Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
A/N: I'm so sorry that it took me so long to update! Thank you so much to all of you who favorited and followed. I hope to update again soon! In this version of the story, Joffrey will live through his wedding to Margaery Tyrell.
Nobody sat still in the Red Keep that day. After all, the royal wedding was being held that evening. Not even Sansa was kept out of the madness. Margaery had called her to her chambers at seven o'clock that morning to help her prepare.
Now the soon-to-be queen stood in front of Sansa with an expression that practically glowed. Her hair was curled perfectly and had been elegantly twisted into a southern style. She had rouge on her cheeks and lips. Next to the red, her skin seemed like porcelain, though it wasn't quite as pale as Sansa's. And the dress… Gods, Sansa was so jealous of that dress. On the front, a pattern of thorns was woven over the stomach and breasts, but the back of the skirt melted into a train of silver roses. When wearing it, Sansa could've sworn that Margaery was the incarnation of the Maiden.
"What do you think?" Margaery asked eagerly. She and her handmaidens had only just finished tweaking her appearance.
"You're perfect," Sansa told her softly.
"Really?" The bride sighed. "Oh, thank heavens. I was worried they might have had the measurements wrong. What do you think of the train?"
"Beautiful," Sansa assured her. "Joffrey will be so happy, and your cousin will be the most jealous person in all the Seven Kingdoms."
That comment earned a tinkling laugh from the young Tyrell. "Now, that's the true goal in all this. Inspiring jealousy."
The door opened and both girls turned their attention to the servant who entered. "Only an hour until the wedding, Lady Margaery," the girl, one of her handmaidens, informed her. "The High Septon wishes you to be outside the Throne Room in half an hour so that you can take your place in the wedding procession." She curtsied and left once dismissed.
Sansa turned to Margaery. "I suppose I should leave you. I need to find my seat in the Throne Room anyway."
"I wish we had more time together, Sansa. It's a shame you're leaving for Highgarden tomorrow. And to think, I'll miss your wedding!" Margaery lamented.
"But you'll visit soon?" Sansa asked hopefully.
"As soon as I can." Margaery found Sansa's hands and squeezed them, smiling. "The next time we speak, we will both be married."
"And you will be Queen." Sansa returned Margaery's warm expression. She leaned forward to place a kiss the future queen's rouged cheek. "Good luck, Lady Margaery. Until we meet again."
"Until we meet again," Margaery replied softly, not leaning away. Their hands lingered for a moment, and then Sansa turned away to leave.
She felt a strange sort of emptiness as she walked down the corridors that led to the throne toom. Maybe it was jealously. Maybe it was anticipation for her own wedding, which was fast approaching. She would be the Lady of Highgarden within seven days, after all. Whatever the feeling was, it persisted, even when she took her place in the throne room among the other highborn wedding guests.
Somewhere above the main floor, a troupe of musicians struck up a formal tune. The music wafted through the room pleasantly as the wedding procession began to march from the doors and down the long red carpet that led to the altar. Margaery's handmaidens and Joffrey's most trusted knights split off onto opposite sides of the High Septon, who waited patiently in the front and center of the room. Finally, Joffrey entered. Several guests clapped while he strolled toward the altar and took his place in front of the High Sparrow. Then all went quiet as Margaery entered.
She captured the room with her beauty. Several guests gasped in shock and envy as she swept down the center of the throne room to her fiancé. When she climbed the steps to the altar, her train of silver roses almost shimmered. Joffrey met her halfway to the High Sparrow and they linked arms, completing the short walk together.
At the top of the steps, Joffrey removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. The woman standing next to Sansa sighed; Sansa wondered if it was out of joy or envy. The northern girl herself was filling with a strange spiteful feeling, one she couldn't really explain. For some reason, she wished she were standing up there next to Margaery.
The High Septon interrupted her thoughts. "Let it be known," he began, tying a piece of woven fabric around the couple's joined hands, "that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, flesh, one soul." His voice twined harmoniously with those of the choir standing high up in the throne room. Sansa watched Margaery's gaze slide to her fiancé. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."
Joffrey turned to face the wedding guests. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." He cupped Margaery's cheek and leaned toward her, capturing her lips with his in a lingering yet innocent embrace. It wasn't until they had pulled apart that Sansa realized she was clenching her jaw in repulsion. She worried that Joffrey would hurt Margaery somehow. The fate that almost befell her shouldn't fall on the beautiful shoulders of the Tyrell Queen.
Realizing that the rest of the guests were clapping, Sansa joined in. "We have a new queen," she murmured to Tyrion.
"Better her than you," he muttered back. Sansa wondered what Tyrion Lannister would think of Baelish's plan to make her the Queen in the North. She wondered what Margaery would think. What Joffrey would think. For some reason, the thought of deposing Joffrey and sitting in the Iron Throne with Margaery at her side flitted through her head. Sansa shook it away.
The newlyweds walked slowly down the aisle in the center of the room, making their way to the great doors to begin their wedding feast. For a fleeting moment, Margaery caught her gaze. Sansa's heart sped up. Then the Queen looked away and the moment was over.
Guests began filtering out of the throne room once the royal couple left. Sansa followed mindlessly, trying push thoughts of treason from her mind. The words "Queen in the North" occupied her mind throughout the whole wedding feast. She snuck glances at Margaery when she could and hardly even noticed when Loras took her hand. Sansa found the feast dull without the new queen by her side.
"My lady. Lady Sansa…?" Loras was looking at her.
"Hm? Oh, sorry, my lord. What were you saying?"
"I would be honor to escort you back to your chambers. We will have a long journey tomorrow."
"Of course, Loras." Sansa smiled gratefully and stood as he linked his arm with hers. The sun was setting over the Blackwater behind them, but the festivities were still continuing. The bedding ceremony would be soon. Sansa wished she could stay, but for some reason the bedding ceremony made her sick. Besides, she couldn't turn down Loras.
He led her away from the high table and toward the exit. Just before they left the area of the gardens where the feast was being held, Sansa looked back. Margaery was looking at her. Sansa offered a weak smile, wishing she could turn back and join the queen. But she didn't. She turned forward once more and left the party behind.
Loras struck up a polite conversation. "Are you prepared to travel tomorrow, Lady Sansa? I've sent word ahead to Highgarden for the servants to prepare the most luxurious rooms. You'll be lady of the house, after all. Our wedding will be magnificent – I've ordered them to release doves when we give our vows."
"It all sounds beautiful, Loras. That's very kind of you. I really can't wait to arrive there, I've heard so many amazing things about your home."
"I hope you'll enjoy your time there. After all, you'll live there for the rest of your life." His voice took on a sharper edge and Sansa fell silent for a moment. She thanked the gods that they were close to her rooms.
"Thank you for walking me back, Loras." She smiled. "I look forward to travelling with you tomorrow."
"As do I." They stopped outside her door. Loras grimaced, as did Sansa. They never sang about such awkwardness in the songs she was obsessed with as a child. "Goodnight, Lady Sansa." Loras placed a delicate kiss on her cheek.
"Goodnight, Loras," Sansa replied. She curtsied, then rose and opened the door to her chambers. He nodded to her before she closed it once more.
A handmaiden was already in the room waiting for her. Sansa dismissed the girl and disrobed alone. She submerged herself in a bath which the servant had already drawn and spent a long period of time resting in the water. She pretended not to hear the cheers of the bedding ceremony taking place elsewhere in the keep.
When the water grew cold, Sansa rose, dried, and dressed in sleeping silks. She lay in bed for hours. What would happen to her if she accepted Baelish's proposition and became a traitor to the king? Could she even win a war? Could she sit on the iron throne and rule a kingdom? Worrisome thoughts melted into dreams of direwolves, the iron throne, and a certain smirking queen.