Silver Stag

Arrival & First Small Council

"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. My niece is also usually present, as cupbearer, but we decided she would be too tired from the journey." 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.

"40 000 gold dragons to the champion, 20 000 to the runner-up, 20 000 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 3 million gold. What's another 80 000?" 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. I guess this would be poor timing to inform you Lord Baelish, my niece has inquired about funding for her project, " Renly addressed Petyr Baelish, the current Master of Coin.

"Project?" Ned asked.

"Aye," Renly began. "My niece enjoys visiting the small folk and helping wherever she can. If she cannot visit them, she uses her funds to make things for them. Toys, clothes, whatever she can."

She appears to be very different from the rest of her family, Lord Stark thought to himself.

None of the other members of the royal family went out of their way to interact with the smallfolk.

Perhaps there was hope for the royal family after all.

"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 10 000 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 10 000 northern troops, would they fight for you or their lord?"

"For me. I'm their King."

Cersei Baratheon : But you've just invaded their homeland, asked them to kill their brothers. 

Joffrey Baratheon : 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.

Unbeknownst to them, Aelinor had been standing outside and heard the entire conversation.

The realm was in trouble the day her brother would sit the Iron Throne. Though, for the same reason, she was sure his reign would not be long.

Someone would kill him. The only question; who and when?