of the square some cunning merchants were setting up hastily made stands so they might sell food and drink to those waiting. Others would have grown angry at that, seeing them as taking advantage of the people that had come to the Open Court but Jon merely saw it as practical. If someone needed a drink or a bite to eat wasn't it better that it was right there? If it cost too much they could either leave the line to find cheaper foodstuffs or wait til they were done. "Make sure that there is no price gouging," Jon said to one of the Goldcloaks who passed by.

"My lord?"

"You must know how much a bit of bread stuffed with meat costs," Jon said. "Or a wine skin. You patrol these streets and known what is a fair price. If anyone is trying to charge an unreasonable amount I want them brought to me. I am fine with men making a bit of coin but I will not allow them to rob these people blind." He frowned when he spotted one woman reclining on a crate, purposely spreading her legs to reveal her lack of undergarments. "Remove any whore. Gently… but I will not have children scarred by their actions."

"I will spread the word," the Goldcloak whispered.

Jon glanced at Ser Loras who nodded in approval. "Fair, Lord Jon." He was silent for a long moment. "…I wonder how much of this-" he gestured at the hundreds that still waited to be heard, "-is because of old men that have not seen that their time is over and they must step aside. That is the problem with the old… they believe that because they have lived long lives that means they are wise and the rest of us are stupid. I have found, more often than not, that it means they are completely out of touch with the world and how it works."

Jon merely nodded at that, knowing that Ser Loras was fishing for something.

"My father… he is a good man and has many dreams for our house… but I can't help but wonder if it isn't time for him to accept that while he might have such dreams… that doesn't mean they are for him." Ser Loras smiled at that, just as sharp as Natasha's own smile just before she suggested murder wasn't merely the easily solution but the best one. "That is the problem with dreamers, Jon… they don't realize that sometimes the dreams they wish to be reality aren't for them. They are the builders of the dreams… but not the ones that will benefit."

Jon forced himself not to frown at that. 'Does Loras truly feel that way about Mace? Or is he trying to get something from me? It could easily be the former… he and Margaery have been doing much to integrate themselves amongst me and Natasha.' It had been happening more and more in the last few weeks, as people realized that not only did Tommen truly care for Jon but that Jon was, well, a damn good Hand. It wasn't arrogance; Ser Kevan had flat out told him that Jon reminded him of a mix of Tywin and Jon Arryn and for that man that was high praise. Jon hoped it meant that he had Tywin's steel resolve to control the purse strings and keep the Small Council in line while also having Jon Arryn's ability to care for the people around him.

Not the other way around.

'But its becoming clear that I am going to be stuck in this role for a very long time,' Jon thought. There was little hope of his father and the rest of Winterfell rescuing him; Winter wasn't merely coming it was at their doorstep and that would stop everything. There would be almost no travel when the snows began to pile upon them.

Things could change with Tommen as he grew older but Jon had his doubts. The boy had never truly had a father or a brother and Jon was finding himself fulfilling both roles.

'Tommen will ask me to remain his hand even when he reaches maturity… and if I do step down it would only be if I agreed to remain in King's Landing. Ser Loras sees that… sees that when Tommen reaches maturity and takes the crown he will be seeking young men to help him rule. So could all this be Loras actually preparing to move his father out of power?' The Kingsguard wasn't supposed to care about such things… but Ser Criston Cole certainly hadn't minded using his influence to seat the wrong heir upon the throne. It had cost him his life, and his death hadn't been grand but a miserable, pathetic thing. Even when he was alive he had been seen as betraying his vows and caring more for his petty revenge than he had the good of the realm (Jon, though he had been careful NEVER to let anyone know, had gotten a hold of 'The Testimony of Mushroom' and held that to be the closest to the truth). 'Have himself be named new Lord Commander?'

In fact the more he looked at the Small Council in that moment the more he realized that it would be radically different by the time Tommen reached his 20th nameday.

'Pycelle is old. He will cling to his position but in the end he will be forced out or death will take him. Oberyn doesn't have the patience to remain. Ser Otto perhaps… but Ser Kevan WILL need to return to the Westerlands to oversee its rule during the winter. Jiffsun may wish to step aside as he grows older or at the very least begin training his replacement. And if Loras is being truthful the Tyrells may have a civil war to remove Mace from power…' Jon mentally scowled. 'Or all of this is just more games that are played!'

"Lord Jon!" a boisterous voice shouted and Jon broke from his thoughts only to mentally groan as he saw who was pushing their way to the front of the line. He held up his hand as the guards moved to intercept the Lord; while he would have preferred to just have the guard throw the man into a cell for disrupting things he also was smart enough to realize that such actions were EXACTLY what the man desired. "Lord Jon! I have a question concerning the Small Council and their continued failure to stop the Spiders!"

"Lord Jonah," Jon said, keeping his calm. "There is a line," he gestured at the smallfolk that Lord Jonah Jameson had forced his way through to get to him. "I would be more than willing to answer your question-"

"Then explain why nothing is being done-"

"-when it is your turn."

"-about these web weaving menaces!" He paused. "no… no, that doesn't work. Web Weaving Wastrels? Wantons? Give me a moment here, I'll figure it out. Needs to roll of the tongue and instantly be memorable, you know? That's how it sticks in people's heads."

"My lord," Loras said, stepping forward. "The Hand of the King asked you to get back in line." His hand dropped to the pommel of his sword.

"And I asked him what he is going to do about those web weaving warlords!" Jonah declared. He screwed up his face, bobbing his head back and forth, before shaking his head. "No, still doesn't work."

"Lord Jonah, many people have been waiting for their chance to speak with me," Jon said, keeping his voice level and calm. "I ask you to respect them and return to the end of the line. I assure you that you will be allowed to ask your question then. I will promise nothing will be done to prevent you from asking then." Jon had given orders that 2 hours before the end of the Open Court for the guards to stop the line-up; he didn't want to cause any anger by having people wait in line only for him to declare they were done. After the first time that had happened at the Red Keep he had instituted the practice for regular court and he was doing the same thing now since it had worked so well there.

"And the people want to know what you are going to do about these web-" Jon narrowed his eyes at that and Lord Joanh paused. "The Spiders," he finally said, clearly not pleased he couldn't come up with a catchy little name for them.

Jon though merely looked to the next person in line and nodded, the goldcloaks moving to firmly but gently shift Lord Jonah away.

"Well, you see Lord Jon," the woman he had nodded to said nervously, "I've heard Winter is coming and I'm worried about the food."

"I understand… I think of it often myself," Jon said with a soft smile. "I am of the North originally and for all they have done against the crown-" and he hated having to side against his family but he couldn't keep his head if he did anything but, "-they understand Winter. And thus I understand it. I am working with the Queen's family to ensure that proper food staples will be already in King's Landing when the first snows hit. While we can count on the fish from the Blackwater-"

"I'll pay you a gold dragon to ask him instead about the Spiders!" Lord Jonah called out.

"Never mind, I retract my question," the woman said quickly, all her nerves gone as she suddenly straightened and stared Jon dead in the eye. "What are you doing about the web weaving warriors?" She paused before looking at Jonah. "You're right, it is hard."

"Oh, it so is!"

"Hey!" a man missing his left hand declared, jabbing his stump at the woman. "You already asked your question! You can't claim that gold dragon!" he turned to Lord Jonah. "I'll ask it for a gold dragon!"

"I'll ask it for a silver stag!" someone else offered.

"It seems you have an auction," Loras muttered as Jon let out a groan, watching as the people in his line began to bicker about who could ask the question. "ENOUGH!" Loras bellowed, startling Jon by the sheer power of his voice. The Goldcloaks moved in while Jon saw other lines still. "We will have order or we will have hands and tongues! Your choice!"

Jon grimaced. 'Not how I wanted this to go.' But it did get everyone to settle down at the very least, even if Jon hated the fact that it was fear that was cowing them into silence.

"This is not how we should be handling things," a new voice called out and Jon raised an eyebrow when the High Septon, or the High Sparrow as many in court (never Jon) called him, stepped into view. He was dressed much as he had been when Jon had met with him in the Red Keep: a simple set of enclosed robes spun from the most basic of fabrics, his feet utterly bare and no other adornments upon his person. He did have a large sack that was hanging off his shoulder and he paused to reach inside and take out a simple apple, handing it to someone seemingly at random. "The Hand has saw fit the come down amongst us all, to listen to our pleas. He has only taken drink, and no food, and had only a simple chair to sit in. This is what we have all wanted and you now wish to ruin it for a simple gold dragon?"

"A silver stag now," Lord Jonah said, not cowed by the High Septon's comments. "Anyone want to go a bit lower? Some Stars?" He looked about and Jon could see that it was turning in the man's mind that he could hopefully get the price to drop.

"So consumed with wealth," the High Septon said, shaking his head.

Lord Jonah shrugged. "Some people like to stick their heads in the sand and pretend that the world isn't the way it is. The rest of us understand EXACTLY how the world works and find ways to operate in it. And do some good."

"Oh, you believe that you do good?" the High Septon asked. "We know of you quite well in the Sept of Baelor, Lord Jonah Jameson. You are a rumor monger who spreads stories that see people ruined."

Lord Jonah merely smiled at that. "And I am sure the Sept has never declared, based purely on rumor, that a woman is a harlot or a man is a sinner."

"We only preach what is known. You trust in anything you here, no matter the source."

"I believe in the truth," Lord Jonah declared. "What reality is. Unlike you."

"Oh?" the High Septon asked, a bemused little smile on his face. "And what is the truth that I don't believe in?"

"That the gods aren't interested in your Sept or your faith. The Warrior landed on Dragonstone and allied himself with Stannis Baratheon."

That caused the High Septon to merely chuckle. "Rumors, as I said."

"You don't get to call everything that doesn't go with what you believe 'rumors'."

"But you do spread them. You are like a foolish young man who does not understand the glories of marriage and instead spreads his seed all about the whore houses, filling the bellies of unfortunate women with your bastards."

"Have a problem with bastards?" Lord Jonah asked. "Considering no one knows who YOU are, High Septon, even your name, I wonder if that hit a bit too close to home."

'Odd that people are discussing bastards and my name isn't getting thrown about,' Jon thought to himself. 'Somewhere Lady Stark is feeling very annoyed, I bet.'

"Perhaps," Loras said, looking at how the crowd had shifted from wanting to talk to him to watching as Lord Jonah and the High Septon traded barbs, "we should begin wrapping things up. They may be here for quite a while."

"I think you're right." Jon looked over only to spot one booth empty. "Where is Lord Otto?" Both him and his servant had disappeared.

"I… do not know…" Loras admitted.

"You're probably working with those criminals, the Spiders!" Lord Jonah declared. "Helping them hide their misdeeds! They slip you some coins and you shield them? Let them make their webs in the Sept of Baelor?"

The High Septon shook his head. "It is a pity that you waste so much of the little air you have left on such fruitless claims-"

Whatever else the High Septon was about to say was drowned out by the screams of the crowd. Jon looked up, hands going to Shadowfang, as he watched first one, then another, then two more large tentacles appear at the top of one of the tall buildings to his left… before a hooded figure suddenly appeared, the tentacles merging into his back.