[King's Landing - Red Keep]

Almost immediately upon arriving, Lord Stark was called to a small council meeting.

He left his daughters with their Septa and Jory, his trusted guard, and made his way inside.

"Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper. And, Jory, you go with them."

"Yes, my Lord."

"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate..." The page trailed off, seeing the unamused stare of Lord Stark.

He was led inside to the throne room, which was connected to the Small Council chamber.

There he found Jaime Lannister; the Kingslayer.

"Thank the gods you're here, Stark. About time we had some stern northern leadership."

"Glad to see you're protecting the throne."

"Sturdy old thing. How many kings' asses have polished it, I wonder? What's the line? The King sh¡ts and the Hand wipes."

"Very handsome armour. Not a scratch on it." Lord Stark gestured to the impeccable condition of the man's Kingsguard armour.

"I know. People have been swinging at me for years, but they alwys seem to miss."

"You've chosen your opponents wisely then."

"I have a knack for it. It must be strange for you coming into this room. I was standing right here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother. Your father too. They didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that."

"But you just stood there and watched."

"Five hundred men just stood there and watched. All the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms. You think anyone said a word, lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except for the screams, of course, and the Mad King laughing. And later... When I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned... It felt like justice."

"Is that what you tell yourself at night? You're a servant of justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword in Aerys Targaryen's back?"

"Tell me... If I'd stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?"

"You served him well when serving was safe."

"Lord Stark." He turned to see Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers.

"Lord Varys."

"I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles on the Kingsroad. We are all praying for Prince Joffrey's full recovery."

"A shame you didn't say a prayer for the butcher's son. Renly ! You're looking well." He said, before greeting King Robert's youngest brother at they entered the Small Council chamber.

"And you look tired from the road. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but..."

"But we have a Kingdom to look after. I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me." Another man with salt and pepper hair interrupted.

"She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."

"All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem from navel to collarbone."

"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with." Ned admonished.

"It wasn't the man that I chose, my Lord. It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree."

There was a silent stare down between the two men.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord Stark." Maestar Pycelle interjected.

"Grand Maester."

"How many years has it been ? You were a young man." The Maestar asked.

"And you served another King."

"How forgetful of me. This belongs to you, now. Should we begin?" Pycelle asked, after handing the Hand of the King to its rightful new owner.

"Without the King?" Ned asked.

"Winter may be coming, but I'm afraid the same cannot be said for my brother." Renly stated.

"His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load." Varys informed him.

"We are the lords of small matters here." Lord Baelish quipped.

"My brother instructs us to stage a tournament in honor of Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of the King."

"Mmm, how much?" Baelish, asked, getting straight to the point.

"Forty thousand gold dragons to the champion, twenty thousand to the runner-up, twenty thousand to the winning archer." Ned announced.

"Can the treasury bear such expense?" Grand Maestar Pycelle asked.

"I'll have to borrow it. The Lannisters will accommodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold. What's another eighty thousand?" Baelish muttered.

"Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?" What position had he stumbled into? He had only just accepted the position of hand, and learned the Crown had significant debt.

"I'm telling you the Crown is six million in debt." He corrected.

"How could you let this happen?"

"The Master of Coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it."

"I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm." Lord Stark protested.

"Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn't alwys listen." Maestar Pycelle added.

"Counting coppers," he calls it, " Renly addressed Petyr Baelish, the current Master of Coin.

"I'll speak to him tomorrow. This tournament is an extravagance we cannot afford." Lord Stark decided.

"I will have to look into the book. As you will. But still, we'd best make our plans."

"There will be no plans until I speak to Robert. Forgive me, my Lords. I had a long ride." Lord Stark said, effectively ending the meeting.

"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark, we serve at your pleasure." Lord Varys told him.

They all departed until matters could be discussed at a later time.

Meanwhile, Cersei sat tending to the injured hand of her eldest son.

"Please, it's nearly healed." She told him, unravelling the gauze.

"It's ugly."

"A King should have scars, you fought off a direwolf. You're a warrior like your father."

"I'm not like him. I didn't fight off anything. It bit me and all I did was scream. And the two Stark girls saw it, both of them."

"That's not true. You would have killed the beast. You only spared the girl because of the love your father bears her father. When Aerys Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, your father was a rebel and a traitor. Someday you'll sit on the throne and the truth will be what you make it."

"Do I have to marry her?"

"Yes. She's very beautiful and young. If you don't like her, you only need to see her on formal occasions and when the time comes, to make little princes and princesses. And if you'd rather fսck painted whοres, you'll fսck painted whοres. And if you'd rather lie with noble virgins, so be it. You are my darling boy and the world will be exactly as you want it to be. Do something nice for the Stark girl."

"I don't want to."

"No, but you will. The occasional kindness will spare you all sorts of trouble down the road."

"We allow the northerners too much power. They consider themselves our equals."

"How would you handle them?"

"I'd double their taxes and command them to supply ten thousand men to the royal army."

"A royal army?"

"Why should every lord command his own men? It's primitive, no better than the hill tribes. We should have a standing army of men loyal to the Crown, trained by experienced soldiers... Instead of a mob of peasants who've never held pikes in their lives."

"And if the northerners rebel?"

"I'd crush them. Seize Winterfell and install someone loyal to the realm as Warden of the North. Uncle Kevan, maybe."

"And these ten thousand Northern troops, would they fight for you or their lord?"

"For me. I'm their King."

"But you've just invaded their homeland, asked them to kill their brothers. "

"I'm not asking."

"The North cannot be held... not by an outsider. It's too big and too wild. When the winter comes, the Seven gods together couldn't save you and your royal army. A good King knows when to save his strength... And when to destroy his enemies."

"So you agree... The Starks are enemies?"

"Everyone who isn't us is an enemy." Cersei told her son.

Deciding she'd heard enough, Morgana burst into the room, surprising her mother and brother.

"Really, mother? Already convincing my brother to go to war against my futire husband."

"If your father had any sense he would have married you to a Southern lord. Your brother is already betrothed to the Stark girl. A princess' marriage is to gain alliances."

Morgan scoffed. "And what about love and loyalty? Do those mean nothing to you?"

Cersei raised an eyebrow. "Love and loyalty are just words, Morgan. In the game of thrones, only power matters. Believe it or not, the Starks are our enemies, and we must do whatever it takes to protect ourselves and our kingdom. In the game of thrones, you must do whatever it takes to protect your own."

Joffrey looked nervously at his sister, unsure of what to say. His sister's temper was well known, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

"It's for the greater good," Cersei continued. "We cannot allow the Starks to gain power. They are our enemies, and we must defeat them at all costs."

Morgana scoffed. "Enemies? Ha! The only one who sees the Starks as enemies is you, Mother. My father and Lord Stark are brothers in all but blood."

In the intensity of their argument, neither woman realized Joffrey had left.

Cersei's smile faltered for a moment, but then she regained her composure. "Your father is a weak man, Morgana. He loves war, but would do anything to keep peace in the realm, even if it meant sacrificing our family's power."

Morgana was having none of it. She knew that her family's obsession with power and control would only lead to more bloodshed and suffering. And she refused to stand by and watch as they destroyed everything good and pure in their quest for dominance.

"Mother, you cannot continue to lie to Joffrey," she said, her eyes flashing with determination. "The Starks are not our enemies."

"How dare you question my judgement, Morgana? All I've evrr done is try to keep you and your brothers and sister safe."

"Robb Stark is kind and honourable, and I will learn to love him. He does not deserve to be our enemy."

"Love?" Cersei laughed bitterly. "Love has no place in politics, Morgana. Love is a weakness. And weaknesses can be exploited. You must put aside your foolish romantic notions and do what is best for the realm."

"And what of Sansa Stark?" Morgana asked, her voice filled with sorrow. "She is only a child, yet you would see her married to that monster Joffrey. Is that truly justice?"

Cersei's face twisted in rage. "Do not speak of justice, Morgana. The Lannisters alwys pay their debts, and we will see to it that the Starks remember their place."

"Mother, how can you say such things?" Princess Morgana demanded, her voice trembling with anger as she faced her mother, Queen Cersei, in the chambers of the Red Keep. "We are betrothed to the Starks, for the sake of alliance and peace between our houses! Do you expect me to simply forget that and follow your petty vendetta against his family?"

Cersei raised an eyebrow, her expression cold and calculating. "Peace? Ha! The Starks are not to be trusted, Morgana. They will alwys seek to undermine us, to bring us down from our rightful place on the Iron Throne."

"But they are our friends," Morgana protested. "My father and Lord Eddard were close companions, before he became the Hand of the King. And now, my betrothal to Robb... it is a chance for our families to unite, to strengthen our bond through marriage."

"Marriage?" Cersei sneered. "Ha! That boy is nothing but a foolish child, blinded by his own sense of righteousness. He will never understand the ways of the world, the games we must play to survive. The Starks have always been weak, and they will always be our enemies."

Morgana felt a surge of frustration at her mother's words, knowing that she could never change her mind. But still, she tried. "Please, Mother, do not speak of this so lightly. Our betrothals are sacred vows, and we must honour them."

Cersei laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "Honour? Ha! There is no room for honour in the game of thrones. Only power, and those who possess it will reign supreme." She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with malice. "Remember your place, Morgana. You are a princess of House Lannister, and you will do well to remember the lessons I have taught you. The Starks may think themselves our equals, but they are nothing but pawns in our game of power."