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October. 283 A.C – Early Morning, King's Landing.

More and more lords trickled into Kings Landing as time went by. Jon Arryn had been given the delightful task of finding accommodations for them all and keeping them happy.

The man wanted to be the Hand of the King? Well then he couldn't very well complain if Robert was going to put him through his paces, could he?

Robert knew he had another 2 months at least before Ned would return and he was determined to wait for his coronation until then. In the meantime, he wanted the lords present, to see how Kings Landing was cheering his name, to see the faith proclaim him good King Robert blessed by the Warrior, Crone and Smith. To see that he already had a loyal and competent small council in place.

To understand that he planned ahead, that he was ready, that he knew exactly what he was doing. Being underestimated might be good and well in a fight, but as a ruler, it was no good. Especially in Planetos. People needed to believe he was dangerously skilled.

It wouldn't stop all the plots, but it would mean less people willing to stand openly against him.

It was all about projecting strength. He wanted to ensure that by the time coronation rolled around all the lords of the seven kingdoms could see that there was no weakness to be had in the new regime.

To that end he had put in motion several plans over the last several weeks. Thanks to the Mad King who'd been more concerned with burning people than spending gold, the treasury was flush and ripe to be used. Although he begrudgingly, quietly, allowed Tywin the credit he was due in ensuring it was so.

He might be one of the most unpleasant human beings to exist, but he knew gold.

Robert had used a contingent of his own Stormlander troops to go around Kings Landing and offer all the smallfolk a chance for something better. Both women and men, whether they had been just a dock worker or tavern wench, cut purse or prostitute. There was an opportunity for them.

There was no better time than now. After the sack, a large number of the 500 000 souls of Kings Landing had lost their lives, the rest, their homes, businesses, or workplaces. Robert mopped up as many of these as he could. Marched them all outside the city, creating a tent city of 250 000 people outside Kings Landing.

The tents spread as far as the eye could see all around the city. Calling it a tent city was not all that apropos either, as many did not even have tents. But he had his men chopping down enough wood to create temporary shelters that hopefully it wouldn't get too bad out there.

Having modern ideas on sanitation and ways to prevent illness as well, ones he was forcing through on the tent city as proof of concept - would surely help as well. And while half the town was outside the walls, he could knock down and rebuild one district at a time.

It was on this topic he found himself staring at a map of Westeros covering a whole wall in a chamber a short distance from the small council chambers with his Master of War Randyll Tarly, Master of Coin Wyman Manderly and his Master of Works Selwyn Tarth.

"Here, Harrenhal would be perfect." Robert said pressing his finger against the map, "Large enough to hold not only a Royal army, but their families, the logistics offices, training areas and with plenty of room for supplies."

"And extremely thirsty for gold, Your Grace." Lord Manderly interjected with a wry smile, "Although left with a large treasury from the Mad King, this venture alone would likely drain most of it."

"The tactical benefits would be immense." Lord Tarly muttered, "Close enough to King's Landing to reinforce it before any enemy could muster any attack, centrally located with access to both nearby rivers and roads to travel quickly. If rebuilt it would be a location an army can not leave alone at their backs nor attack. Their best bet would be to try and starve them out, which would tie up an enemy army of at least 20 000 just to sit there and hold. Whether it is attacked or not it would still give Kings Landing the time to call all banners, and if it's not attacked it means King's Landing is reinforced by its armies too quickly to realistically take the city."

"Well, the plan is to not have more than 10 000 soldiers at Harrenhal itself, Lord Tarly. The other 10 000 would be patrolling all major roads, guarding the Semaphore line and holding garrisons along the line and roads." Robert reminded the Lord of Horn Hill.

It would prevent banditry and keep Lords honest, something Westeros had been missing throughout its history. Sure, there wouldn't be large amounts of soldiers in each location, but a constant reminder worked almost as well in keeping people honest. Knowing that any dastardly bullshite you got up too could be reported to King's Landing over Semaphore within the day would alleviate a lot of problems before they could begin.

"It is lucky indeed you found that manuscript of this concrete, Your Grace." Lord Tarth said brusquely. "Without it, there is no chance that we would be able to plan for such an undertaking as both repairing Harrenhal and building a line of these Semaphore towers across Westeros."

"Even with the concrete it will drain the funds immensely." Lord Manderly reminded them all, the corpulent lord understanding the benefit of the Semaphores but dreading the cost. "I feel it might behoove us to ask the Lord's Paramount to accept some of the costs for the towers built inside their lands. It will after all be used to protect them from Ironborn raids as well as bandits and rebels."

Lord Tarly snorted loudly, "Parting a Lord from his gold is hard enough in normal times, right after a war it will be almost impossible, they will be focused on harvests, not projects."

"Lord Manderly has the right of it, I will talk with them myself and make them see the benefits to their lands of an early warning system - as well as quick action to deal with bandits and disasters." Robert said determinedly. He would not let some penny-pinching Lord defeat this project. It would be too useful, not only for the possible Greyjoy rebellion, but for any actions against the throne.

His throne.

He wasn't going to allow some feckless idiot to ruin it all for him. Not when the majority of them were remarkably stupid, and somehow bungling their way through fucking themselves and everyone around them over and callong it victory.

"Just don't tell them you plan to use women as the coders and signalers of the Semaphore's, they won't pay for that." Lord Tarth reminded Robert; it had been a contentious matter until Lord Tarly gave up arguing against it. Robert did have a big stick to wield, and Tarly was too pleased about his position on the small council to argue for too long.

Especially considering with the Reach having fought against him, he could have just as well put them all under his boot.

Lord Tarth was correct that it would be too risky to spread that information around until it was a fait accompli however. Each Semaphore would have a barracks for 10-15 guards from the royal army for protection, with a garrison of 100 men every 5 towers. No longer would bandits haunt the smallfolk, nor rebels ride with impunity.

The fact the actual coders and signalers would be women and therefore "in charge" of the messages - would be taken harshly by many Lords. The Maesters would throw a hissy fit as well, but they'd already be flying off the handle due to Ravens no longer being nearly as important anymore, so it was a minor addition.

"If you're looking to save gold… Mayhap there are some reductions that can be made in the budget for the Royal army." Lord Manderly said carefully, ignoring the sudden glare from Lord Tarly, who when introduced to the idea had very eagerly jumped aboard the small council, ignoring anything Mace Tyrell might have thought about it. Being the commander of such an army trained from the bottom up to his expectations, had bought his loyalty unto death.

Well… He's Westerosi, so not really. But it had made the man damn well easier to work with. And between Mace Tyrell and Robert Baratheon, he knew which way his bread was buttered.

Robert ran a hand through his hair wearily, it had only been one week since he introduced the concept and yet this was perhaps the hundredth time he had heard the pointed comments on the money spent on just smallfolk. "No, the wages for the Royal army stays, the home and care for crippled veterans stays, the pensions for those that served 20 years stays, the pension to the family of any killed soldier stays." He repeated pointedly, his jaw raised stubbornly. "The point of a standing Royal professional army like this is to defend the realm at all times. We can not afford to have the soldiers be bought by every which bandit or any Lords wanting them to look the other way. They need to be loyal. And coming from small folk originally, all these benefits will see them and their families be fiercely loyal to the crown for life."

"The cost will not be as much as you fear once it has been put in place." Lord Tarly said resolutely, arms crossed as he glared at the Master of Coin. "The wage is enough to make smallfolk happy, that alone is not much of a hit to the treasury. Cripple pay and death pay will hardly cost the throne much except for in the times of war. As for pensions after 20 years of service… If this army buys the realm 20 years of peace the damn men deserve triple what we would give them anyway - and the coin you saved by the long peace will bring in much more than the cost of the pensions."

"Well put Lord Tarly." Robert said with an approving smile. Turning towards Lord Manderly, Robert continued, "Not to worry, I will not allow the throne to turn destitute. I thank you for your thoughts however, as your input is always valuable to the throne in ensuring we do not get carried away."

His small council was still new, and he didn't intend to be too brusque in his dealings, as the Lord's of Westeros were ridiculously tied to honor and privilege that they could be very thin skinned at times. He didn't need a plot to throw Westeros in chaos to come from simply insulting a member of his small council.

Lord Manderly bowed his head, appeased to all appearances, as Lord Tarly huffed in annoyance. Lord Tarth simply looked on in amusement. This was already turning into a familiar routine, usually Jon was around to run interference but he was too busy keeping the rest of the lords of Westeros contained and happy.

Better him than me…

Jon had been desperately needed to run interference when Robert had introduced the idea that both the royal army logistics division and the Red keep and the Realms finance and trade bureaucracy be staffed by women - once enough were trained up.

Most of the women not going to the Semaphore lines were going to be trained by hired Braavosi scribes and bureaucrats for that purpose. For once Lord Tarly and Lord Manderly had been on the same page arguing heavily against it, that a woman had no place in the ruling of the realm nor in the running of an army.

Robert had finally won them over just this week. Lord Manderly in particular on explaining that these women would be the scribes and parchment workers doing all the realms busywork and counting and tabulating not actually making decisions. Just carrying them out. All would be loyal to the crown as it gave them the opportunity to rise above the masses and make something of themselves - as women do not have many opportunities this would ensure less graft and corruption and more loyalty.

For Lord Tarly it had been like pulling teeth until Robert finally hit the right argument. The more women running payrolls, armories, and food supplies logistics - the more men were available to swing swords. The surly Lord had come around somewhat quickly after that, although not happy, he was at least content to go along.

He had made it very clear that his personal command staff would not have any women on it, however. As Robert could see no reason why the command staff would need one it was an easy agreement.

He wasn't doing this out of any feminist ideals of any of the sort. He was doing it because he needed every sword arm for the future, and because he needed less bullshit from the bureaucracy and servants. Which training his own cadre up from the small folk would ensure.

Less courtly games and plots is exactly what Westeros needed, although it wouldn't completely erode it - a whole new cadre of civil servants working for the throne would slow down corruption.

Lord Tarth had, as always, been in the background, quietly amused at the fuss over something that in his eyes made complete sense. Jon had been exasperated over the amount of headaches Robert was introducing to him - no doubt having expected an easy time while Robert hung back, not throwing all traditions to the wind.

Luckily, the rest of the small council were not really involved yet in this matter, so no more complaints had been had on that subject.

And of course, he'd ensure the church was on his side, which would make it that more difficult for the Lord's to truly oppose the decision without looking like they lack piety.

"So, we have the Royal army always to be at least the strength of 20 000 men, under the command of Randyll Tarly. Main base Harrenhal. Say 5 years before everything is up and running as planned?" Robert asked the Master of War and his Master of Works.

Lord Tarly pursed his lips, "5 years at the latest aye, I do not foresee issues with the smallfolk, they will do what they are told good enough, whether building or training."

Lord Tarth agreed, "If the Lord's chip in, the Semaphore line will probably be done within 2 years, Your Grace, if counting on concrete to work as you have said. If not, then we should still be done sooner than 5."

"Then we have the 5000 men in the Royal guard, meant to protect the Red Keep and King's Landing. Run by Roland Storm. I talked with the lad earlier and he expects it to be a year or two until he is running at full capacity and to his standards. That will ensure Kings Landing always has a force to man the walls in an emergency and to protect the keep.

"I will not count on gold cloaks to hold the line." Robert mused out loud as he ticked off every box needed for armed men. "The gold cloaks themselves will be raised to 5000 men to keep the law in King's Landing, just as lawmen and investigators. If I need them for the walls the throne would likely already be fucked." He also had the Royal Knights, an institution he'd brought into life immediately upon taking charge, although it was empty as of now. The organization which would end up numbering 35 knights in service to the 7 Kingsguard.

No more would there just be one sword or two between a Queen, a King, their children - and attack.

"Worst case scenario, Kings Landing will have 10 000 troops in total and another 10 000 close by from Harrenhal which can call another 5000 from nearby garrisons quickly, so say 25000 men to protect King's Landing in case of a rebellion or invasion." Lord Tarly said with satisfied expression, "The days of King's Landing being vulnerable to a decapitation strike will be over."

"By the time, any enemy force could breach the walls, the Banners would already be arriving to crush them against the wall from behind." Lord Tarth agreed.

"Now we just have to survive 5 years." Robert japed, which got an appreciative chuckle from the jovial Master of coin.

Ser Barristan poked his head in through the door and caught Roberts eyes. "It seems it is time for me to leave for the meeting with the High Septon. We will continue our discussions in the morrow at the latest." Robert excused himself, accepting the mumbled Your Graces and bows with nary a thought and left the chamber, Ser Barristan falling in behind him.

Robert had been working on the High Septon practically from the first day he arrived in King's Landing. There was no better man to use to ensure the smallfolk loved him and praised his rule. He was not going to run into a religious war or end up with the same stupidity Cersei had created for herself.

Within minutes Robert found himself in a richly decorated antechamber of the great hall. Not all meetings needed the throne room after all, it was too large for such things. The antechamber had great silk tapestries, expensive art on the walls and the floor was entirely covered in a fine rug all the way from Yi-Ti. The ironwood table was finely carved and had goblets of the most expensive wine already waiting on it.

Robert had quickly realized the High Septon was quite the purveyor of fine things and not as holy as he made himself out to be. He had quickly taken advantage.

The man was waiting for him as Ser Barristan took his place by the door. Luckily the door was a solid built one and when closed it muffled the sounds of the room quite well. Robert did not think Ser Barristan would approve of the dealings he had with the High Septon.

Although the so-called 'honor' of everyone in Westeros varied wildly on their efficacy depending on what they felt like that day. Barristan was loyal, but he could be less loyal in his duties if he disliked his master.

Robert was unsure if the leader of the faith was the man from canon or not, as the High Septon did not keep his name upon receiving the position. He wasn't fat either but perhaps that changed within the next decade. He was quite skinny in fact, with a short immaculate beard and small beady eyes in a sunken face. It was possible the man had grown fat under canon Roberts rule but he somehow doubted this was the same man.

Those beady eyes fixated on him greedily as he walked over the expensive rug to greet him. "Holy one, it is as always a pleasure to see you in the Red Keep, I hope you were not waiting overly long?" He said pleasantly, hiding his distaste.

Everyone in Westeros was a cunt. Everyone. It was just a fact. So he would have to outcunt them all, and bring some kind of improvement to the land. And survive ice zombies and crazy dragon ladies - that too.

His buddy Ned wasn't a cunt surprisingly, but was also proof of the fact that if you weren't, the cunts would absolutely rip you apart.

Like this High Septon he'd been bribing/convincing/threatening - a man who would absolutely shit all over Robert if he thought it would get him ahead. Hence why he was making sure he owned his ass.

The man bowed low, "Not at all, Your Grace." As he rose up he plastered on an oily smirk. How this man could be seen as holy baffled Robert, but he would make do with what he had to work with.

Robert poured the man some Arbor Gold into the crystal goblet and handed it over before pouring himself one. He wouldn't drink it, he never did in these meetings. It was expected of him to have a goblet of wine however, so he always kept one at hand. "Have the gods given you any insight on what we talked about last time?" Robert asked mildly as the High Septon drained half his goblet in one go.

"Indeed, they have, Your Grace." The High Septon replied. "I will be passing an edict of the faith that you and your rule was blessed by the Warrior, the Crone and in particular the Smith - for your recent contributions - blessed by all seven that is one, as a matter of course. Also ensuring the faith shows full support of your rule, as well as ensuring the faith is praising you daily in sermons all over Westeros."

Robert nodded graciously as he took a very small sip of his wine to celebrate. Inside he was dancing, slotting the faith under his rule and ensuring they were constantly praising him, his laws, his actions and just generally how fantastic he is - would go a long way of solidifying his rule.

This was exactly what he had aimed for, and he had only had to give up what he was already planning to do, plus some bribe money.

"As discussed I will ensure the Maesters are dispatched to the Great Sept and any other major concentration of the faithful, to begin teaching healing and medicine to all members of the faith. It is imperative for my rule that my people are properly fed, properly healthy and properly faithful, after all." Robert took another sip of the rather fantastic wine, as the High Septon thanked him for his just rule that was surely begotten by the seven that is one.

The Maesters were the losers of his rule, so he knew to expect daggers in the dark eventually, or weird shit. But having the faith, the Lords, or at least those that mattered - and his royal army soon enough…

The Maesters would just have to learn to live with disappointment.

As Robert saw the unpleasantly smarmy man out, he thought the five times a thousand golden dragons in the man's pockets likely had more to do with the faith's decision, but the main point was that it was done.

He intended to ensure proper sanitizing alcohol was spread across the land, that boiling water, washing hands with soap and such hygiene matters would become commonplace, greatly inhibiting disease. Of course he had other simple ways to help with that which he'd push along as well, but it was a start.

Since the Maesters were closed off academia filled with stubborn old men and really only catering to nobility, Robert had to find someone else to quickly spread common sense healing.

The Faith was the perfect vehicle. The smallfolk trusted them and would listen to them. Knights and nobility paid attention to what the faith said and would start using the same practices if they weren't already. The goal was to eventually have every little septa or septon, begging brother or silent sister, all able to provide basic medical care.

By bribing the High Septon with 5000 golden dragons he actually saved money as he ensured the High Septon agreed that the Faith itself had the money to pay for supplies for healing. The idiot had no idea how wildly used these supplies would end up becoming once healing was available to the masses. Finally all those donations to the Faith that barely ended up getting used would find a purpose. If it ended up an issue, Robert would simply kick the greedy rat towards his most pious Lords and have him beg donations from them, they would pony up.

Of course by solving one problem he would have another. He would now have to figure out a way to appease the Maesters before they became so annoyed with him that they'd start whispering things in their Lord's ears. The Citadel would not at all be pleased with healing being spread by every septa or septon out there.

Robert drained his wine and grimaced, the taste was too damn good. He had never been much for wine before, obviously the body he had hijacked disagreed and found Arbor Gold very fine indeed. He would have to look to ensure he only had massively watered down wine to avoid making a drunken fool of himself. Most of the important Lords of the realms were already here or soon to be here. He could not afford any stupidity.

"Your Grace? What next?" Ser Barristan asked politely as Robert left the antechamber.

Robert grinned at the old knight. "Time to see if I still got it Ser, up for a practice bout with the Demon of the Trident, Barristan the Bold?"

"Always, Your Grace."

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October 283 AC – That evening.

Jon Arryn stifled a yawn, doing his best to pretend he was still paying attention to the discussion around him. Ever since the Lords had started arriving, Robert had made it a habit to have a new set of Lords dine at his table every meal.

Today he was surrounded by northmen like Roose Bolton, Richard Karstark and Greatjon Umber. This meant that for the day Jon was two tables away surrounded by another set of Lords. Divide and Conquer Robert had called it. Why share a table and seduce the same Lords, when the King and his Hand could be split up?

Another of the very good ideas that had suddenly been sprouting up from his adoptive son ever since becoming King. It unfortunately meant he was spending the meal with a mess of Florents, Hightowers and Tyrells. With Lord Randyll Tarly plopped in the middle with Jon to suffer equally from the constant bickering. No wonder the man was such a straightforward and sour man, to constantly be surrounded by these people in the Reach. Jon shivered just thinking about it.

Some fates were indeed cruel.

Jon sent an almost longing glance over to the main table. Robert was laughing about something with Greatjon Umber and… By the old gods and the new, was that an actual smile on the face of Roose Bolton? Jon made a mental note to ask Robert later what in the seven hells that had been about. That man could make ice seem warm and pleasant. He was brought back to reality as Mace Tyrell beckoned for his attention. Oh bother.

"I noticed your new wife wasn't in attendance Lord Arryn, I hope everything is alright." He asked with poorly hidden greed. "Speaking of wives…" He added, in the most poorly hidden change of subjects he'd ever seen, "When is the King planning on finding one for the princes?"

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"By the gods Mace, the youngest is 7, try to wait until the coronation before you start salivating, you don't even have any daughters!" Lord Tarly spat banging a hand on the table.

Mace turned red in the face and if looks could kill, the lord of Horn Hill would have died then and there. "No one asked for your opinion Tarly! Salivating… To speak such of your Lord when you were already busy begging the King for a spot on the small council before I even finished breaking up camp!"

"My wife is well, thank you, just a spot of upset stomach keeping her resting this evening." Jon stopped the argument before it could begin, sending a brief warning look at Lord Tarly before he could retort to the lord of Highgarden. They didn't need any issues arising from simple personal dislike.

Lord Tarly snorted in disgust and turned to start a discussion instead with one of the Hightowers. "As for the Princes I believe the King thinks – and I agree - that it is a bit premature to rush for engagements at this time." Jon finished politely. No doubt the man wanted to wed Stannis to his sister Janna. Why on earth the man believed Stannis would ever accept a Tyrell bride baffled the mind of the Lord of the Eyrie.

But then, he was beginning to understand that the mind of Mace Tyrell was a strange place indeed.

Mace huffed looking around the hall searching for a topic, "Well, Hoster Tully surely made a killing, getting two Lord Paramounts for his daughters, very good alliances, yet he seems to be very upset, do you know whatever for my Lord hand?"

Jon tried to hide the wince as he looked over at the fuming Lord of Riverrun who wasn't even bothering to pretend he wasn't staring daggers at the main table. Two months back one could say Hoster would have been in a fantastic mood. Now, with Ser Brynden Tully guaranteed a spot in the Kingsguard, just waiting for the ceremony, really… He wasn't as thrilled.

The Blackfish had finally managed to outrun what Hoster saw as his responsibilities to the family. To make matters worse Hoster was one of the few in the know of Harrenhal and the Royal army. The man had not taken it well. A 20 000 man Army holding the most fortified position in the Riverlands, under control of Randyll Tarly to boot. No doubt Hoster feared his bannermen would feel that the real power in the Riverlands would lay in the hands of Tarly.

He wouldn't be wrong.

Making the Riverlands less of a shithole was one of the reasons Robert had argued for Harrenhal so fiercely. And he obviously didn't care one whit what Hoster Tully thought of it. Something which Jon would no doubt have to deal with…

"I believe the upcoming addition of Ser Brynden Tully to the Kingsguard is sitting ill with Lord Tully." He let out with a long suffering look, better the news of the knighting then the other more revolutionary news. He already had a hard enough time dealing with the Lords who already knew. As far as those most loyal in the rebellion were concerned, it was upsetting to see such attention on the smallfolk, and of course expenditure, while these loyal lords were sitting around without rewards.

It left a bad taste in Jon's mouth, this blatant greed that seemed to surround him. Honor and faith were beginning to be a rarity among the lords of the realm it seemed.

Before Mace could inquire any further Jon stood up having found the perfect excuse to miss the rest of this. Robert wouldn't begrudge him one day of staying away from greedy Lords with grubby hands and petty minds. "Excuse me my Lords, I shall go check on my lady wife and see if she has recovered."

"Of course, my Lord Hand! Pass along my well wishes to beautiful Lady Lysa." Mace exclaimed, trying and failing to look properly earnest. Jon accepted the well wishes of a few of the other Lords of the table, before finally making his escape.

His two guards followed – there by Robert's insistence on every important figure having guards - forcing him to always have them around. At least the two were proper honorable boys from the Vale, and they stepped in behind him as he made his way to his wife's chambers.

At least Robert was turning out to be a surprisingly good King Jon thought. He had managed to appease the Dornish, create a functioning and acceptable small council and was from what Jon heard, making good headway on getting the faith on his side.

Jon had half expected to have to carry the burden of ruling while Robert whored and drank. So far his adoptive son had cut down immensely on both. It seemed once responsibility finally fell to him, he rose to the occasion. Jon could say that as much of a headache dealing with this all was, he really was looking forward to the rule of King Robert the 1st.

He should have known better than to tempt fate. That is what Jon thought as he stared down at the cold grimace on the face of his deceased wife. A spilled goblet at her side. Poison was the likely culprit. He had not had much time to get to know his wife, therefore he really did not feel much sorrow as he looked down on her. Mostly weary that he would have to marry yet again.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly thinking of the mess they were in now. If Hoster Tully was angry before, now he would be apoplectic as his marriage alliance with the Vale was shattered. Jon just hoped that Catelyn Stark had not somehow managed to get killed on her way to Winterfell, they did not need Hoster trying to start up the war again over losing out on his prizes.

"I am too fucking old for this…"

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Hour later - Tower of the Hand's Solar.

"This is a fucking mess, Hoster Tully is rampaging through the keep, I had to ask Ser Brynden to be his shadow just to ensure he didn't do something stupid, and to keep him away from the feast and the king." Randyll Tarly was pacing back and forth in front of the desk, having ceded the chair to the very tired looking Hand.

"At least we have proof of a sort that it was not an attack meant to destabilize the King." Jon said, staring down at the letter that had been found among Lysa's things.

Randyll grimaced, "It's not much better to find that the fool girl killed herself in a silly plot to try and get out of her marriage. Hoster would have rather had her murdered by enemies to the throne than accept that truth." Randyll stared down at the same letter, mind working on the question of how real it was, was it meant to create a scapegoat or meant to make them think that?

Dear Lysa,

You have forever remained my only love, upon hearing your qualms about marrying Lord Arryn I started working on the means to save you immediately. Through various friends I have acquired a manse in Braavos under an assumed name.

If you would be so inclined I would love the honor of spiriting you away from that old man and staying together in Braavos forever. As husband and wife.

My friends acquired the powder that I've sent you with this letter my love. It will fake the semblance of death after being mixed with wine. Drink it my love and whence you awake next it will be next to me, I have trusted men at the keep to spirit you away once the mummery is over.

Please allow this to happen, I can not see true happiness without you by my side. Ensure you burn this letter before drinking my love, see you soon.

Forever yours

Lord Petyr Baelish

"The question is, if this was supposed to work as the letter states - or if it was all a ruse to take her life. The Grand Maester seems certain she is in fact dead." Randyll wondered out loud as he pondered the odd love letter slash murder weapon. "And it is odd she did not burn it as asked, yet followed every other instruction…"

"Lord Baelish is known to me… And to Hoster. The boy had a fascination with the Tully girls that almost got him killed trying to challenge Catelyn Tully's engagement to Brandon Stark." Jon grimaced slightly, recalling that whole fiasco. "The lad I remember would surely not be stupid enough to sign a letter pointing straight to him, impulsive- yes - but never that stupid."

Randyll raised an eyebrow, "Are you certain? He was apparently stupid enough to try and best Brandon Stark against the wishes of both the Tully's and the Starks. That is not the actions of a clever man. Also if she had followed all directions there would have been no letter to point towards him."

"It seems to me that when one intends to fool a Lord Paramounts wife into suicide one would not be signing the evidence." Jon answered dryly, "He tented his hands in front of him and rested his weary chin on them staring down at the letter. "No, if I am sure of one thing it is this. Lord Baelish did not write this letter, nor commit this act of treason."

"Whomever sent it knew your wife enough to convince her it was from Lord Baelish, and convincingly enough she willingly drank the poison. Is this Lord Baelish at court?" Randyll asked sharply, if nothing else they could question the Lord on why someone would try and get him killed.

Jon sighed, "No, he is the Lord of the fingers. He has a small tower and plot of land, in no way rich enough, known enough or tied to anyone that would net him an invitation here."

Randyll let out a frustrated sound as he slapped a fisted hand into his palm, "Pardon me my Lord Hand, that makes this even more muddled. A minor Lord that is all the way in the Vale with no allies or highborn alliances, and we are to believe he orchestrated this plot….. And then at the end was fool enough to sign his name to it? It could be a double bluff and indeed sent by Lord Baelish."

"You see my frustration, Lord Tarly." Jon answered with some frustration leaking into his countenance. "I can not in good conscience accuse Lord Baelish of this, nor is it feasible to call him to the capital to answer questions, we do not have several moon's turns."

Randyll understood too well, if Baelish was innocent, which was seeming likely, any raven to the Eyrie asking for Baelish to be put to the question of Lady Lysa's death, were likely to return with a guilty verdict, simply with bannermen and leal guards wanting to please their Lord and find his wife's killer would ensure a confession would be forthcoming. Likewise Jon could not travel to the Vale at such an important time, nor could they wait to call Lord Baelish to Kings Landing. "We must find someone, anyone." Randyll spoke up with distaste. He did not enjoy the idea of using a scapegoat.

"Absolutely not!" Jon answered harshly, eyes filled with fire where before there was only deep weariness. "I will not condemn an innocent party just to save face, there is no honor in that Lord Tarly!"

Randyll's responding sneer did not hold as much vitriol as he was usually capable of, mostly because he agreed with the Hand, they could not afford to be honorable however. "If we do not find someone, Hoster Tully will be sending men to the Vale to drag Lord Baelish back to Riverrun, where he will be very painfully executed after extensive torture has wrung a confession out of him."

"I can handle Hoster Tully." Jon bit out rising up, hands on the table and matching Randyll's glare with his own.

"With all due respect my Lord, whatever you thought on your relationship with Lord Hoster, it is now irreparably burnt. He will not let this go, not with all the other actions the King has taken that has impacted him negatively. Even with a scapegoat Lord Hoster will still be suspicious and angry, without it he will suspect your own hand in this." Randyll said matter of factly, not fazed by the hands glare.

"He would never suspect me!" Jon snapped. "You are presuming too much Lord Tarly, men of war see enemies everywhere, mayhap that is your issue here?"

The hand of the King sank back into his chair looking once again like he was drained of all energy, still radiating anger from the blistering eyes to the tense shoulders and white knuckled hands.

Randyll did not get to this point in his life by meekly bowing down whenever there was a storm. "The King did not appoint me to shower his court with flowery words nor to back down in the face of anger. Lord Baelish is of the Vale my Lord, he is also already known to Lord Hoster and it was a negative impression, a known enmity there, one Lord Hoster knows you would be aware of. An angry man would not have issues drawing the conclusions that your ordered your bannerman to get you out of your marriage, and then ensured Lord Baelish would be fingered, as surely someone that unimportant would not be a great loss to yourself if Lord Hoster fell upon him."

"You might be right." Jon bit out, "You might be wrong. I will not condemn someone that is not guilty."

"By not doing so, you will condemn Lord Baelish, who we both now suspect has no idea about this plot." Randyll pointed out quietly, "Either way someone will pay, we can decide that its someone which deserves it."

"Damn it to the seven hells." Jon swore quietly. He sat in tense silence for a few minutes. Randyll knew better than to push, he had fought for his solution, now just the answer, victory, or defeat?

"Who do you have in mind exactly?" Jon finally says tiredly, "It must be someone that would not stir up any more fights in the capital."

Randyll did not show any sign of being pleased at getting his way. Once victory had been achieved, showing pleasure over it just angered the defeated. "I have a few names in mind…"

----------------------------------------

Late Evening - King's solar

"You summoned me, Your Grace?"

Robert looked up from the parchment strewn all over his desk. The desk was a fine mahogany with gold and gem inlays depicting Stags. An expensive gift from one of the Western lords and one Robert thought was ostentatious but appearances needed to be held up. Speaking of Western lords...

"Ser Kevan, yes please have a seat." Robert waved over his page to pour the lion some wine. He then dismissed the lad so they could have some privacy.

"I noticed a commotion on heading here, the Tully's seem to be up in arms about something, should I be worried?" Kevan inquired politely.

"Jon is handling it, if he needed me he would have already informed me of the particulars so no need to worry." Robert said dismissively, leaning back in his equally ridiculous gold inlaid chair. "I summoned you to discuss the Royal bank, get all the details sorted out so you could get started in your new position."

"I am afraid that until all matters have been settled, Lord Lannister would not approve of the Royal bank getting off the ground, Your Grace." Kevan answered with a polite smile picking up his goblet of wine, "Dornish red, how appropriate," He murmured wryly.

"I take it Lord Lannister is not pleased with the Dornish influences, even though it means they stopped clamoring for his head?" Robert grumbled, displeased with the hinting and previcarating, no one ever spoke plainly at court it was driving him mad.

Kevan took a slow appreciative sip of wine, carefully putting the goblet down giving himself time to think of his answer. "Lord Lannister… Appreciates, Your Grace managing to leash the Dornish, it is the matter of seeing Targaryen loyalists rewarded…. While the promises made to house Lannister have yet to be delivered…"

Of course it was all about Tywin throwing a tantrum that he didn't get his cut before everyone else Robert thought exasperated. At least it was not something difficult to fix. "Let's speak plainly Ser Kevan, which of the matters I spoke with Lord Tywin about does he want handled immediately?"

"The matter of Jamie Lannister." Kevan responded promptly, "To be clear, his honorable release from the Kingsguard and the clearing of his name."

"Fine, the trial will be held at midday tomorrow in the throne room." Robert conceded, there really was no reason to antagonize Tywin by holding it up any longer. Nor would he admit the reason it hadn't yet happened was that he had forgotten the man was held in the black cells still.

Kevan bowed his head slightly before hesitating, "And the outcome… How will you absolve him of guilt when the boy admits he killed the king?"

"It will all be clear tomorrow, rest assured he will be found to have acted in honor and in defense of the realm." Robert stated firmly locking eyes with the most reasonable of the Lannisters. "You have my word on it." He was not going to reveal shit beforehand, they could wait like the rest for the big reveal.

Kevan very obviously wanted to say more but had to bite his tongue, one did not question the King's given word without very good reason after all. "Of course Your Grace, you wanted to discuss the bank?" He moved on.

Robert looked around his desk for a moment before he found the parchments he had prepared, he looked them over to ensure once again everything was where it was supposed to be and then once satisfied rolled it up and handed it over to Kevan who had sat in silence eyeing the parchments curiously. "This holds not only the framework for which the bank will operate under, but also how it will be run, the rules it will follow and all other formalities. Have a look over the next few days with your brother and inform me of any changes you might want to discuss, I will listen, if they are a betterment I will allow the changes."

Robert paused to take a heavy drink of his extremely watered down Dornish red. Kevan's gaze flickering down to the heavy rolled up parchment and back to Robert again as if having a hard time equating the stories of Robert with the mass amounts of parchment work.

You're not the one having to actually do it, lion, he grumbled inwardly at the look.

"Firstly, the headquarters of the Royal bank will be here in King's landing, we will demolish the dragon pit, put in the bank and some other relevant infrastructure. The bank will also have smaller satellite locations in every major city in Westeros." Robert began, stopping when it looked like Kevan wanted to interrupt, "You have thoughts? Well out with it then."

"Pardon, Your Grace, but with that many locations, how will we be able to make any profits at all." Kevan asked skeptically.

Robert smirked and stood up walking over to the large map of Westeros covering one of his walls. "See all these dots." He asked pointing to dots going in lines all over the map from every major city and along each coast. "These each represent a tower with a myrish glass eye that will be able to pass along messages far faster than any raven. Good for informing the realm of incoming Ironborn raids… Those don't happen everyday however… What purposes do you suppose those towers could fulfill during peace?"

Kevan stood up and looked over the map with a critical eye, the gleam in those eyes as he looked at the Westerlands coast meant he already understood. "How quickly would a message go from say.. King's Landing to White Harbor, Your Grace?"

Robert returned to his desk, sitting down with a pleased huff as he looked for the parchment with the calculations, Kevan remaining standing staring at the map no doubt running scenarios in his head already on how quickly an Ironborn raid could be discovered and transmitted across the Westerlands.

"Ah, there it is," Robert grabbed the parchment that had been hidden by a whole pile of parchmentwork. "Let's see… Each tower 20 miles apart, at the top a set of movable wood posts with over 200 symbols for coded messages.. Where are the damn time calculations." Robert muttered to himself, with how much he was going through each day some facts just blurred together eventually. " Ah, there it is….About 1500 miles to White Harbor would take 2 and a half hours to 3 hours depending on weather." Robert finished to the astonishment of Kevan.

"And a message from Lannisport to Casterly Rock?" Kevan asked, looking like a miracle was being performed, it was honestly somewhat creepy to see the normally blank façade fall to such emotion. Robert looked down at the calculations again, finger trailing the different locations until he found what he was looking for. "40 miles, a message would arrive in about 5 minutes."

"By the seven" Kevan sank down in his chair grabbing hold of his goblet of wine like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. "This changes so much."

"As you can see, we have an advantage now. No merchant needs to bring a chest of gold on their travels. They can simply open an account here in Kings Landing - or anywhere there is a branch - and deposit the gold. Receive a promissory note from the clerk, then a message is sent up the line to all the bank locations in Westeros giving the man's description, account number, amount of gold in the account and a passphrase of their choice." Robert explained to the still somewhat dazed looking Lannister. "Not only will this cut down on gold lost to robbery or accidents at sea, people will start to trust the bank to hold their money. Businesses and traders in particular will use it, and through the bank as the connection - send messages before their travels to their destination, asking what trade goods that they most need and will pay dearly for - all for a fee of course."

"The Royal bank will have a hand in every trade of the kingdom, building trust and prestige and at the same time massively increasing trade which will increase their usage of the bank again. I must say, I had not quite expected something like this, Your Grace, it's incredible," Kevan admitted, eyes still periodically glancing at the map.

"You can see why I made the deal with your brother, with Lannister gold ensuring a quick start and a bank in every vital location, the trade of Westeros will bloom and the Baratheons and Lannisters will reap the benefits." Robert said, pleased at how quickly Kevan had understood the uses of the Semaphores for trade. "Speaking of, the deal acknowledges you will head the bank for 10 years, I see no reason if you stay loyal to the throne and perform admirably that you can not continue after that if it's your wish."

The Lannisters were good with gold, and would be tied to his rule for now anyway, might as well get as much use of them as he could until they inevitably did a Tywin.

"I am of course loyal to the crown, Your Grace." Kevan acknowledged, with a bow of his head.

Robert doubted he would ever go against Tywin, but all he needed was that he doesn't immediately give up all this potential the second Tywin is displeased about something. He needed someone solid and not addicted to the glint of gold in charge of this project.

"As for the running of the bank, you will of course be in charge as promised. However you will have a board of managers under you, each in charge of a different aspect of the bank to ensure you have the help you need. Also the Master of Coin will have an observatory role, simply to ensure he is aware of the actions of the bank, the lending and moving of money so that he can be fully aware of how money is moving in the kingdoms at any given time." Robert continued the explanation, pleasantly surprised when Kevan did not raise an objection to be surrounded by what would mostly be crown men.

They both knew they'd also be crown spies.

"What would be the composition of these positions?" Kevan asked, having returned to his usual stoic self after the surprises of the discussion. "And will I be able to appoint them myself?"

"Master of business loans/investments, Master of Trade loans/investments, Master of Foreign loans/investments, Master of noble loans/Investments, Master of security/employees, Master of information/accounts, and a few others that I probably forgot, it's in your parchments there, 5 positions are already filled, the information already - again - in your parchments. You may fill the rest, although I will only allow 3 positions other than yours to be filled by Westerlanders or Lannisters." Robert explained, reading off a list from another of his many pieces of parchments strewn around the desk.

He rolled it up and tossed it to the side, wincing as the careless act knocked several piles of parchments to the ground. "Not a word." He warned Kevan who was looking on in almost hidden amusement. The man had not been able to control his lips from twitching, Robert counted it as another win for him.

"Of course, Your Grace," He replied with some mirth still present. "Was there anything else?"

Robert thought over it for a few moments drumming his fingers on the table. "No, the rest you can read for yourself, like I said, bring me any proposed changes and I will look them over." Robert said dismissing the stoic lion, not so stoic anymore.

"By your leave, Your Grace, "Kevan stood and bowed before leaving the solar.

Robert looked around the room in disgust at the amount of work left to be done. Why would anyone ever want to be a King? Well he amended that, why would anyone want to be a proper actually ruling King. By all accounts canon Robert had many a good times completely avoiding ruling. Unfortunately with how that turned out there was no way he could afford to be as lazy.

"Back to work." He muttered, bending down to pick up the scattered scrolls.

----------------------------------------

Early morning - King's solar

"Is that really wise Robert." Jon asked with wry amusement as he walked into the King's solar finding Robert reading parchments at the same time as breaking fast, a whole leg of a chicken held precariously close to the reading material.

"I am the King, I can eat wherever I damn please. Sit, join me." Robert waved the chicken leg in the direction of the large platter of food on his desk and the pitcher of Dornish red.

"Wine so early?" Jon tsked with disapproval, it was noticeably amiable however, as this routine had played out almost as long as they had known each other.

Robert huffed in amusement taking a big bite out of the chicken. He would have to remember to get fried chicken up and going, the meat here was a lot blander then he was used to. "I haven't had any wine." He admitted. "Servants puts it out everyday but I have too much to do, can't afford to have my mind addled."

Jon smirked, grabbing a piece of fruit off Robert's platter and popping it in his mouth, "Who are you and what have you done with Robert Baratheon? The man too busy chasing women and outdrinking whole taverns on a daily basis to do parchment work." He teased good naturedly.

If only he knew… Robert thought.

Robert sent him a mock dirty look, "Wish I could, If someone hadn't gotten it in their fool head to make me King… I can't afford to look like a fool barbarian or these peacocks down here will give me a headache that will last unto my grandchildren."

Jon let out a short weary laugh, "Peacocks is an apt description, they do tend to fray one's last never don't they?"

Robert eyed him, noticing his hands pale pallor and hunched back. "Is everything alright Jon? You look even more exhausted than me…"

"Right to the matter I see." Jon japed with a weak smile. Then he sighed. "My wife was murdered yesterday, someone sent a letter that fooled the damn girl into drinking poison. Been busy dealing with the investigation.." Jon grimaced. "And Hoster Tully, since then."

Robert leapt up and quickly embraced Jon forcibly lifting the protesting man out of his chair. "Shit Jon, I didn't know, I swear when we find who did it we will murder the fucking cunt so hard they will be telling tales about it 8000 years from now!"

"The letter was signed by Lord Petyr Baelish, Randyll Tarly and myself have been handling the investigation." Jon explained once he was let down giving Roberts shoulder a thankful pat.

Robert stilled. And then turned and spoke slowly, "Lord Baelish…. He is the killer then?"

Jon shook his head, hesitated for a second, then spoke. "Lord Tarly during his investigation found the servant who delivered the letter and the poison, the servant claimed he was paid by Walder Frey to ensure the Tully's alliances were destroyed, no doubt to place himself forward as the leading house in the Riverlands. Lord Baelish signature was a ruse as he was known to Hoster and myself and could have possibly led to Hoster blaming the Vale."

Robert had a peculiar look on his face as he digested that. "Walder Frey… And you're sure it wasn't Baelish?"

Jon nodded resolutely, "On that I am sure, he knew Lysa, that is well known, but therefore it is impossible he would sign his own name and tie himself to this."

Robert grimaced, stroking his neat beard pensively. "Walder Frey won't stand to be accused of this just on the word of a servant." He pointed out.

"It will force Hoster Tully to focus on the Riverlands, instead of making a mess here, he was getting increasingly upset with the changes you were implementing Robert." Jon admitted, holding his hands out in a what can you do gesture.

"Fucking seven hells!" Robert swore, starting to pace back and forth. "Not even properly crowned yet and you tell me I will see a civil war in the Riverlands?"

"Not war." Jon said, "Neither of them can afford that, more than likely bandits will start attacking traveling Freys and Frey farms…. And in return Tully farms will be burned, likewise by bandits on a continuous cycle."

"Can we stop it?" Robert asked frustrated.

"Not without Walder Frey suddenly losing his head." Jon said downcast and wringing his hands. "We can't support civil war, nor can we reprimand Hoster for getting revenge, nor can we ask the Freys to give up. Every choice makes us look weak."

"And we can't march on the Twins without making every lord of the realm wonder if they will see an army next on the word of a mere servant." Robert could see they were in a situation where there were no easy solutions.

They might be forced to just stand back and watch Tully and Frey play shadow war for now.

"Shit… They might not enjoy playing bandit once there are 10 000 men in Harrenhal ready to crush those cunts."

"That gives us a few years, we can find a solution before the Royal Army is settled enough to begin to wipe out the bandit population." Jon said looking none the happier.

"We should just let Baelish take the fall, isn't he that fucker that tried to get Catelyn Tully out of her Stark betrothal? He isn't a big loss Jon." Robert roared, slamming a hand against the wall. "I can't let there be war, even a shadow one, this early in my rule."

"That won't work out for the better Robert. Hoster would never believe it was Baelish alone. Randyll believes - and I agree - that Hoster would leap to the conclusion Baelish was my catspaw to get out of the marriage. since I was well aware Hoster disliked him and why. He would no doubt believe that I was dangling Baelish ahead of him as a ploy to avoid any blame myself." Jon explained. "No matter what we are in a dire situation, we need to choose the one that does not cause chaos in the capital. You can see the sense as well as I, Robert."

"Gods be damned," Robert muttered angrily, head leaning against the wall as he thought it through. After a few minutes he sighed and turned back towards Jon. "Fine, hold a trial with this servant you've cooked up - don't look so damn surprised Jon, I damn well know a con when I see one - And get Hoster Tully pointed at a target away from the capital."

"I will see it done once the trial for Jamie Lannister has finished, and I will let Hoster know ahead of time so he doesn't try and confront you during the trial seeking answers." Jon answered after a considering pause.

"Robert, you are doing the right thing here, it's the best choice in a bad situation."

Robert shook his head harshly sitting down at his desk again. "Tell that to Walder Frey." He suggested. Not that he cared for that old cunt. He'd get his if he had his way too.

Jon shook his head with a tired smile on his face. "I'd rather not treat with that man, no matter the reason. The one good thing with this is the chance that a despicable man ends up dead."

"To the death of Walder Frey!" Robert chuckled darkly, filling two goblets with wine, handing one to Jon and then draining his own.

"What happened to no wine in the morning?" Jon asked, taking a small sip of his own visibly relaxing into his chair now that the serious business was dealt with.

"Starting civil wars because it's the damn best choice for me is thirsty business." Robert answered unapologetically. "At least the servants will be happy, I half believe they think I suspect them of trying to poison me with how they always frown at the full pitcher of wine."

"I am surprised you have any left, you sent most to the wall." Jon quipped, taking another sip.

"Like I was going to trust a keep full of people that spent their entire lives serving Dragons." Robert sneered filling another goblet for himself, pacing himself now to simple sips. He still had a trial later.

"I noticed you made Roose Bolton actually smile yesterday, I was going to ask before all this happened what on earth that was about?"

Robert looked confused for a moment before realizing what Jon was talking about. "Oh. That. I put him in charge of getting answers out of Varys. Yesterday was his first day asking the spider some pointed questions. That's why he was so cheerful when he came to the table."

Jon shuddered, "I can understand why Eddard dislikes the man, there is something wrong with him. Although I can acknowledge the need to use a person such as him for situations like Varys, he sits ill with me."

Robert winced, "Ah, then you won't like what I told him before I told him to interrogate Varys."

Jon sighed he had seen that expression on Robert many times, usually after sneaking out for whoring and drinking and then getting caught on the way back. "What did you do?"

"Well….."

Flashback

Days earlier -Early morning - King's solar

"I imagine you are wondering why I would call you here." Robert said, eyeing the silent leech Lord that was admiring the map of Westeros.

"I did not want to assume." Lord Roose Bolton answered, turning around, blinking slowly as he stared straight at Robert. Lord Bolton was the kind of man that epitomized the phrase emotionless. Robert might as well have been speaking with a damn corpse.

"I have heard quite a lot about you, Lord Bolton. Most of it, to be honest, hasn't been very pleasant." Robert said, staring directly into Bolton's eyes, unblinking and with no reaction to his statement. Freaky.

"What use would I have for pleasantry, Your Grace?" Lord Bolton said calmly.

Robert huffed, unwillingly starting to smirk. "Well, You don't piss around, I appreciate that. Luck has it I could use an unpleasant man."

"I am at your service of course." Lord Bolton assured quietly. At Robert's hand gesture the tall Lord finally sat down in front of the desk so Robert wouldn't have to stare up at him.

"I intend to start a new… Organization in Westeros, The Inquisitors." Robert said slowly gauging the lord in front of him. "Its intent, to train and use torturers, spies and assassins in the name of the throne, secretly of course."

Lord Bolton raised an eyebrow questioningly, "Spies already exist under the aegis of the Master of Whispers, assassins could easily be bought by such a person, torturers there are plenty, surely the Red Keep has some?"

Robert smirked, "Not like this, I don't want spies that listen in on conversations, I want the kind that can ride a man down, interrogate him on the spot and dispose of the evidence after. I want no run of the mill hired assassins. I want loyal highly trained ones that will always get the target and that can return alive to get the next one. And any man can rip off some nails, I need men that can destroy men's minds and discover everything hidden within."

Lords Bolton smiled, and Robert finally saw a flash of emotion on the man. "Does that interest you Lord Bolton?"

"It sounds appealing." The Leech Lord admitted. "Logistics?"

"You would have to remain in the south, I would name you to the small council as Master of Provisions. Ostensibly your position is that of ensuring the realm is prepared for winter. As a northerner your appointment makes sense and would go mostly unquestioned. This will excuse your presence down south and your presence at the small council meetings, as well as any private audiences with your King." Robert explained quietly. "In reality you can let one of your underlings run that part and just report whatever they've done to the council. You will secretly be the Master of the Inquisition. The torturers of the Red Keep will be yours to train and oversee, you will get the gold, facilities and means to train any number of spies, torturers and assassins, loyal to the throne. You would answer only to me, and my descendants, no one else on the small council will ever know."

Of course Robert would be keeping a close eye to ensure everyone remained loyal… But he had a feeling that giving Bolton all the fun he could have would prevent any egregious plotting.

At least for a while. Once the organization was built, if he was a threat, well…

"I suppose I will have to find a proper castellan to run the Dreadfort for my heir then. Your Grace." Lord Bolton replied matter of factly.

"Splendid, and one more thing." Robert put on his best war face. "The Starks are mine, I am aware the Boltons have many times chafed under their rule. Starks start dropping dead as you get an order of assassins under you, will lead to me caving your head in, understood?" Robert leant forward on his arms really staring into the eyes of Lord Bolton. "Even should the entire Stark line die by a massive accident, I will find some random child, name it Stark and make it Lord Paramount of the north. Do not try anything in that direction."

Lord Bolton smiled again. "Your Grace, I have no need to do such a thing, I have already risen higher today than any Bolton for thousands of years."

Robert sat back in his chair. "Good, see to it that it remains that way and you will have everything you could ever want here in the capital."

Flashback end.

Jon rubbed his forehead. "I understand why you felt the need to do this, in fact it could be immensely useful, as long as no one ever finds out. So why tell me then, you told Lord Bolton no one would know?"

Robert snorted, "I told him that, but just in case, I also told you. In case I suddenly get assassinated from nowhere."

Jon groaned and shook his head despondently. "Don't jape about that Robert! You realize if anyone finds out about this order of yours, every accident any Lord suffers, every death, they will always suspect you ordered it. No one can find out, no one Robert. Don't tell anyone else."

Jon's face paled, "Do not tell Eddard!"

"I'm not a moron." Robert scoffed.

The rest of the meeting was spent on figuring out how to cajole all the various Lords to bend over properly.

At least he'd still marry that cunt Cersei in exchange for Lannister gold for all his projects.

With Jaime soon to be heir of Castefly Rock, maybe he can even fuck her stupid - so she won't keep being an issue.

Hah, and maybe pigs will fly too!

----------------------------------------