Tyrion Lannister wanted nothing more than a cask of wine and Shae in his bed. Unfortunately, as he needed to confer with the Small Council, neither of those would be available to him for quite a while. But later, well that was another story.

The reason he wanted to be anywhere than with the King's masters was the scroll he had received by messenger. A rider had come to the Red Keep, the banner of House Stark at one side and a white flag at the other. He requested to see Tyrion only, where the dwarf was handed the scroll. After the man left, he opened it and let out a loud sigh.

Before he could even leave his quarters, Lord Varys was at his door. "My little birds told me the member of a wolf pack paid call on you, my lord," the Master of Whisperers said with a small smile.

Tyrion gave him a cross look. "I wouldn't be surprised if you already knew what the message that was delivered to me said," he grumbled.

"That Robb Stark has declared for the North a measure of independence and declared himself Prince of the North, a title promised to the Lords of Winterfell by Aegon the Conqueror himself?" Varys asked unnecessarily.

Tyrion gave him a sideways look. "One of these days, I shall discover how it is you can know such things long before anyone else. Now, since you knew about this already," Tyrion pointed the rolled parchment at him, "I think it best you tell me why you did not come forward to the council as soon as you learned of it."

The eunuch merely shrugged his shoulders. "I heard a rumor, my lord. I sought to have it verified before I brought it to you, knowing the trouble it would cause our young ruler." Again, another shrug of his shoulders.

Tyrion knew that was a load of bullshit, but chose to let it pass. In all honesty, Lord Varys was too good, too well connected to sacrifice to Ser Ilyn Payne's ax. "Why not just declare himself king? It seems all the rage nowadays. And what does he mean by a title promised by Aegon? He conquered the North just as much as he did the other six kingdoms."

Varys shook his head. "I know you to be a learned man, Lord Tyrion, but I thought you would know that Aegon did not, in fact, defeat the old Kings in the North. Torrhen Stark saw there was no chance of defeating the Targaryens in battle, not with a dragon staring across the Trident at him. So he decided to bend the knee instead," Varys lectured. "Because of this, Aegon granted him the title of Prince, on equal footing as the Martells. However, I don't believe Stark saw it as a gift and turned it down, well, for the rest of his and Aegon's lives. The new Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms eventually granted to title whenever the Stark was ready to take it. It seems as though young Robb Stark has chosen this as the time to claim his...reward."

Tyrion shook his head. "When the Targaryens as no longer around to grant it."

"On the contrary. It was never tied to them sitting on the Iron Throne. The gift was personal, one house to another," the Spider countered. "And so it has been written and recorded in the annals of the Citadel. All Prince Stark must do is send a raven to the archmaesters and it shall be official, which I suspect has already been done if he has informed the crown of it now."

"And that is what you will be reporting to Joffrey and the Small Council?" Tyrion asked. "I doubt they will see it that way."

"It is the truth, as the maesters at the Citadel know it. One cannot undo a truth they do not like," Varys reasoned. "This was a pact signed by the Targaryens and the Starks as House Lannister lay in near ashed on the Field of Fire, my lord. Perhaps, had Loren Lannister had the sense that Torrhen Stark had shown, Aegon would have bestowed the same honor on them."

"Loren was no Lann the Clever, that is for certain," Tyrion sighed as he thought through Varys' words. "In truth, by the time of the Conquest, the Lannisters had already reached the peak of their arrogance. At least, that was until my father." He nodded, his decision made. "Call Baelish and my sister. And see if her monster of a son will dain us with his presence, or if he is still torturing his betrothed."

The Spider grunted at the mention of Lady Sansa. "My Lord, if I could make a suggestion," he said, waiting for Tyrion to hear him out, "Might it be best to begin to investigate a way for the King to break his betrothal to Princess Sansa? I understand that she needs to be kept here in King's Landing as a pawn to hold in check again Prince Robb, but if I may…"

"No need to say anything further, Varys, I have been trying to work on that." And he had. Tyrion knew from their visit to Winterfell that Joffrey would make no good husband to any wife, let alone the sister of a man who stood in opposition to him. He had rolled his eyes at the suggestion when it had first come up. The only reason Robert wanted it in the first place was that his own Stark bride had been denied to him. "Unfortunately, there are no other good candidates for the role of future queen, and the lady herself has not asked for it. And I questioned her on it personally."

Varys lifted an eyebrow to that. "You did, my lord?"

Tyrion took a fortifying sip of his wine. "Yes, but she loves her 'golden king'. Or rather, she is smart enough to know she is safer at his side, even as his victim than any other place in King's Landing."

The Spider seemed to accept that answer and went on his way. But his words peaked Tyrion's interest. Varys was capable of seeing the same things Tyrion was, about Joffrey, about Sansa. He knew enough about the man to know there was probably something else going on regarding all they had spoken of.

It was no matter at the moment. Now, he had to deal with breaking the news he had received to the Small Council. As it was something he was not looking particularly forward to, he took his time making his way to the chamber. As expected, Lord Baelish, Lord Varys and his sister were there. "The King is not available, eh?" he asked lightly.

"I will see if what you wish to inform us of is important to the King," Cersei said.

Not for the first time did Tyrion wonder why they had ever bothered to crown Joffrey in the first place. But he said nothing as he took his seat. "I received a scroll from the Stark encampment somewhere in the Riverlands," he said, eyes going wide to exaggerate his statement. "It is from the head of House Stark, personally. He states that he is indeed reclaiming the independence of the North and declaring himself, 'Prince of the North'."

"Not king?" Cersei asked with a laugh. "As that does seem to be the style nowadays."

Tyrion couldn't help the smirk. "You know, sweet sister, for as much as you don't think we have anything in common with each other, we do certainly seem to think alike," he told her brightly. Before she could answer his jape, he went on. "No, as it seems the title of Prince was something offered to the Stark by Aegon since they chose not to engage the Targaryen forces in battle."

"Is he a fool?" Cersei asked derisively. "The Targaryen are almost all gone. They have no one to claim the title from."

"They apparently don't need the family to actually sit on the Iron Throne. They don't even need them." He shoved the scroll at her as he explained, "The Citadel has a copy of the agreement and all Prince Robb Stark need do is send a raven there to claim his title. The gift was personal, one man to another. When that man chose not to accept it, it was to be given in perpetuity. You do know what 'in perpetuity' means, correct Cersei?"

Her lovely green eyes narrowed at him, but she said nothing to that. "It does not matter. Do they really believe we will take this news and see them happily off? The Lannister armies can finish them and bring them back to heel."

"And what will happen then to our beloved brother?" He knew that would stop her in her tracks.

"If I may interject, my lord, your grace," Lord Baelish spoke up, "Perhaps we should go at this another way."

Tyrion disliked Petyr Baelish and it had been his dearest hope that it had been he who ran to Cersei with his marriage plans for Myrcella. But, alas, it had not come to be. The insufferable suck-up was still here. Maybe he would provide an alternate plan. "You have a suggestion, Lord Baelish?" Tyrion asked.

"Perhaps, to avoid another bloody war, it is best someone go speak to...Prince Robb and bring our side to his attention," the Master of Coin said. The Hand of the King caught the look from the Master of Whisperers. He didn't seem to like the idea of it any more than Tyrion did at first glance. But then Baelish added a point. "I am old friends with Lady Catelyn. Perhaps if I speak with her personally, I can make her see the foolishness of this path."

Before Tyrion could get another word in, Cersei spoke. "Yes, I remember your fostering at Riverrun. You were quite taken by the Lady Catelyn. So much so, you challenged her betrothed to a duel...that you lost." Baelish was going to interject, but Cersei didn't allow him. "But, as you say, you have an advantage with the Starks we do not since my husband's death." She could tell he didn't like the idea, but that was why she supported it. "You will ride to their encampment in the Riverlands and speak to the...prince and his mother at first light. Make them see reason and we will grant mercy."

The dwarf knew that was horseshit, but there was little he could do against her. He did, however, add, "As a gesture of goodwill, perhaps you should bring with you the bones of Ned Stark. Northern tradition is that remains are interred in their crypts, is it not? I think Prince Robb will at least appreciate our gesture to their funeral rights."

"A wise choice, my Lord Hand," Littlefinger agreed. "I will see what has become of the remains and make the appropriate arrangements." He quickly dashed out of the room.

"He's still sickeningly in love with Catelyn Stark," Cersei observed. "He thinks to win her hand, now that she is a widow."

"And you sent him there knowing that?" he asked his sister.

"He's a snake and I'd rather see him slither up to her than be around the Capital," she said. "I know you have no trust in him. I bet it was your hope he was my source of the information on my daughter's betrothal, am I right?"

Tyrion did not answer, which seemed to be enough for her. She departed the room with a victorious smile on her face.

Varys got up from his chair and moved to him. In a whisper, he said, "She is right. Littlefinger will go after the Widow in the North to gain an advantage."

That was what did not make sense to him. "What advantage? She still has three sons, one of whom has already assumed his father's titles. How will that benefit Littlefinger?"

"I do not know, and that is why I would fear such a plan," Varys answered cryptically.

"Would?"

With another gentle shrug of his shoulders, the eunuch said, "If she were in the Riverlands, my lord. I have a bird who sang to me that Catelyn Stark is far away from her eldest son and therefore, safe from our Lord Baelish and his machinations."

When he departed, Tyrion sighed once more. He eyed the carafe of wine on a side table. Getting up, he poured himself a glass and thanked the gods that he had not needed to deal with his nephew. As he tipped the glass back, however, he heard Joffrey's screeching voice yell for him, "What is the meaning of this?! How dare he proclaims himself a PRINCE? HOW DOES HE THINK HE IS?!"

Yes, it was days like this Tyrion wished he were anywhere else than in King's Landing, standing in for his father as Hand of the King.

"It is done, my prince," the maester said as he handed Robb the scroll, the Northern and Riverlords looking on with pride. They stood in the Great Hall of Riverrun so that Lord Hoster Tully, though gravely ill, could be present to see his grandson raised to a Prince. Ser Brynden shook his head at that. His brother had married his daughter into House Stark a Lady when she would have been, by the time of the marriage, a Princess. Some fuckers had all the luck.

But the Blackfish would not begrudge this honor on his kin. Robb Stark was almost Ned Stark reborn. His honor was the most important thing to him and nothing would get in his way. Not a new title, not even a brother born to be king. The truth of Jon Snow's birth was widely known by the Northern Lords, but not at all by House Tully's banners. Though Robb had sworn that after it was official, they would tell all to his grandfather.

Robb nodded his head to the man and turned to watch all those gathered bend the knee and proclaim to him as their prince. From his side, Hoster wheezed out, "I am so proud of you, boy. Words cannot express how proud House Tully is to have a prince amongst us."

One by one, everyone stepped forward and pledged fealty to him. Brynden, as designated by his brother, was the one to swear for their house and were the last to do so, as they were Lords Paramount of the Riverlands. "My Prince," Brynden said, his eyes trained on the floor.

He could actually hear the smile on the lad's face before he saw it. "Arise, Ser Brynden. You are family, you have no need to bow to me."

Now Hoster spoke. "I cannot say I am very surprised to hear of the blessing Aegon the Conqueror bestowed on Torrhen Stark. He, of course, raised us to Lords of the Riverlands." He let out a horrid cough that nearly choked him. After he recovered, there was one conclusion his brother came to. "It feels like destiny, two houses blessed by Aegon I to eventually be united by marriage."

There were times his brother was an insufferable egotist, the Blackfish thought.

"I can't see Aegon thinking of such a future when he granted either of the titles, Grandfather," Robb commented magnanimously. "And, in fact, there is more to the story than we have let on to you."

"Like what?" the old man asked.

Robb's eyes flickered to Brynden, alerting him that the time had come to come forward with the whole truth. His nephew seemed to think it may soften the blow if it came from him. "There is much more to this elevation than just Aegon," Brynden began. "Torrhen Stark turned it down all the rest of his days, and Aegon's. The Targaryen seems to have been so frustrated by the refusal that he signed it for all time, should the Starks change there mind."

"But from what we learned, they never did," Robb added, making Hoster confused. "It frustrated the Valyrians so much that when Cregan Stark came to the aid of Rhaenyra during the Dance of Dragons, her son Jacaerys added the clause into the pact the two signed. So, when a Stark eventually married a Targaryen, the gift was given."

"A Stark marrying a Targaryen? That has never happened!" he exclaimed.

"In fact, brother, it did," the Blackfish said gently. Hoster looked at him, bewildered, as the tale unfolded. "The truth about Robert's Rebellion, about the destruction of House Targaryen, was all based on lies."

"Lies about what?" the Lord of Riverrun asked with fear.

"Lies about...my Aunt Lyanna," came Robb's answer. He took a deep breath before going on. "She was never kidnapped, never defiled by Prince Rhaegar. They were in love and ran off to marry one another. Mother has found the marriage certificate in a box my father placed in Aunt Lyanna's tomb. It was signed by the High Septon himself."

"But Rhaegar was already married! His marriage to another would not be lawful in the eyes of the Faith," Hoster protested.

Brynden rolled his eyes. Sometimes, his brother's religiosity was too much. "They had little issue when Aegon had two wives. And with Maegor, the last Targaryen with multiple wives, there were greater issues than those of the number of them he kept."

Robb waved his hand at them. "And the prince's marriage to Elia Martell was annulled anyway but it matters little. According to what our maester wrote to me, the license specifies that any children born of the marriage will have a place in the line of succession."

"There was a child?" the Lord of Riverrun asked, his eyes narrowed so the blue could barely be seen.

"Aye, brother, there was," he said.

Robb took a deep breath. Neither he now Brynden knew how the old man would react. He had never been fond of Jon, always seeing him as a slight against his house. "Jon Snow is my brother in every way but by blood, Grandfather. He's my cousin, Prince Aegon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark," Robb stated.

"Jon...Ned's bastard?" The old man was having a fit, his face red and his breath in short bursts. "He never disgraced…"

"He said Jon was his bastard son to protect him, it seems," Brynden surmised for them. "Ned Stark was outraged by what had happened to Princess Elia and her children and so, when he discovered his sister had birthed Rhaegar's child, chose to sully himself with the mark of fathering bastard rather than risk the truth getting to the wrong ears in the capital."

"Does my daughter know of this?" he asked.

"Mother has known for years. Father...confessed the truth to her but she swore never to breathe a word of it out of fear it could be heard," the lad informed him.

"And Jon is the heir to the Iron Throne? You intend to put him there." That was more a statement.

"I intend to depose the usurping Lannisters for all the crimes they have committed against the Seven Kingdoms and our families," Robb announced. "They had an innocent woman and her children murdered and they killed my father when he got too close to learning the truth about Cersei and her brother. For all we know, they may have known the truth about Lyanna and Rhaegar and never said a word. It took Tywin until after the Trident to get his ass out of the West and into the fray."

Hoster nodded now. "Yes, yes, they have committed many crimes. The Old Lion has stewed at Casterly Rock for nearly two decades, plotting against the Targaryens because Rhaegar did not marry his daughter." He coughed again and began to tire. "But we must be careful of Old Tywin. He's a crafty bastard who pays back those who stand against him. The Lannister...always pay their debts."

Now he looked at his brother. "I think it best you rest, brother. We can talk later when you are better." With little protest, Hoster was taken away to his bed. When he was gone, Brynden turned to his great-nephew. "My brother is right about Lannister. He needs to be contained until we can get Jon back on this side of the Wall."

"I agree," Robb said. "That is why we need to begin to make alliances with other houses, houses that can stand against the Lannisters." He walked to a table, bringing a map with him. As they stood over it, he asked, "Which were the houses that were the supporters of the Targaryens? We should think about rallying them."

Brynden agreed with the suggestion, pointing to the Reach. "The Tyrells were one of the major houses that stayed with the dragons to the bitter end. Lord Mace held Storm's End in siege for over a year. It was Ned who lifted it."

"Then we should start with them. Renly and Stannis are fighting among themselves and even if they weren't, I don't see them supporting a Targaryen Restoration even one shaped by Ned Stark," Robb replied. "I think you should go to the Reach, see if there's anything there. Say as little about Jon to them as possible, Uncle. We don't want our hand to be shown too early."

"I'll see about speaking to Lady Olenna personally. She's the real power there," came his remark. "Cunning old bird, even if she'll look for a pound of flesh from us."

"Ride today. We need to go forward even if Jon isn't here yet," Robb nodded, reaching for his uncle's hand.

"Aye, my prince. I'll see what we can start." He left after that, readying himself for the long journey. He had a feeling Olenna Tyrell could be easy if placated correctly. He just hoped he could figure that out by the time he got there.