Chapter Five- King's Landing

The inn was packed with soldiers, Stark, Lannister, and Baratheon alike as the crowd waited for the arrival of Lord Eddard Stark. The Warden of the North had led a search party that afternoon to search for his youngest daughter, Arya, after she and her direwolf had disappeared into the wilderness. Said girl was now standing only a few feet from Crown Prince Nat Baratheon, in the center of the room.

The girl was trembling with the eyes of every soldier on the room locked onto her. Nat's jaw clenched and unclenched at the sight; he knew what was coming. He had known since his conversation with his mother just hours before.

~0~0~0~

"You need to get a handle on Joffrey," Nat chided, pacing before his mother in her chambers.

"And you need to get a handle on who the enemy is, my son," she replied coolly.

Nat stopped midstride and turned, two pairs of emerald eyes locking onto one another. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

Cersei readjusted herself in her seat, resting her cheek in her palm as she stared up at her first born. "The enemy, my dear; you've spent so much time studying war with Ser Barristan I would have thought you'd be familiar with the concept."

Nat grunted impatiently, "Make your point, mother."

"Joffrey is your brother, regardless of his actions he is your blood, anyone who cannot say the same is an enemy," she cooed.

Nat's eyes narrowed at the queen. "He tried to kill Arya Stark, the daughter of the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, and you're excusing this?"

Cersei rolled her eyes, "Oh please, your grandfather is more powerful than the honorable Lord Stark, we owe him nothing."

Nat was astounded. How could someone with decades of political prowess not understand the implications of Joffrey's behavior? Was his mother really that deluded?

"Lord Stark's daughter is my betrothed; the North is the most famously independent kingdom in the realm- how can you not see the recklessness of Joffrey's actions?" he growled.

Cersei stood and slowly walked to her son, placing a hand on his back, "Of course it was reckless, and yet we will do nothing, do you know why?" she asked.

Nat raised a brow.

"Because it's our word against theirs, and our word always wins."

~0~0~0~

The memory made Nat's blood boil. He didn't trust the Starks as far as he could throw them, not yet, anyway, but he would be damned if he let an innocent child be punished for a fight his brother instigated. Nat may have been able to do whatever he wanted, but he wasn't cruel.

A commotion came from the back of the room as Lord Stark pushed his way through the crowd. The trembling Arya raced to her father's arms repeating, "I'm sorry," over and over as he embraced her.

Eddard pulled away and looked the girl in the eye. "It's alright- are you hurt?"

Arya quickly shook her head as the Lord of Winterfell stood to face the royal family.

"What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?" he fumed. Nat took stock as he watched the man speak. Most of the men in the room were theirs; Lord Stark stood in rather hostile territory.

"How dare you speak to your king in that manner?" his mother asked from the opposite side of Robert's chair.

The king snapped at her, "Quiet woman! Sorry, Ned, never meant to frighten the girl, but we need to get this business done quickly."

At the suggestion, Lord Stark was taken aback. "What business is that?" he grumbled.

Cersei put her arms atop Joffrey's shoulders. "Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son, that animal of hers nearly ripped Joffrey's arm off!" she accused.

Arya Stark stepped forward; she was a brave one indeed. "That's not true! She just…she bit him a little! He was hurting Mycah!"

It seemed his mother would not be outdone by a nine-year-old girl as she continued, "Joff told us what happened, you and the butcher's boy beat him with clubs and set your wolf on him."

"That's not what happened!" Arya insisted.

"Yes it is!" squealed Joffrey. "They all attacked me and she threw my sword in the river!"

"Liar!" Arya screeched.

"ENOUGH!" the king bellowed as he rose, silencing all in the room. Robert glanced over his shoulder at Nat before glowering between the two children before him. "He tells me one thing, she tells me another, seven hells what am I supposed to make of this!?"

Robert turned and grabbed Nat's sleeve, pulling him towards the center of the room.

"Ned! Where's your other daughter?"

"In bed, asleep," Lord Stark replied.

"No she's not, Sansa, here darling," his mother beckoned.

From the crowd Sansa emerged, joining Nat in the center of the room before the king.

"Well then, let's see if their stories match; you first boy," Robert ordered.

Nat took a deep breath; it was time to put on his politician mask. "Lady Sansa and I were on quite a lovely stroll along the banks of the Trident when we heard some commotion," he began. "Upon our further inspection we found Lady Arya and the butcher's boy playing with broomsticks- I believe they were pretending to be knights," he continued to the laughter of the soldiers in the room.

Nat turned to his brother and stared him in the eyes, "It was a simple children's game until the prince arrived, I'm afraid Joffrey did indeed hurt the butcher's boy a tad, which prompted a skirmish; I had the situation under control but Lady Arya's direwolf arrived at the defense of her mistress and fancied a royal feast, hence the wounds on my brother's arm."

Nat paused, taking in the laughter surrounding him. Good. He was defusing the tension somewhat.

"Though my brother was correct, Lady Arya did give him a bit of a thrashing with her broomstick; had her direwolf not intervened in I believe I would have been able to settle the situation then and there, but here we stand," he concluded.

Robert's icy eyes closed as he pondered the prince's story, fingers stroking his beard. Before long, he opened his eyes and turned to Sansa, speaking more softly now, "Now you, child…tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true; remember, it's a great crime to lie to a king," he commanded.

Nat glanced down at Sansa. The girl's skin was a ghostly white, the poor thing looked terrified. He pitied her, this entire incident shouldn't have happened in the first place, she shouldn't have had to testify before all these people like this.

"I-I don't remember," she stammered. "Everything happened so fast, I-"

"Liar!" Arya shrieked before jumping on Sansa's back, pulling at her hair, "Liar! Liar! Liar!"

"Stop that!" cried Eddard.

As the captain of the Stark household guard, Jory Cassel, pulled the girls apart Nat sighed in frustration. He wasn't exactly expecting a savvy political defusal from the girl, he could hardly do much without inciting anger from his mother, but this complete lack of responsibility from her was disappointing. Even his little sister could do better.

His mother looked down on the Stark girls, "She's as wild as that animal of hers, I want her punished," she declared.

Robert and Nat rolled their eyes simultaneously. "What would you have me do, whip her through the streets?" Robert said to his queen. "Damn it, children fight. It's over."

Nat could see his mother's jaw tighten. "Joffrey will bear these scars the rest of his life."

Nat almost scoffed. Joffrey would do good to bear any scars at all seeing as the boy would never enter any real combat. At least this way the prince could give the impression that he had been in a real duel before. His father seemed to agree.

"You let that little girl disarm you?" he shook his head incredulously, much to Joffrey's embarrassment., before turning to Lord Stark. "See to it that your daughter is disciplined, and I'll do the same with my son."

"Gladly, Your Grace," Lord Stark nodded.

Nat exhaled. He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath. With all of the tension the prince had forgotten to take a breath. Thankfully, it seemed his testimony had deterred the Stark girl from receiving worse punishment. Or, it had seemed that way before his mother spoke once more.

"And what of the direwolf?" she called. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

Seven Hells mother, let this go Nat thought, furrowing his brow.

Robert straightened his back and paused, "I'd forgot the damned wolf."

A Lannister soldier leaned forwards from his position among the troops, "We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace."

Robert shook his head and made to leave, "So be it."

Nat shut his eyes and exhaled through his nose. Thank the Gods.

"We have another wolf," his mother persisted, emerald eyes ablaze with determination.

It was Nat's turn to clench his jaw. You'd condemn an innocent creature to death? Nat glanced over his shoulder at Sansa, whose mouth was agape with shock. The poor thing. Looking back to his father, the prince could see the suggestion working its way through the king's head.

"As you will," Robert decided.

Nat frowned. As expected, his father would just do as his mother wished.

"You can't mean it," Eddard protested.

"A direwolf is no pet," Robert dismissed. "Get the girl a dog, Ned, she'll be happier for it."

Nat started as Sansa cried out from behind him. "He doesn't mean Lady, does he? No, no, Lady didn't bite anyone! She's good!" she wailed.

Arya corroborated her sister's claim. "Lady wasn't there! You leave her alone!"

Sansa's cheeks were wet with tears as she clasped Nat's forearm, "Please my prince, please!" Nat made no motion at the girl's wailing and so she turned to her father. "Please, stop them," she pleaded. "Please don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady!" she wept.

Eddard wrapped Sansa in his arms as she wept, watching his friend make for the door. The Warden of the North gently guided Sansa from his arms and stood firm in the center of the room, "Is this your command…Your Grace?" he called, voice cutting through the air.

Nat watched as his father stopped midstride and turned to Lord Stark with dead eyes before leaving the room, his guard trailing quickly behind. The hall was quiet except for the wailing of Sansa Stark.

"Where is the beast?" Cersei asked.

"Chained up outside, Your Grace," a Lannister soldier responded.

The queen turned to Illyn Payne, "Ser Illyn, do me the honor," she commanded.

Before the executioner could move Lord Stark spoke up, "No…Jory, take the girls to their rooms…if this must be done, let me do it."

Cersei raised a brow, "Is this a trick?"

"The wolf is of the North," Eddard rumbled. "She deserves better than your southern butchers."

As the Stark girls were lead away, still screaming, the matter was settled. Nat glowered at his mother, a look she returned with a smug grin before leading Joffrey out of the room. The prince felt his face heat up. This was more than a case of ignorance, it was unjust, and they all knew it. Nat was not a perfect man, but he was a fair one, and he would not stand for injustice.

The crown prince clasped the shoulder of the Lord of Winterfell as the man made to leave the room. "I apologize Lord Stark, had I known my mother would demand something like this…I'm afraid sweet words fall on deaf ears with the king," he explained.

Eddard's grey eyes bore into the prince. Nat had grown used to stern expressions having been fostered under his grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, but the Quiet Wolf's reputation held well. The man was intimidating. It felt like he was seeing every scheme, plot, and dirty deed that the prince had ever committed.

"I do wonder if that's true," he responded, leaving the crown prince alone in the room.

~0~0~0~

Eddard made his way to break his daughter's heart, the bile of the conflict at the inn still fresh in his throat. The Lord of Winterfell was furious. How could Robert, his friend, allow an injustice like this to pass? Especially to such a gentle creature as Lady. Sansa had pampered the sweet animal since she had chosen her, and as such, the direwolf had become the most tranquil of her litter. Lady wouldn't nick the prince's flesh, much less savage it. And now she was to be put to death at the king's command.

As Eddard sat in his anger, he noticed the towering figure of Sandor Clegane, the Hound, riding past him. A large mound was slung over the horse's rear. Upon further inspection, it was no mound, but the butcher's boy, Mycah. The boy was hardly recognizable with his flesh cut the way it was. He had nearly been chopped in two.

"The butcher's boy!" Eddard called. "You ran him down?"

The Hound's chuckles echoed in his hound-head helm. "He ran…not very fast."

Eddard was disgusted, but he hadn't the time to feel sorry for the butcher's family. He continued on the way, but rather than finding the chained up direwolf he had expected to see, he found a bloodied wolf with a severed head laying in the dirt.

"What…" he trailed off, crouching down to inspect the carcass.

The blood on the wolf's fur was dry, it had been dead awhile. Glancing across the animal's body, Eddard noted that this wolf was much smaller than Lady. Furthermore, it was male.

"The beast has been taken care of, Lord Stark," a quiet voice called from a few feet away.

Eddard rose. "Who are you?"

The man couldn't be seen in the shadows, but from his build he looked to be armored. His face was masked by a low, dark hood. A soldier, most likely. "No one of importance, my Lord, the crown prince sends his warm regards."

He was taken aback, "Nat ordered this?"

The soldier nodded. "The crown prince is known for being quite crafty, he saw the king's order coming before the gathering had even begun and instructed us to lead the beast somewhere safe."

"But the wolf-" Eddard began.

"Was killed by mistake hours ago while we were searching for your daughter's direwolf," the soldier finished.

Eddard looked down at the creature. That explained the fresh wolf carcass at his feet. But once Robert found out that Nat had circumvented his authority there would be hell to pay.

"Robert will not be pleased," he declared.

The soldier waved a hand. "The king won't spare the creature a second thought, and neither will the queen or her Illborn son; you need not worry, Lord Stark, this isn't the first time the prince has bypassed King Robert's wishes, he's grown quite good at it."

Eddard furrowed his brow. He was still unsure about Nat Baratheon. On the surface he seemed so much like Robert it was almost striking, but underneath…he couldn't place his motivation. Much like his grandfather, Nat was cunning, and cunning was not something that Eddard was fond of.

"Where is the direwolf then?" he asked.

The soldier turned to leave, face still hidden under his hood, "Where she should be, my Lord, with your daughter."

~0~0~0~

Nat sat down at the inn's bar with an exasperated sigh. That had certainly not gone as planned. He was fortunate to be blessed with a Lannister intellect and foresaw his mother's wrath reaching its way past the Stark girls and to their direwolves. The prince had ordered both of the creatures be taken into protective custody should things go awry in his testimony, unfortunately, only Lady could be located. But one of the creatures safe was better than both of them dead.

The prince flagged down the bartender and dropped a gold dragon on the counter, signaling for several flasks of ale to be brought before him. Ale well earned, as far as the prince was concerned. With the first of many flasks in front of him, Nat was ready for a night of relaxation before a hooded figure sat beside him.

"Lord Stark has been informed, my prince," the figure whispered.

Nat took a swig of ale and squinted. He shouldn't have expected much from an inn along the King's Road, but the prince was still quite unsatisfied with the taste. "And what of Jory Cassel?" he asked.

"Instructed to keep the direwolf secure and hidden away for the remainder of your journey south," the figure responded.

The prince took another swig, "Good," he declared. "You'll be payed extra for your diligence, now be on your way."

"I've received word from one of your contacts in King's Landing, my prince, regarding the death of Jon Arryn."

Nat nearly choked on his ale.

"And I'm being informed of this on the King's Road, why?" he growled.

"The woman insisted it was urgent, my prince," the figure explained.

Nat pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before finishing his first flask. Turning to the man, the prince's emerald eyes were deadly serious.

"Which contact sent word?" he demanded.

"A whore, Laina Waters."

Nat's eyes narrowed. Laina. It must be serious then. Laina was one of the few people in the world that Nat could expressly say he trusted. The girl had been the first whore the prince had ever known, and subsequently, his most frequent bedside company. Though the prince valued her as one of his contacts in the Street of Silk, he valued her company and opinion much more. Laina, though a bastard and a whore, was sharp and witty. He would go so far as to say she was more intelligent than most Highborn ladies. As such, she was his favorite whore, and one he was sure he could trust.

"Get on with it then, what's she found?"

He leaned in close to whisper in the prince's ear, "Lord Jon Arryn was seen by several credible sources visiting a brothel on the Street of Silk several times, just prior to his death; the rest, she says, will have to come upon your return to the capital."

Nat scratched his chin as he took in the news. Jon Arryn was an honorable and quiet man. Unlike his father and himself, the Lord Hand wouldn't be inclined to partake in whoring. So why the visits to the brothels? Nat was certain Lord Arryn had at least some suspicion as to his own business in the Street of Silk, could that be it? An investigation? No, unlikely. Perhaps something to do with his father? Could the Lord Hand have discovered something even more scandalous than the king's whoring? The king couldn't be responsible for Jon Arryn's death, could he? No, that was even more unlikely. His father loved Jon Arryn more than anyone else in the world. So what was it?

The prince groaned and rubbed his temples. There were just too many theories based on that snippet of information. He'd have to wait until King's Landing to make any real progress. But with their arrival still over a week away, the intel would be the only thing on the prince's mind.

He sighed and clasped the figure on his hooded shoulder, "That'll do, Hood, thank you."

With a curt nod, Hood stood from his stool and faded into the shadows of the night. The prince took a deep swig of the foul ale before him and exhaled. He wanted to be at home now more than ever.

~0~0~0~

One week later

A wide smile spread across the face of the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, Prince Nat Baratheon, as the Gate of the Gods came into view ahead of him. After nearly a month-long journey on the King's Road, finally, they had returned to the capital. He was home. King's Landing was a city rife with struggle, poverty, and waste, but even so, it was Nat's favorite place in the world.

He'd been traveling since boyhood and had seen much of Westeros' wonders, from Old Town to White Harbor, and yet the prince was rarely as in his element as he was in the capital. The capital was magnificent, indeed, with half a million people and a rich history, but that wasn't quite what captured the prince's heart. It was more than his sense of familiarity with the capital, it was the air of tension. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was something about the constant feeling of suspense in the air that got his heart pumping.

King's Landing was within him, and now, finally, he was once again within King's Landing.

And now, back to business the prince thought as their party crossed through one of the capitals seven gates.

Laina's message had been the first and last thing on his mind since he had heard it last week, and now that the royal party had returned to the capital, he could get back to his investigation. Of course, now he would need to make time for the courting of Sansa Stark, but he was determined to do the bare minimum in that regard.

As he made his way into the city atop Ser Trot, he was immediately surrounded by Smallfolk. The citizens held shiny fruits up to the prince as he and the king lead the royal party through the gates. Men and women whooped and hollered, children waved, trying to catch their attention. Though his father kept his gaze forward, ignoring the offerings, Nat flashed his Lion's Grin and took his time riding through the crowd.

The Smallfolk were quite fond of the royal family, but they adored Nat, and for good reason. Much to his mother's chagrin, Nat was known to take frequent trips into Fleabottom and mingle amongst the citizenry. Not only did he meet some of his most trusted contacts in Fleabottom, but some of the more entertaining men and women in the Seven Kingdoms. Nat was a model prince and mixed well with the proper nature of political life, but he would be lying if he claimed he didn't tire of it at times. Some days, all he wanted to do was to relax with some ale in a pub and watch the Smallfolk dance. Lord Arryn had recognized this need in his youth and had permitted the prince a trip or two so long as he was accompanied by an armed guard, but in recent years, the prince had made most of his trips into the poorest part of the city alone.

Nat extended an arm and let the people of King's Landing touch their hands to his as he rode by. He decided he would set some time aside in the coming weeks to mingle with the Smallfolk, but first he would need to send for Laina to meet him in his chambers, they had much to discuss.

As the party passed through the gates to the Red Keep, Nat caught the eye of a rather burly member of the City Watch. The man's dark eyes flicked upwards towards one of the Maegor's Holdfast, the fortress that housed the prince's apartment. He had information for the prince that he was eager to share. He was Ammett Garner, the prince's contact in the City Watch and a son of House Garner, a vassal to his grandfather. If he had information for the prince, it likely had to do with something regarding the security of one of his other contacts.

Excellent, the prince thought to himself as he dismounted Ser Trot, As if I didn't have enough troubling me already.

"My prince!" a city page exclaimed as he scurried towards them.

Nat almost groaned. What now?

"Welcome home, my prince. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence as well as that of the Lord Hand is requested," he exhaled.

The prince was dumbfounded. A Small Council meeting? Already? Pycelle wasn't a man that rushed to do anything, what could possibly be driving him to call forth a Small Council meeting on the hour of their arrival to the capital?

"Is this an urgent meeting?"

The page nodded, "The Grand Maester insisted it was quite urgent, my prince."

Nat sighed. Laina and Ammett were going to have to wait, it appeared. The prince turned to Lord Stark who was similarly dismounting his own steed.

"Well then, Lord Stark, it seems there is a meeting to attend, you'll want to change."

~0~0~0~

Lord Eddard Stark strode through the Great Hall, now stripped of his traveling garments and bearing the plain robes and leather vest he was accustomed to wearing at home. Home. Winterfell was thousands of miles from the massive hall he now stood in. He wondered how his family was fairing, he hoped well.

As the Hand of the King made his way through the room, he could see the figure of Jaime Lannister standing before the Iron Throne. Said throne was monstrous. Ten or more feet of molded steel. Eddard was sure the climb to the top would tire out his old bones. Supposedly the throne had been forged by dragonfire, made of the thousand swords of Aegon the Conqueror's enemies. In his youth, that had seemed an admirable feat, but standing before the throne as he was now, Eddard only thought it nauseating.

"Thank the gods you're here, Lord Stark," Jaime began as he approached. "It's about time we had some stern northern leadership."

Eddard was not amused by the man's quip. He nodded to the throne towering over them. "Glad to see you're protecting the throne," he observed.

Jaime rested a hand atop the hilt of his sword and looked up at the Iron Throne. "Sturdy old thing. How many king's asses have polished it, I wonder?" he turned back to Eddard. "What's the line? The King shits and the Hand wipes?"

"Very handsome armor," the Hand distracted. "Not a scratch on it."

Jaime smiled arrogantly, flashing his teeth. "I know! People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss."

"You've chosen your opponents wisely then," Eddard commented.

Jaime nodded. "I have a knack for it…it must be strange for you, coming in 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."

Shadows covered the Warden of the North's face at his comment. Eddard was well aware of how unjust the execution of his father and elder brother had been. The Mad King had burned his father alive while his brother strangled himself to death trying to save him. They were never even given a trial.

"But you just stood there and watched," he said in a low voice.

"Five hundred men stood there and watched," Jaime corrected. "All the great knights in the Seven Kingdoms- you think anyone said a word? Lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark," Jaime frowned. "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."

Eddard narrowed his eyes, "Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you're a servant of justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword into Aerys Targaryen's back?"

Jaime put on a crocodile smile, "Tell me, if I had stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?"

Eddard walked past the man and continued on his way to the Small Council Chambers, thoroughly done with their conversation. "You served well when serving was safe," he concluded.

~0~0~0~

Lord Eddard Stark strode into the room just when Nat thought he couldn't wait any longer. Seated at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair with his heels atop the table, the prince was looking rather unprincely, and very impatient.

"Ah! Finally, Lord Stark, we can begin then!" he cried with joy.

Lord Stark raised a brow.

"Where is Robert?" he asked.

Nat readjusted his position and sat upright, hands clasped together and elbows on the table before him. "The King doesn't have much time for these meetings anymore, I'm afraid, I've come to take his place."

The Hand looked around the room and caught the eye of the Spider, Varys, Master of Whispers. Nat wasn't very fond of Varys. He didn't like a man whose secrets he couldn't sort out, and Varys was a man with many well-hidden secrets.

"I assure you, Lord Stark, this is standard procedure; Lord Arryn thought it would be a good way for the prince to gain governing experience, you will still have chief authority over decision-making," the Spider hummed.

This seemed to settle Lord Stark's worries somewhat as he turned to greet the other Lords present at the meeting, "Renly! You're looking well," he exclaimed, embracing the man in a hug.

Nat's uncle, Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End and the Master of Laws returned his hug. Nat smiled at the sight. His uncle was a good man, he thought. Always polite and kind, and not so ambitious that he would step out of line, which is more than he could say about the man standing behind him.

"You look tired from the road," Renly smiled. "I told them this meeting could wait another day, but-"

"But we have a kingdom to look after," finished a shrewd man with graying hair. Lord Petry Baelish, the Master of Coin. Why he had ever been appointed to such a position was beyond Nat. The man had made dozens of terrible investments that he had assured Jon Arryn would be profitable. He was just as much responsible for the Crown's position as his father, if not more.

"I've been hoping to meet you for a long time, Lord Stark, no doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."

Lord Stark looked rather uncomfortable, "She has, Lord Baelish; I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."

Petyr's features contorted into a weasel-like smirk. "All too well, I still carry a token of his esteem from navel to collarbone," he said, tracing his scars over his clothing.

Nat rolled his eyes. He had heard the stories of Littlefinger's attempt to win the hand of then Catelyn Stark from her betrothed, Brandon Stark. From what Jon Arryn had told him, the Master of Coin hardly lasted two minutes before Brandon Stark had him at death's door. If not for the grace of Catelyn, Littlefinger wouldn't be standing before them today.

And what a shame that would be, Nat thought.

Lord Stark smiled grimly, "Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."

Littlefinger returned his smile with a smug grin, shaking his head, "It wasn't the man I chose, my lord. It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree," he twittered.

"Let's leave the past in the past, eh, Lord Baelish?" Nat interrupted.

Littlefinger turned to the prince and nodded his head, bowing slightly before returning to his seat. Lord Stark glanced at the prince, grey eyes locking onto emerald ones.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord Stark," wheezed an elderly man from his seat.

"Grand Maester," greeted Eddard.

Nat sighed. Pycelle was more of an annoyance than a maester, much less the Grand Maester. The old man looked much worse than he actually was, with a balding head and a thin, wispy white beard you would think he was a ghost at first glance. If not for the massive chain of locks adorned with gemstones decorating his shoulders, he'd have looked like an old beggar. As much as Nat hated men with secrets, he hated men terrible at keeping them far more, and Pycelle was truly awful at hiding his true condition.

"How many years has it been? You were a young man," Pycelle pondered.

"And you served a different king," Eddard replied coolly.

"Ah, how forgetful of me," sputtered Pycelle. The Grand Maester reached into the folds of his robs and pulled out a golden badge, shaped to look like a hand. The badge of the Hand of the King. "This belongs to you now," he said, passing the token to Eddard.

Nat's heart ached at the sight. Only months ago that badge was pinned to the chest of one of the truest men he had ever known, and now it was pinned to a stranger. A strange whose daughter he was being forced to marry. Nat exhaled through his nose. No, it was not the time for that. It was time for business.

"Well then, now that we've all greeted one another, let's begin, hm?" he grinned brightly, motioning for Eddard to take the seat next to him.

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

Petry thumbed his chin, "Mm, how much?"

"Forty thousand gold dragons to the winner of the joust, twenty thousand to the runner-up, and another twenty thousand to the winning archer," Eddard finished, reading from a scroll.

Petyr sighed, rubbing his neck in frustration. The prince scoffed, his father couldn't be serious.

"I'll have to borrow it, the Lannisters will accommodate I expect, we already owe Lord Tywin three million gold dragons, what's eighty thousand more?" Petry asked.

Nat thought Eddard's eyes were going to burst from his skull, "Are you telling me that the Crown is three million in debt?" he asked, exasperated.

Nat chuckled bitterly, "No, Lord Stark, the Crown is six million in debt," he corrected.

Eddard leaned back in his chair, utterly astounded. "I don't understand, how could you all let this happen?"

Littlefinger grinned slyly, "The Master of Coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it."

Eddard's brow furrowed, "I will not believe that Jon Arryn would allow Robert to bankrupt the realm-"

"Oh no, it wasn't Jon Arryn's fault in the slightest," Nat interjected. All eyes in the room turned to him, the Master of Coin's especially narrow. "The Hand of the King was a very trusting man, he can't be blamed for being mislead by those he trusted," the prince continued, staring directly at Littlefinger with every word.

"Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice," Pycelle wheezed in a feeble attempt to distract from the prince's accusation. "Unfortunately, his Grace didn't always listen."

"Counting coppers, he calls it," Renly added.

Eddard closed his eyes for a moment, before leaning his elbows against the table, "Yes, well perhaps he'll listen to me, I'll speak with Robert tomorrow and tell him that this tournament is an extravagance we cannot afford."

Nat couldn't contain a laugh, "Forgive me, Lord Stark, but there's sooner a chance a dragon burns down the Wall than my father listening to reason."

"Yes, in the meantime we'd best make plans," Petry agreed.

"There will be no plans until I speak with Robert!" Eddard shouted. "Forgive me, my lords, I've had a long ride," he apologized.

"We both have," Nat added. "Perhaps we can hold the remainder of this discussion for after Lord Stark speaks with my father, hm? This way we can allow enjoy some evening's rest."

Varys nodded his concurrence, "You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark, we serve at your pleasure."

"Excellent!" Nat cried, rising from his seat swiftly. The prince bowed his head to the lords in the room, "I bid you a good day, my lords," he chattered before rushing from the Small Council Chambers.

Eddard watched the trail of the prince as he rushed from the room. "What's got him so energized?" he wondered aloud.

Petry smiled wickedly, "Oh, the boy is just excited to return to the embrace of his whores, I'm sure."

Aside from Eddard, only Renly and Pycelle were shocked.

"His what?"

~0~0~0~

Nat dodged manservants and maids as he hurried quickly to his apartment in Maegor's Holdfast. Since seeing Ammett at the Keep's gates, he'd been itching to be given an update regarding his contacts. Ammett knew that the prince's chambers were a safe place for him to station himself and that the prince would want his information as soon as possible if there were truly anything to share.

And if I'm correct, Ammett should be waiting for me around this corner he thought.

And there he was. A burly, tanned man dressed in the shining armor of the City Watch. Ammett was a relatively new contact of Nat's and had only been in the prince's personal service since joining the watch a year prior. Nat had been interested in acquiring a contact within the guard for some time, and had personally interviewed the newly admitted class of City Watch soldiers to test their loyalties and motivations. Among dozens of men, only Ammett declared that his chief loyalty be to the people of King's Landing above the royal family, and that was why Nat had chosen him, because above all, Nat knew Ammett would serve the realm.

Ammett nodded inconspicuously to the prince as he approached, "My prince," he said in a low, smooth voice.

"Hello, my good man," Nat began loudly before switching to a lower tone. "Join me in my chambers, won't you?"

The corner of Ammett's mouth turned upwards, "Well actually, my prince, I'm not sure it would be appropriate for me to do so."

Nat raised a brow, "What do you-"

Before the prince could finish, the door to his apartment opened and an arm reached from within, grabbing the collar of his black robes and dragging him inside.

Ammett chuckled and readjusted his stance as several castle maids rounded the corner.

"I should have given you better warning, my Prince," he muttered under his breath with a smile.

~0~0~0~

Her lips were on his before he could even process what had just happened. One moment he was greeting Ammett at the door and the next he was pinned up against the wall of his apartment by a much smaller figure with soft lips. Nat struggled to free himself from her fierce kisses, but managed to find the sweet-spot under her right arm and give it a light poke.

The woman squeaked and Nat capitalized on her momentary weakness to switch places with the girl. Now he was the that had her pinned up against the wall. The woman had long, ash-brown hair extending to her waist, with several locks braided in the southern style. She wore loose pink robes that did little to hide either her curves nor her prominent bust. Her pale-green eyes shone with warmth as she looked up at him.

Nat smiled genuinely for the first time in months.

"Hello, Laina."

Laina wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply. "Welcome home, my Nat, we have much to discuss."

~0~0~0~

And that's the chapter!

Forgive me for the long wait, I know it's been a few months, but second semester has left me with very little time to write. And with all the chaos going on in the world today, my last thought has been on writing this story for you all. But never fear! Nat and the Seven Kingdoms may have been my last thought but I was still thinking of them quite frequently! I've got all sorts of new ideas for the story that I can't wait to write down and a refined skeleton for the plot ready to go!

Hopefully with all of the time at home I have now, I'll be able to pump out chapters a bit more frequently but no promises. I will do my damndest to finish this story! I swear! In the meantime, I hope this slightly longer chapter gives you a few moments of entertainment in this world of anarchy we find ourselves in.

I would consider myself irresponsible if I didn't encourage you to practice self-isolation and quarantine for the next few weeks as we try to get a handle on COVID-19. The more of us that stay home and limit our face-to-face interactions with people the more wiggle-room we give governments and medical workers to work with and the sooner we'll be able to reenter the world.

So please, have the best possible day you can and wash your hands! Until next time.

-Munch