CASSANA
King's Landing, two days after the Battle of the Blackwater
I held my head high and kept my back straight—straight as Grandfather would insist. When I had arrived at Hightower, I slouched whenever I was without bow and arrow. Grandfather washed that bit of Aunt Maege out of me.
"Cassana, look at me," Grandfather drew my eyes back to him. "Tywin Lannister has proposed a betrothal between you and his son, Tyrion—"
"The Imp?" I clarified, feeling my eyes blink slowly and my jaw drop.
"Yes, his second son. I don't believe I'll permit it. Lord Mace doesn't think I should either, but it would do great things for the wealth of the house."
"House Hightower doesn't need another copper penny! I will not marry the Imp, Grandfather," I insisted petulantly.
"You're not one to evaluate the economic status of the house, little miss!" He scolded. "We could use the stability, but I won't have you made the laughingstock of Westeros. Such beauty should not ever go to waste; your mother would've killed me for marrying you off to a half-man. I bet she thought you should be married to the Warrior himself."
I didn't like it when Grandfather spoke as though my mother were dead. She was alive somewhere, in some land—some land far to the east.
"I agree," I replied stoically.
"But I could use the engagement to broker a betrothal between you and Prince Tommen."
I held my tongue, watching the slight machinations inside my grandfather's head twist and twirl. Tommen was seven years my junior; he was eight. If we were betrothed the wedding would be pushed off until he was at least thirteen, but surely Grandfather would argue I would be somewhat wasted on those five empty years.
"Though, I'd say your flower would have wilted by then… to a degree," he said accordingly—although with much more eloquence.
"Perhaps I should go back to Highgarden—"
"You will not go back to Highgarden, Cassana. You'll learn to call King's Landing home; the same flowers and frivolity grow here, just in a different color."
I hesitated before speaking again, but could not keep my mouth closed: "But Aunt Alerie thinks cousin Garlan and I would make a very lovely couple."
"My daughter does not make marital decisions for neither her son nor her niece," he muttered beneath his breath. He took my hand suddenly, pulling me toward the wash basin. It was full of clean water, reflecting silver sheens of sunlight and our faces hovering above. "Cassana, you are as beautiful as the sun that lights the hopes of men, and as beautiful as the moon that puts those hopes to sleep. Do not waste your beauty on Highgarden when it can win you half the world."
I reluctantly looked into the wash basin. Beneath us were two distorted figures, curving and bending unnaturally on the tremulous surface of the water. "If this is true, why is it Margaery who's marrying King Joffrey?"
Grandfather sighed, looking away from the basin and out past the white-stone balcony. "Because I married my last daughter to a Mormont, and my first to a Tyrell," he said with regret. He always missed my mother, and was always contrite about his decision to marry her to the Lord of Bear Island. Her beauty was allegedly unparalleled—if only King Robert had seen her, Grandfather would say.
I caught him and smiled widely. "What about Aunt Malora?"
Grandfather exhaled then chuckled, looking at me with a relieving lightness. "That bat? Please, that one is not my daughter," he said and we both laughed loudly. No one ever wanted to take credit for the Mad Maiden.
"As batty as she is, I miss her," I said quietly. It had been several years since I'd last seen Aunt Malora, but I could still vividly remember the color of her hair—the red of wild corn poppies beneath the summer sun.
Grandfather gave a smile cut in half: "You only miss all of the spells she filled your head with. If I hadn't let you study with her, the bookworm in your skull would have eaten the entirety of your brain by now."
I smiled again. Grandfather could be as harsh as he could be sweet.
"Now go, sweet. Explore and make friends—choose them by the weight of their pockets."
"Yes, Grandfather," I said and turned. Grandfather's footman, Garrat, opened the entrance to the chambers. As I stepped out, I looked to my left down the hall. On the wall opposite slots of sunlight streamed in between stone pillars, and far-reaching ferns from the courtyard below tickled the edges of the pillars. A young woman with red hair walked several doors down from me.
"Lady Sansa?" I announced, seeing if the figure would respond to the name. The guards flanking her right and left turned as she did. A string of the sun reached toward her face and transformed her blue eyes into cerulean pools beneath a gentle moon.
I walked toward her with a spring in my step. Sansa was a polite noblewoman who grew comfortable after several ladylike giggles and the clasp of dainty hands. I curtsied when I approached her; House Stark was notably superior to both House Mormont and House Hightower, though not wealthier than the latter.
"My name is Cassana, my lady, of House Hightower," I introduced myself.
"Oh—you're Margaery's cousin, aren't you?" She asked with a slight smile. It was not a look of happiness, but of formality. Sansa took several minutes to crack.
"Yes, Lady Alerie Tyrell and my mother are sisters."
"Yes, you're Lynesse's daughter. I saw you after the Battle of the Blackwater in the Great Hall. You're dress was so lovely," she complimented.
"Thank you, I made it myself," I smiled. It was a lie, but a harmless one. I had heard Sansa loved sewing and embroidery dearly.
"Oh, you make your own dresses? So do I!" She grinned wholeheartedly. "Perhaps we should make each other dresses!"
"A lovely idea, my lady."
"You're not my handmaiden; call me Sansa, as I should call you Cassana," she said and held out her slender forearm. "Would you like to join me for a walk in the Garden? My septa tells me the dianthuses have just begun to bloom."
"I would be delighted!" I exclaimed brightly and softly grasped her arm.
"Guards, would you please invite Lady Desmera to meet Cassana and I in the gardens? She told me she wanted to see the dianthuses too," Sansa requested than looked at me. "You'll just love Desmera—she is so lovely. She knows the names of all the flowers in the gardens."
"What talent!" I cried. "And Desmera is of House…?"
"House Redwyne. Lady Olenna, her grandmother, brought her for Margaery and Joffrey's wedding."
House Redwyne controlled the Arbor and made the greatest wine in the world. Choose friends by the weight of their pockets, I reminded myself. A lady of House Redwyne would make a wonderful, profitable companion.
Several months later
Sansa had been quite silent all dinner. She drank more wine than she usually did, but not enough to warp her mind—or more so, warp the reality she was now facing. Shae refilled Sansa's glass and Sansa wouldn't even look at her. I followed Sansa's gaze out to Blackwater Rush, where the moon only kissed the steady waves; they looked like fragile pearls sewn onto a widow's mantle.
"Would you like more pheasant, my lady?" Shae asked. I looked to Sansa's full plate; another lobe of pheasant would cause the sprouts on her plate to spill onto the tablecloth.
"No thank you," she said quietly. I reached for her pale, delicate hand on the table. When I grasped it, she looked at me tentatively—as though I could also deliver horrific news.
"Sansa, you must eat. Is it so appalling to be marrying a kind, thoughtful, and clever man?"
She scowled. "It is so appalling to be marrying the Imp, Cassana. I'll be mocked from Flea Bottom to Castle Rock."
"Yes. And Queen Cersei is marrying Ser Daisy, and Margaery is marrying Joffrey the Illborn. Noble ladies do not get what they want."
"Well I wanted Loras, but the Queen swiped him up with her greedy little hands! She gets what she wants!" She cried.
After spending many years with Loras, I could be sure that Sansa was lucky to not be marrying Loras. No feminine beauty could ever satisfy him.
I too had whined when I heard of a potential betrothal between Tyrion and I, but then I had not been exposed to his nature. I found I quite enjoyed his quick intellect and radiant perspective on matters; he was one of the few people who could see past every front I built. It also felt necessary to defend him in front of Shae. Tyrion knew my secrets as well as I knew his.
"Sansa, Tyrion will never mistreat you the way Joffrey would have," I spoke sternly. "Or the way Joffrey did treat you."
I reached into my pocket and withdrew a folded piece of worn script. "What is that?" Sansa asked.
I kept my eyes on the fine writing. "It's from my grandfather. He says I should return home soon; there's nothing for me in the capital. I think he plans to marry me to my cousin Garlan."
"No, Cassana, you cannot leave me now! I need you most desperately in the upcoming weeks!" Sansa exclaimed.
"Sansa, we'll always be with one another in our hearts," I patted over my heart. I could feel Sansa's fine embroidery on my garments; I had actually quite liked the dress she'd made me. "You'll come to my wedding, and when the Lannisters try and drag you back to this horrid place I will refuse to release your hand! You will stay in Highgarden—away from the king, away from the capital, and away from the Lannisters."
Sansa's face finally broke into a smile. She took my hand just as I had taken hers. "You will be my rescuer, Cassana. Will I like Highgarden?"
I grinned and remembered: "When I first arrived in King's Landing, my grandfather once told me that the same flowers and frivolity that grew in Highgarden grew in King's Landing, but just in a different color," I looked at the ivy climbing the bust of a lady that sat in the open window. "But he was wrong; they're not as similar as he said. There are bees in Highgarden, and there are wasps here. There are garden snakes between the weeds in Highgarden, but here there are basilisks waiting to bite. Gooseberries grow by the bushel in Highgarden, and in King's Landing you can only pluck the berries of nightshade.
"In Highgarden there is no fear; the people are happy, and their joy does not grow on hidden motives and the backs of others. You will love Highgarden."
The smile on Sansa's face was perhaps the most pure smile I had ever seen in my life. For once, I felt truly there; I felt I had truly made someone happy.
"Then I cannot wait," she spoke.
A knock on the door interrupted the safety and joy Sansa and I had built. It crumpled.
"Who is it?" Sansa asked.
"It's me!" Desmera shouted from the other side of the door. Shae went to open the door; we had been expecting Desmera for the latter half of the meal.
"Is your grandmother well, Desmera?" Sansa asked. Desmera had come from evening tea with Lady Olenna.
"Splendid. You would not believe what I heard from Margaery today! It is so shocking!"
"What is it?" I asked. Desmera sat down beside Sansa and busied her hands with fruit. She always busied her hands when she was excited.
"Ser Jaime has returned to King's Landing! And with only one hand!"