Natasha

"Wake up, love," Natasha whispered, leaning over Jon's form so she could press her lips close to his ear.

Jon… let out a groan and tried to shove her away.

Natasha though merely reached over and drew herself closer, reminding him that despite her lithe form every ounce of her was muscle and it would take more than a simple shove to get rid of her. "Jon…" Natasha urged him.

"I had a horrible dream," he moaned.

"If it is about you being named Hand of the King and being stuck dealing with Cersei then I'm afraid that's reality."

"No," Jon said. "I dreamed that in the middle of a blowjob you turned into Lady Stark… with shark teeth."

"That is horrible," Natasha admitted.

"Yeah… I'm going back to sleep and finish it."

With that he rolled over and burrowed himself in the sheets.

"Jon…" Natasha complained, giving him a smack. "Get up."

"No," he said, sounding like a petulant child.

"Jon, you need to get up."

"No."

"I swear if you don't I'll get Cersei in here to blow you."

Jon finally twisted around to stare at her. "Sorry, but I have the wrong hair color and eyes for that."

Natasha huffed, though she was a bit proud that he was smart enough to not come right out and make reference to the Queen's love of fucking other Lannisters; the walls still had eyes and ears, after all. Even with Varys on their side keeping his spies away (well, most of them; Natasha knew he wouldn't be able to help himself from having some watch their movements) there were plenty in King's Landing willing to keep close watch on them, waiting for them to slip up. Natasha had no urge to spend her days ripping the tongues out of the mouths nosy children.

Finally getting up Jon pressed his hands to his face. "Please tell me Tony will be back and I can get him to take care of this mess?"

"Varys is looking into what has delayed him… Braavos has been odd, as of late, when it comes to the whispers coming from it." She moved to sit behind him, wrapping her arms around his bare chest. "But even if he did show up… Tommen would still choose you."

"I just showed the boy some kindness," Jon complained. "Why did he make me Hand of the King?"

"Because you showed him kindness, just as you said," Natasha stated. Jon scowled at that and Natasha sighed, rubbing his pecs. "We'll manage. You remember the names I gave you?"

Jon nodded. "All people that would be appropriate to join the Small Council, that most will agree too, but also aren't so in bed with the Lannisters that they will cause us problems."

"Exactly," Natasha said. "And remember that Namor will be sailing out today to deal with the Iron Born. So we'll need to see him off."

"I remember," Jon groaned, finally standing up, stretching his nude form to work out the kinks in his muscles. "Small Council, Namor… what else am I missing?"

"We are meeting with Sam, remember?"

"Right… the Vulture King," Jon said. "Adrian of the Tombs is off?"

"He is," Natasha informed him, remaining in bed. "Last night. Never seen a man so happy to join the Night's Watch."

Her husband scoffed at that. "You promised to make him the next Lord Commander. How I don't know but I've given up questioning how you do things." He rolled his head back and forth. "The Tyrells aren't pleased," Jon muttered. "We'll have to smooth that over."

"We'll manage," Natasha assured him. She watched as Jon continued to stretch, admiring the view of his perk pale ass.

"Don't get any ideas."

"Pardon?"

"I can feel you staring, Nat, and I remember the tales I've heard of the Dornish."

"Filthy lies, all of them," she said, though she did little to hide her smile.

"Sure they are," Jon groused. "So… Namor, Small Council, Sam. Am I missing anything else?"

At that moment the door to their bedroom swung open and Petyr hurried inside.

"Lord Stark, I'm here to-oh!" He quickly shielded his face. "Oh man!"

"Petyr!" Gwen said even as Jon scrambled to cover himself. "I told you to wait!" Yet even as she said that Gwen hurried in, stopping to stare openly at Jon. "…woof."

"Down, girl, that's mine," Natasha said lazily, doing nothing to hide her own nakedness. "You have your own."

"A girl can dream though."

"HEY!" Petyr complained, still hiding his face. "What does that mean?"

"Only that you need to begin working out a bit more," Gwen said, nibbling on her lower lip as she stared brazenly at Jon.

"Why are you two still in here?!" Jon roared.

Before either could answer Miles came in, completing the Trinity. "Huh. So that's what Jon's penis looks like."

"OUT!" Jon roared and the three youths quickly darted out of the room. The moment they were gone Jon slammed the door shut, looking it over. "We need a fucking lock."

"I know how to pick those!" Gwen called out from beyond the door.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at that. "I should really talk to that girl more…"

"Why did we invite them here?" Jon complained as he moved to get dressed.

Natasha shrugged. "You should have had a squire anyway; you are the Heir of Iron Pointe and should have had someone helping you dress."

"I did it just fine for the first two decades of my life."

"Well, maybe not the first few years, unless you did your own swaddling."

"Certainly wasn't Lady Stark," Jon muttered darkly.

Natasha got up and set about getting ready herself. "You needed people. So did I. Especially with you being the Hand of the King. We also needed people that knew the truth about us… I could have found someone but it would have taken too long and would have given Cersei the chance to put in a spy. Her's or someone else. Mark my words, Kevan Lannister is taking over Tywin's spy network as we speak. Those kids were the best bets."

"None of that sounds like good enough reasons."

"You really want them running around without supervision?"

As if they had sensed her comment there was a sound cry and then a crash, followed by Petyr calling out, "Uh, Lord Stark? I think you got drunk last night and knocked over a vase! I'll clean it up though."

"They'll never believe that."

"Shut up, Miles!"

"…fair point," Jon admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose before he set about getting the rest of his clothing on. "How did we end up parents of three?"

"We certainly fucked enough to have three but I would have preferred not skipping over the cute chubby baby stage," Natasha stated as she slipped into her undergarments. "Now then, Namor sets sail just after 2, so meet me by the Blue Room just after lunch. Do NOT let anyone distract you… I am sure Cersei will be sending people to try and tempt you into a conversation. Use some of that Northern charm you have to be as rude as possible in dismissing them."

"Right," Jon said. "You'll meet with Sam?"

"While you see to finalizing our Council picks with Varys. And you need to meet with my father; we need to ensure that Dorne is playing nice."

"Shouldn't you meet with him then?" Jon asked as he sat down to tug at his boots.

Natasha, not bothering to get any further dressed (Gwen had to earn her keep somehow) shook her head. "My father will assume that there is something underhanded in my request… the price I pay for him and I engaging in such games of wit during my childhood. You are too straightforward to lie." She chuckled at that, wondering if anyone would believe just how many lies Jon had told in his life; even the spies watching them were probably assuming her chuckle was one of mockery rather than knowing the truth about him. "No, if you ask him he will take it as you being truly concerned."

"Right. Small Council meeting will be right after Namor leaves, since he won't be able to attend anyway."

He paused, glancing at her, and then darting his eyes towards a small scroll that was tucked away amongst all the others they had piled up; only Natasha knew what he was hinting at and with a bit of pride over him learning the first parts of the Dance of Eyebrows she gave the slightest of nods.

'Don't worry, my love… I will deal with Baelish's mess.'

One of the few blessings to come out of Jon being named Hand of the King was that he had full control over the investigation into Rhaegar and Lyanna's child. Apparently Tywin had sent a message to the Citadel about it and records had been found speaking of Lyanna giving birth to a stillborn child; that babe being what had weakened her health and led to her death. Baelish, according to Tywin's investigation, had taken that moment and tried to use it to weaken the Realm.

It was… all of lie, of course.

And that was what worried Natasha.

'Why create that falsehood?' she wondered. 'Did he know?' She and Jon had both learned from different people that Tywin had taken an interest in them and their future children, even bringing up the idea of joining their houses with their firstborn daughter marrying Joffrey's heir. Jon had been horrified by his child being bond to the family that had caused him so much pain. Natasha was in turn worried about why Tywin would do such a thing.

She didn't like the answers she was coming up with.

'If he knew… then binding the last female dragon in Westeros to his own great-grandson would have been a master stroke. It would have cemented Joffrey's rule and created a true dynasty. With Daenerys rendered barren the only ways the line could continue would be through Jon or a Blackfyre… and Westeros will never accept them. Not after all the Targaeryns did to poison hearts and minds against all bastards.'

It was utterly cunning. If the Lannisters hadn't done so many horrible things Natasha would have leapt at the chance to take the deal. Not because of power but of protection. Jon and her would be safe, as would their child; especially if Natasha managed to get an agreement that they stay close to their daughter, to make sure no one decided to kill them off and raise the hypothetical child as a lion-dragon. Honestly it wasn't even the horrible things the Lannisters had done that gave her pause.

No… it was the fact that Tommen carried the same corrupted blood as Joffrey that made her dismiss such an alliance.

'Every farmer knows to get the strongest animals you must be careful with your breeding. Select the traits you wish. And the dumbest thing you can do is allow siblings to mate. That is how you end up with mutants and freaks. The Targaryens did that and Jon is lucky that Lyanna's blood was able to push aside Rhaegar's madness… by adding to that the stunted genetics of Cersei and Jaime Lannister? No… it will be several generations before that family can be trusted again. And even then it will require careful selections… if Margaery was the product of siblings we'd be doomed!'

But even with the man dead that didn't mean that Natasha could rest easy. Tywin Lannister was a man who loved plans. And plans within plans. She had no doubt that things had been put in place, so that his schemes could continue on after his end, and she needed to make sure that anything that was set in motion matched what she desired. Scuttling some, approving others… yes, Natasha would have plenty of work to do even as she had tea and biscuits with the highborn women of King's Landing.

She made the proper goodbyes with Jon before he headed off to meet with Tommen in the training yard; the boy still wanted Jon to help with his training, especially with Sam heading off soon. As much as Jon hated all he had to do in order to keep them safe, spending time with the little king? Oh, he enjoyed that greatly.

'It helps that Tommen is a good little chap,' she thought to herself as Gwen entered, a scowl on her face.

"Must I?" she asked.

"You must," Natasha said, taking far too much delight in lifting up her bare foot and wiggling it in Gwen's direction. The young woman sighed and grabbed the Myrish stockings that Natasha had begun to wear, kneeling down she could properly rolled them up Nat's leg. "Come now, there are many women in Westeros who would give anything to be in your position."

"Near your stinky feet?" Gwen asked only to yelp as Natasha smacked her lightly with her sole. "Hey!"

"I wash them properly," Natasha said sternly. "You need to… you realize how many soldiers lose their feet because they don't bother to take care of them after a long day? Skin peeling off, fungus between your toes-"

"This isn't making this task any more pleasant!" Gwen complained.

"But you will begin washing more carefully after you go out into King's Landing," Natasha said sternly. She and Jon had realized that they weren't going to get the Spiders to stop patrolling the city so their only choice was to make sure they were safe doing so. Setting strict rules on where they could go, who they could interact with, and what must be avoided. "I know you came in late this morning… don't think I don't see the bags under your eyes." Gwen grimaced at that even as she worked to put the second stocking on Natasha's foot. "Did you three even bother to wash up after you got done?"

"I threw some water on my face," Gwen said.

"After you are done with me you are going to order a bath. And you are going to take one." Gwen opened her mouth to protest but Natasha cut her off. "I mean it. Tell the castle staff it's my orders… I was offended by your stink. I want you go scrub yourself fully. Don't just lie in the water. I want you to work from top to bottom. Scrub your feet. Make sure to get the back of your knees. I will leave some soaps specially made for your quim-"

"NATASHA!" Gwen squealed, turning beet red.

"You know why Jon doesn't mind going down on me? Because I don't smell like a fish market." Natasha stood up and held out her arms, Gwen hurrying to get her dress… probably because that was something to do that would distract her from when they were talking about. "Your butt too… get deep between your cheeks. Perhaps I should schedule you for an enema."

"A… a what?" Gwen asked.

"An enema. A hollow wooden tube is inserted several inches into your rectum-"

"YOU ARE NOT INSERTING ANYHING INTO MY ASS!"

"-and a cleaning potion is forced into your bowels. After holding it for five minutes your body will flush out the solution for about an hour, cleaning and purging-"

Gwen slammed her hands over her ears, Natahsa having to reach out and catch her dress. "I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this!"

"If you don't want one then you need to begin taking proper care of yourself," Nat warned her. "Not merely for your health either. You are a lady in waiting for the wife of the Hand of the King. It is expected you act the part."

"I'm already wearing the dress," Gwen complained, gesturing at the pale pink and white garment she was wearing. "I am growing my hair out… which is going to be a nightmare for my… hats." Nat raised an eyebrow, pleased that Gwen had caught herself before saying anything out loud; the walls were listening. "But I am not going to be a pampered little thing."

"Of course not," Natasha said with a grin. "You'll be pampering me!"

"…you are enjoying this far too much."

Natasha merely smirked at that.

~MC~MC~MC~

"There is something I must ask," Sam said as he and Natasha walked towards the docks. While Namor's leaving was going to be a grand event Sam's departure hadn't even seen the prince he'd originally sworn himself to come down to say goodbye.

'Granted, Sam is just leaving to see about obtaining some spices that Cersei requested,' Natasha thought to herself. 'He will be back in two months.' Out loud she asked, "And what is that?"

"Why me?" he asked. "Why reveal all this to me?"

It was a good question. She knew that Clint and Varys had been surprised when Natasha had decided to reveal to Sam the truth about the Vulture King, that he had been defeated and his wings claimed. Even more startled when she'd revealed that rather than turn the dragonbone wings over to the Crown that she and Jon were passing them to Sam to take to one of Natasha's contacts, so that they could be carefully stored away. Varys had suggested several Council members that they could contact that would have done the job for her; all trained to handle the mission.

"Because you have no divided loyalties," Natasha informed him.

"And what does that mean?" the dark skinned man asked, frowning slightly.

"It means that when you swear yourself to someone… you keep to them. You do not let others pull you this way or that, feeling like you must serve different masters at once. There are many I could have asked to do this for me but I can not trust them to remain loyal to the mission. I can with you."

Sam frowned at that. "I am loyal to Tommen."

"You are loyal to Tommen," she said in agreement. "And you are loyal to his wellbeing. And that means that sometimes you know that there are things far too dangerous for him to be involved with."

And what Sam was taking was VERY dangerous. And tempting.

'Dragonbone alone would be a desirable prize,' she thought to herself. 'There is a reason why so many have risked entering the ruins of the Dragonpit.' Even though the place had been stripped clean of the bones of the dragons that had died there during the Riots of King's Landing still plenty of wealth seekers journeyed into the rubble hoping to find a corpse of a dragon. A single tooth would allow a poor man to live like a lord for a lifetime… if they were smart about it. The same was true of many other famed dragon burial sites. The God's Eye before Harrenhal had been dove into by countless men and women hoping to bring up Daemon's steed. The waters off of Storm's End as well, as people sought out the remains of Jace's young dragon. And Jon himself had admitted that he and his brothers had explored the crypts of Winterfell not just for the dragon eggs that were said to have been laid there but perhaps a discarded tooth or a claw.

Adrian of the Tombs though hadn't merely had dragon bones. He'd had the bones of Rhaenys' dragon. Bones that had been enchanted to give one the gift of flight.

Wars would be fought over them, if ever discovered. The Council would tear itself apart trying to determine what to do with them. And agents that had once been loyal to the Council would hunger to claim the wings for their own.

'I should know,' Natasha thought, 'I almost took them myself.'

It had taken Jon and Clynt to snap her out of her dreams of flying along side her husband. She didn't know if that was the power of the wings or merely her understanding just what they could do and believing she and she alone deserved them. Whatever it was she knew the wings HAD to be removed from King's Landing.

Sam though… there was something about him. Something that told Natasha she could trust him with the wings. Much like Jon had been able to shrug them off as merely interesting. Or, for that matter, Adrian.

Adrian of the Tombs.

Oh how Natasha wished she'd met that man before he'd become the Vulture King. She could have made him such a powerful ally. While he would play his role in the Night's Watch well, and it was needed when it came to what they were going to face Beyond the Wall… it felt like a waste.

"How will I know who your contact is?"

"He'll find you and tell you that he misses your sister's touch," Natasha said with a smile. "It will be very insulting… and there will be a lot of vulgarity. But when you talk about his own sister and how you took her behind the bakery he'll lead you someplace safe. Don't let him convince you to do anything foolish though… he has a way of sweet talking people. Which is very odd because he looks like the last person that should be able to convince you to do a damn thing." She paused. "He's also not my father."

"I… what?"

"Just… he's going to sound VERY convincing when he claims it. He's not."

"Right."

"I'm serious. You will want to believe him."

"I understand."

"You really don't."

"…right."

Natasha sighed at that; oh yes, Sam was going to fall for those lies hook, line, and sinker.

"Be safe, Sam," Natasha said politely to him, placing a hand on his forearm. He gave a nod and headed up the ramp to the ship, Natasha watching for a few seconds more before turning her back on him; lingering too long would make people whisper far too much. It had been a risk seeing him off alone as it was but she'd wanted to give him a few final bits of information.

And… because she kept getting the dark suspicion… she was never going to see him again.

~MC~MC~MC~

Varys glanced up briefly, looking at the high ceiling of the Small Council chambers. Painted upon it was a mural of the coming of the Andals; it was an addition by Baelor the Blessed, because no other Targaryen King would have allowed a painting that didn't deal with their family to be in the Red Keep. That's also why it was one of the few to survive Robert's reign. The tales of the man storming through the Red Keep, delighting in destroying one priceless art piece after another as he drunkenly mocked the Dragons (despite the fact that he was part Targaryen thanks to his paternal grandmother) and their fall.

The mural depicted some Andal Lord (who looked suspiciously like Baelor himself because despite him being 'pious' the man was also a Targaryen and they had egos that could make Balerion the Black Dread look like a house cat in terms of size) landing on the shores of Westeros, standing in a small rowboat wearing armor that wouldn't actually be crafted by smiths for another 800 years, looking at the wild untamed lands while the Seven Gods of the Faith loomed behind him. The Father watching ready to bring justice. The Smith ready to forge cities. The Warrior to beat back the savages (otherwise known as the people who actually held the lands). The Crone to teach the ignorant (again, otherwise known as the people who weren't Andals). The Mother to turn new houses into homes. The Maiden to bring about song and joy. And the Stranger to… well, the Stranger just had to be there.

It was an impressive mural that everyone in the Small Council was used to seeing hanging above their hands. Which is why none of them noticed that the naked breast of the Maiden had a hole right in the nipple that allowed Natasha to see all that was going on below her.

'At least this way I don't have to pretend to drink their wine,' Nat thought to herself as she lay on her belly. 'Whoever told them that was proper Dornish Red should be stripped naked and forced to have their asshole filled with honey before tossed into a red ant arena.'

She saw Varys look up at her again; she knew that he knew she was there. He after all was the one that had told her about that particular hiding spot. A favorite of his little birds to use, to spy on the rest of the Small Council to see if they did anything he might have missed while he focused on other signs of lies and deceit. A spy watched those around them. A good spy had others watching as well. Varys had agreed to allow her to stand watch that day, rather happy she had offered as they both knew that she was better than any of his little birds and would give a far more detailed (but also shorter because there was an art to that) account of all he might have missed.

Suddenly struck with a childish sense of glee Natasha shifted away from the nipple peep hole and stuck her thumb through it, giving her digit a wiggle. She couldn't see Varys anymore and wondered if she had gotten a smile out of him; probably not, because he was that damn good at controlling his emotions, but it was worth a try though.

Sometimes, when one spent so many of their days pretending to be someone else and feeling the constant tension that came from wondering if the moment had finally come where they would be caught and suffer a long painful death with no one attempting a rescue… they needed to resort to such foolish things. Even the most hardened of spies had their ways of breaking free of that pain.

Finally pulling her finger out of the hole Natasha crawled back into position, looking down at the room. Varys was looking straight ahead, not acknowledging her at all… the bastard. Jon was seated in what had been Tywin's chair, looking rather uncomfortable. She felt a stab of pity for him; honestly he'd never admit it but those few hours where they had been sure they'd need to flee from King's Landing had been so wonderful for his stress levels. Now he was stuck in a job he didn't want in a city he hated working for people that, for the most part, he loathed, and had to deal with the knowledge that those that knew the truth about him were probably debating how they could take the final step and plunk his ass on the ugliest chair in the world.

'Grab Tommen, explain in full detail the horrors of being a king. How it would be so much easier for him to just be the Lord of Casterly Rock. Maybe find Tyrion and use him as leverage… Tommen loves his uncle. Cersei will need to die… perhaps set it up that she was crushed under a horny boar? Not just kill but ruin her. Reveal Jon's parentage and convince Father to march on the Reach; the Tyrells are all here or still on the road after the wedding so Highgarden is unprotected. Signal Eddard to march at once, locked out the Westerlands. Crown Jon, declare him first of his name. Will take two weeks to flush the moon tea from my system but after that I can be with child in a month, securing the line…'

"Alright then," Jon said, rising to his feet, hands pressed against the table. "I am not going to waste anyone's time on pretty words: none of us ever expected me to be the one standing here. Even if Lord Tywin hadn't passed I was probably the last person one would expect to be named Hand of the King."

"Oh, you sell yourself short," Varys said with a teasing smirk. "After all, I doubt any king would put one such as me in that role." He gestured towards Ser Kevan. "Of course I assumed that his grace would have selected you, my Lord, but I suppose Tommen has his reasons."

"Yes… I suppose he does," Ser Kevan stated and to Natasha's eternal concern he didn't sound angry at all. That… was not a good sign. "But I think you sell yourself short, Lord Jon. And I know Tywin would be pleased with your selection. He hated that the Starks and the Lannisters had found themselves turned against one another… together with the Baratheons and now the Tyrells and the Martells? We can bring about a new golden age."

'He knows,' Natasha thought to herself.

Varys twitched slightly at that and only Natasha knew that the man had just fought the urge to lunge forward and kill Ser Kevan were he sat.

"As there are new faces that have joined us today, to fill rolls emptied as well as stand in for those gone, I believe our first order of business must be to reintroduce ourselves and our positions within the Small Council."

'Smart,' Natasha thought to herself. 'Useless posturing. Some will think him stupid for doing it when Jon knows who they all are. Others will be pleased to boast and will be happy with the chance. Very smart, my love, very smart.'

"I am Jon Stark, Heir of Iron Pointe and Hand to the King," Jon said simply before taking his seat. Natasha wondered if her husband had simply gone first in order to get things going… of if he had understood that presenting himself so humbly would do much for easing the worries that he would allow the sudden leap in power to go to his head.

The next to rise up was Pycelle and Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Yes, quite," he stated. "Grand Maester Pycelle, Maester of the Citadel, humble servant to you all." She saw her father snort at that and even Mace Tyrell looked unimpressed; of course all the Tyrells had a distrust of Maesters, stemming from the Queen of Throne's hatred for the 'annoying gray rats'. "And before we continue on, Lord Stark, would it not be wise to extend an invitation to the High Septon? While he is not required for all Small Council meetings it would be wise to allow him to attend on occasion."

"I was unaware one had been selected," Jon said. Natasha was also suspicious… she hadn't heard anything either.

"I do believe one was selected just this morning, at long last. A good thing, as it has been quite troublesome that they have failed to have one seated yet ." The old man tugged on his beard. "The Small Folk claim that the recent disasters that have befallen the Red Keep can be traced back to the simple fact that there was no High Septon to bless the marriage of his grace King Joffrey and Lady Margaery."

"There will be one for Tommen's marriage to her," Mace stated. "I am sure of it… if not I will have my goodfather speak to the Maesters of the Starry Sept. After all, once that was the center of the Faith… if the Faithful of Baelor's Sept can not select a High Septon then perhaps it is time that we turn back to the way things once were."

'And you certainly don't desire to have the Faith controlled by your lands, now do you?' Natasha thought.

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken then," her father said lazily, lounging in his chair. "Because I can assure you that they are having at least one more vote this evening."

"Preposterous!" Pycelle said, turning towards Natasha's father. "They have-"

"Almost selected. But it seems a few of the more corrupt of the Faithful do not like what the new High Septon has in store for the Faith. They will be forced to comply, of course… there are too many that have turned to his side now, but they do not like it in the slightest and are going to force one more vote."

Ser Kevan leaned forward. "Who is this new High Septon?"

'You have heard about your youngest asking about them, haven't you?' Natasha thought. 'Lancel is seeking out… something for his life. I am not sure why. There is a piece missing. But you know that this High Septon will see him as a powerful piece and will be paying special attention to him.'

"They call him the Sparrow," Jiffsun stated. "He is known amongst the poor of King's Landing for his work. He also makes clear that he does not care of the sins of those that come to him… so long as they repent."

'So he gathers the worst to him… does he truly wish to cure them or does he wish to have a loyal army?'

"We will offer the invitation once the man is officially declared the new leader of the Faith," Jon said before turning to Ser Kevan. "Perhaps you would be best to ask. I might… offend him."

"Yes," Ser Kevan said after a moment. "That might be wise, if the man is as pious as it is claimed."

After that the introductions went by about as Natasha had suspected. Lord Kevan Lannister, due to there being no positions left for him but needing one to keep the Lannisters happy, had been made Lord of War and was tasked with dealing with the North. Jon hadn't liked that Natasha had stated that they couldn't appear weak on that front; make it seem like Jon was showing ANY loyalty to his family and he would be without a head instantly. Making Ser Kevan Master of War had been a brilliant stroke to cause many of the doubts that had begun to rise about him to disappear. And Ser Kevan was a smart man and not as savage as his brother, thus allowing them a better chance to finding some common ground to bring about a peace. His introduction was short, to the point, but pleasant. It made Natasha all the more worried about what him and Tywin had planned when it concerned Jon.

Mace Tyrell made up for Ser Kevan's short speech by rambling on for a good ten minutes about what he wanted to have done as the Master of Laws. Natasha would have been annoyed… if she hadn't seen the tells that he was laying on his stupidity thickly. The man knew the game and understood that a jester could do what a noble man could not… and an oafish lord was overlooked until the last possible second.

Her father enjoyed not bothering to stand up as he introduced himself. Namor had not bothered to name someone to act in his stead and in the end Jon had been forced to give the role to Oberyn Martell because no one else wanted it. Either because they knew it wouldn't last… or that attempting to MAKE it last would make them an enemy of Namor who was nearly as feared as Natasha's own father when it came to one-on-one combat. Nat's father, however, would barely do what was needed and then happily go back to just being an advisor with no title. The perfect set up.

Varys was Varys. He put on his show, made his little comments that were hlf jests and also half hints to her of what to watch for (and Natasha rolled her eyes at that because she wasn't a fucking fool and knew how to spot the fakes and the lies) and then sat down with a giggle.

Jiffsun Davus was the only one that seemed… normal. He stood up, awkwardly introduced himself, and even took a moment to thank Jon for taking on his boy as a squire and page, along with his best friend Petyr. That had gotten a few looks but Natasha didn't know why; Jon had done nothing to hide that he had known Miles and Petyr before taking them into his service.

With the Lord Commander of the King's Guard actually seeing to the King (and honestly the man had proven himself a genius by commenting that he had no taste for such meetings even before Jon had been made Hand) there was no need to introduce him. And Cersei wasn't invited, for obvious reasons. That left the Small Council with their sole business: filling the final seat.

"I know that there have been some grumblings about this selection… that it went far too quick and that time is needed in this selection." Jon rose once more, placing his hands on the table and shooting the rest of the Small Council a dark look. He had shown them that he could be non-threatening. Had shown them that he could work with them. And now he was showing them that he was Hand of the King and that if they were wise they would remember that. "But the Realm has been without a Master of Coin for far too long."

"Lord Baelish's arrest-

"Oh, our lacking of a proper Master of Coin began long before that," Jon said. "Petyr Baelish… he has shown himself time and again to be untrustworthy. There was never a scheme that he didn't crave like a man in the desert craved water. Would a single one of you trust him?" He looked around the table and all were quick to shake their heads. "And did you truly trust him before he killed our King? A man that allied himself with Jonos Slynt, who King Joffrey discovered to have been a traitor?" Natasha smirked, glad that Varys had dropped that little bit of information. "We speak of how he stopped Ned Stark's rebellion but let us not forget that he had to win the trust of the Quiet Wolf of the North… Ser Kevan, would you say that Ned Stark is a man prone to trusting people?"

"No," the man stated. "Eddard Stark might have been unfit for the politics of the south but none would call him a trusting man. In the North you had to see who was a snake if you wished to survive."

"Meaning that Baelish had to do something to earn his trust. And to do that would have meant betraying the Crown." Jon shook his head. "Robert and Joffrey. Both had a Master of Coin who proved himself unworthy of the title. I will not have Tommen's reign be destroyed by that bastard."

"Lord Stark does bring up a good point," Varys admitted. "My little birds whisper to me that Littlefinger was hording secrets up till his death and I can't help but wonder just what they might be. What is it they say about a boil, Grand Maester? Until it is lanced one can know just how foul it will stink?"

"Hmmm… yes, quite," the old man said.

Jon nodded. They had agreed to be careful with how much Varys would agree with him, lest the others realizing they were far more united than they wanted any to believe. "And can any of you dismiss who I have selected?"

"He has been a good neighbor," Mace admitted. "Though he is of the Westerlands his lands are right on the border and none of my bannermen have ever complained of him."

"Did he not attend the Citadel?" Natasha's father asked. "I think I heard that." Natasha huffed at that; heard nothing, her father had attended the Citadel with their new Master of Coin.

"He did," Mace stated. "Received links in the fields of house management, business, and several of the sciences."

"Why did he never complete his studies?" Jiffsun asked.

It was the Grand Maester that spoke and, for once, his tone was not of derision and disrespect when it came to someone who had left the Citadel. "Oh, it was a tragic thing and not of his choosing. He truly wanted to be a Maester but his brother died during the Defiance of Duskendale. Uther was part of Aerys' small party that traveled to deal with Lord Denys' refusal to pay his taxes, as he had been friends with Lord Denys' brother. That didn't save him, of course… well, it doesn't matter now. With Uther dead his brother had to leave his studies and become Lord of Sunflash."

"He has done well for himself," Ser Kevan admitted. "Built up its wealth greatly after his grandfather lost half of their wealth late in his rule."

"And he will aid us as well," Jon said, gesturing towards the door, where two of the Red Keep guards stood. "See him in."

The man that entered would never have been called a beautiful man. He was a tall man yes, very tall, managing to loom over everyone even as he entered the doorway. Well over six feet with a mess of short brown hair. But his face was fleshy and round, which did much to hide what Natasha knew were cunning eyes. He had a portly body, built not for fighting at all, but he still moved with utter confidence into the room. A pair of myrish glasses sat on his pudgy nose, tinted dark for Natasha had heard tell that when he'd been younger he'd done so many experiments in the Citadel concerning the sun and the stars that he had rendered his eyes unable to stand intense light. His long brown coat wasn't gilded but rather practical and he tugged off a pair of gloves as he bowed his head to the Small Council before passing them to a decidedly far more handsome younger man who moved just beside him.

"My lords," he said. "Thank you for this honor."

"We thank you for taking it," Jon said, waving to a chair. "Please take your seat, Lord Otto Octavius."

~MC~MC~MC~

OMAKE 1

Gwen and Petyr stared at the windows of Winterfell before grabbing more lumber, Miles just idly pounding on the wall with a little hammer while the others worked to nail more wood to the window.

"Jon!" Natasha called out. "Did you barricade the door?"

"Why?" he asked, sitting in front of the fire with a beer. After a few seconds he added, "Oh, the wights. No."

At that moment the wights burst in, forcing the group to flee outside, Jon grabbing a crossbow with dragonglass arrows as they all rushed towards the waiting wagon.

"Snow!" a pale, rotting Catelyn Stark rasped out as she shuffled towards him. "You will listen here, Bastard-"

She didn't get to finish, as Jon shot her in the head with the crossbow, causing her body to fall down limp, the girls gasping.

"Jon!" Petyr declared. "You killed the Wight Catelyn!"

"She was a wight?" Jon asked.

Omake 2

(3 years into the reign of Robert Baratheon)

"Renly, I want you to shake hands with… what's your name, fella?"

The blacksmith raised his head after kneeling to his grace and said in a deep proud voice, "Rosco."

"Rosco here runs this smithy!" Robert said, gesturing to the large blacksmith shop that stood just in front of them. After the… rumors… he'd heard about Renly and how he much preferred to be around the other squires rather than the maidens he'd decided to nip things in the bud. "He's going to show us around and give you a first hand look at real all-Westerosi men doing what they do best!"

Renly looked up at his eldest brother in confusion. "Brother, why would I want to see that?"

Robert leaned in and said slyly, "You'll thank me on your wedding night."

Rosco led Robert and Renly into the smithy, where three dozen muscular sweaty men were hard at work churning out swords, shields, axes and all other manner of brutal savagery. The sight of all those tools of war was making Robert's loins ache and he knew that after that day Renly would be the same way.

"Hey, listen up!" Rosco called out, the men stopping their work. "I want all of you to greet his highness, King Robert."

"He-llo your grace!" all the blacksmiths said… with lisps and limp wrists.

Robert gasped in horror. "Has the whole world gone insane?!"

"Stand still, there's a spark in your hair!" one blacksmith suddenly cried out.

The other began to dance about, waving his hands wildly. "Get it! Get it!"

"Eerrrr. Eerr." Robert said nervously… just as a lad who looked VERY much like him when he was a lad walked by, wearing only a thong and carrying a large barrel of molten metal.

"Hot st-uff, comin' through!" Gendry declared with a wink.

"AAAAA!" Robert screamed in shock.

"Brother," Renly said, "why did you bring me to a gay blacksmith?"

"I don't know!" Robert whined before turning to the blacksmiths. He held his head in his hands. "This is a nightmare… you're all sick!"

"Oh be nice!" one of the blacksmiths declared.

Robert began to fret. "Oh, my brother doesn't stand a chance. The whole world's gone gay!" He bit his lip… just as a gong echoed through the smithy. "By the Seven what's happening now?!"

Rosco smiled. "We work hard… we play hard."

"EVERYBODY DANCE NOW!"

Robert could only cover Renly's eyes as everyone in the smithy began to strip and dance to the music some minstrels were playing, slowly backing his brother out of there.

"What's that guy's problem?" Oberyn Martel asked as he grinded against a blacksmith.

Dedicated toall the Blacksmiths of Westeros

Keep reaching for that rainbow!

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERONE!