Heavy, Lies the Crown
A/N: Things are picking up now, and I can't wait for it to all fall together! Thanks for reading!
Chapter 4-Wolf in the Lion's Den
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"Lions, wolves, and vultures don't live together in herds, droves or flocks. Of all animals of prey, man is the only sociable one. Every one of us preys upon his neighbor, and yet we herd together."
~John Gay
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Jaime Lannister
Jaime sat across his sister at a large mahogany table in the Tower of the Hand, his father at the head and his brother at the opposite end. It was bound to be a traditional Lannister family gathering; that is, one that was more than likely to end with them all at each other's throats, as most did. Tywin had promised them he would shed light on what he called "several very important pieces of news", and Jaime found his words not to bode well. He could tell his siblings shared the same notion, as they both held a look of both nervousness and intrigue, and Cersei impatiently tapped her foot. Whatever that was about to be revealed would no doubt be quite impactful on their family, as Jaime noticed that important members of both the Royal Court and the Small Council were absent.
Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King and Warden of the West, cleared his throat as though to silence chatter, though no one was speaking. The room was as silent as a funeral procession.
"My children," he began, his eyes passing over them all, lip slightly curling as the piercing Lannister green-and-gold gaze rested on Tyrion. "There are several things to be addressed today, and we cannot afford to waste any time. That means, in simpler terms, I will not tolerate any distractions. Especially from you, Tyrion."
They eyed each other for a brief moment, and Jaime felt the air of the room constrict ever so slightly, before his father continued.
"Firstly, I'd like to congratulate Jaime on his successful escape from the paws of the wolves. The Starks are not pleased, and it has proved a very useful thorn in their side that will only poke deeper after today."
Jaime found he did not like the omen his father had just illustrated.
Tyrion huffed at the other end of the table. "And I wonder just how his escape came to be successful…"
"Tyrion…" Tywin warned, regal voice clipped and closing any space for retort. Tyrion crossed his arms like a petulant schoolboy but spoke no further. Jaime glanced at him, hoping to catch his eye and convey his gratitude without words, but his brother stared hard at the wall, brows furrowed and meeting at the top of his nose like two golden kissing caterpillars.
"As you were saying, Father…" came Cersei's over-saccharine voice, and Jaime felt repulsed to even hear her talk. He purposefully skipped over her and returned his gaze to Tywin, who still looked hard at his dwarf son across the table.
"As I was saying," he continued, an edge to his tone. "Jaime is back, and that means we can discuss fully the advancement of the future of this family. The Tyrells have arrived, and of course, the daughter of Mace Tyrell is to marry Joffrey. This reason for this move should be fairly evident to you all. The Reach is powerful, and with the Tyrells swathed in Lannister cloak, we will find ourselves with a very strong force that the Stark boy would be fool to reckon with."
Jaime was rapidly growing bored of his father's monologue. This information was stale, and the comment involving the thorn was starting to irk him. His father clearly had something big planned for him, undoubtedly something political and controversial. He wondered briefly about assassination plots and positions as he began to drum five aristocratic fingers on the wooden surface of the table.
Tywin glanced at him. "Getting restless, Jaime? The Lord of Casterly Rock should never openly display his lack of interest."
Jaime's eyes shot to his father's as Cersei made a choked sound and Tyrion jumped out of his chair.
"You meant to say Heir to Casterly Rock, I assume, Father," the little man interjected.
"I meant what I said, Tyrion. Now sit down."
"You can't be serious, Father!" hissed the little man. "Jaime is a member of the Kingsguard, or has senility finally set in with you?!"
"A matter that shall quickly be taken care of by the King," shot back Tywin, his hands balling into large fists. "Jaime is to be released of his duties by Joffrey on the morrow, and he will marry and claim his inheritance at the Rock."
It was Cersei's turn to be outraged.
"Jaime has always been a loyal member of the Kingsguard! You cannot just ask him forsake his vows so frivolously! And just who will he marry? There is no one-,"
"Enough!" barked Tywin, cutting her off. "I will hear no more of this. And you Cersei, should be more mindful of your own marriage."
Cersei gaped at him, mouth slightly ajar, beautiful face colored with emotion.
"You are to marry Loras Tyrell as soon as possible."
Jaime was positive he had never seen Cersei fly into such a state so quickly. The air instantly electrified, and the Queen Regent leapt to her feet, a sole, ringed finger jutting out toward their father. She bared her teeth like a madwoman, and her features contorted into the very personification of fury.
"I will NOT!" she shouted, spittle flying in every direction like a volley of little liquid arrows. "You can choose spouses for my brothers, but I will not allow you to pick mine again. I will not be-,"
Thunder erupted in the room as Tywin slammed his fist on the table, a rare exhibition of loss of control for the Lannister patriarch. Cersei's diatribe was immediately exchanged for silence, and she slowly lowered herself back into her chair, chest heaving. Tyrion, on the other hand, looked concurrently amused at his sister's bitterness and frightened at his father's outburst.
Jaime was just annoyed.
Twyin momentarily gathered himself before speaking, his voice so low and sharp Jaime thought it could have taken off all of their legs.
"I will hear not one more little chirp from you, Cersei. Not a single one. If you dare defy me again, I will marry you to the cripple, Willas Tyrell, and you will have to live out the rest of your days lifting his frail, beanpole body from his bed every morning. Make no mistake."
Cersei shook with anger like a tree in a tempest. Jaime couldn't help but feel like she was getting what she deserved. Her chance at true Queenhood now severely diminished, she would be left gnawing at other people's skirts and getting but a tiny taste of the crown. He knew he still loved her deep down, but he was being roughly shaken from his dreamlike blindness to her character and was finding that she sickened him the more he looked.
"Tyrion," his father bit out, signaling the next part of business has arrived. "I have not yet found a suitable match for you. Until I do, you will assume the duties of Master of Coin, as Baelish will be reigning in the Vale for the Lannister sigil."
Tyrion said nothing, but years of growing accustomed to his brother's mannerisms told Jaime that he was sorely unhappy, judging from the hard purse of his lips and the gaze that could have set the room ablaze.
"And that leaves you, Jaime, the soon-to-be Lord of Casterly Rock." His father's face filled with the vestiges of pride, and Jaime smiled slightly in spite of himself. His ego had taken a brutal blow at the hands (or legs, rather) of Cersei, but the pride of his father could still spark that familiar glow in his chest. "I have found you a satisfactory wife, and one that will be undoubtedly crucial in our struggle with the North."
Jaime's chest suddenly tightened, and Cersei's mouth began to open. Though they may not have believed it, every occupant in the room knew what was about to come.
Tywin gave him a sly grin. "You will be wed to Sansa Stark, and your child will be Heir to Winterfell."
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Sansa Stark
The needle wove back and forth and back and forth, slowly bringing the threads together one by one, something recognizable forming from the motion. Sansa Stark rested comfortably in a small chair by her hearth as she knit, working on a small woolen cap that she planned to knit a wolf onto. She supposed if she ever were to see Arya again, she might as well have something to give her.
She had originally begun the hat as a gift for her brother Rickon, but the news of his and her other brother Bran's deaths had quickly changed the name of the recipient. She had been shattered; she didn't know how much more death she could take. First her father, at the hand of the wicked and horrible Joffrey, and now her brothers, though the case of the latter was even worse. Theon Greyjoy had been her friend, had grown up with her, had loved her brothers and her like family. It hadn't seemed to matter that he was her father's ward; he appeared to be pleased with his station. But oh, how had they all been wrong; Theon Turncloak now reigned in their old home with the blood of her brother's staining his once Stark coat.
It had surprised her deeply when Jaime had comforted her. He had personally delivered the news, sat with her as she cried, even held her to his breast as the sobs threatened to send her careening to the floor. It had been almost…affectionate. Truthfully, he had been continually astonishing her since the night of the Blackwater. Trant had appeared, drunk as a victorious warrior and as menacing as a feral dog, and had attacked her, throwing her to the floor and giving her various bruises and lacerations. He had almost…she swallowed thickly as she thought of what might have been done to her.
But nothing beyond her physical wounds had occurred. A sword, a savior's sword, had been driven through the awful man's chest, and to her utter shock it had been none other than the Queen's brother holding it. It was the single most kind act anyone had ever bothered to do for her in King's Landing, scant for the time Tyrion had saved her from humiliation in front of Joffrey's court, and it made her realize that perhaps not all was lost.
She had wondered one question for weeks: why? However, she had never been given the chance to ask, as Jaime had quickly disappeared after delivering the news of her brothers' deaths, and thus she had been left to ponder Jaime's motivation for weeks. He was a Lannister; he was a member of the Kingsguard. She understood thoroughly for whom he fought. But, somehow, she couldn't help but feel that perhaps she had one protector in that awful city, even if he bore the colors of her family's most hated enemy's sigil.
Presently, a knock made the wood of her door come alive, and before she could address it the thing had swung open, and Queen Cersei had stepped inside.
Sansa's stomach dropped.
She stood, placing her knitting materials aside. "Your Grace," she greeted, voice timorous but courteous. "How nice it is of you to come and visit me."
The Queen Regent moved quickly inside the room and ordered her guards to remain outside.
"Sansa, my dear!" she exclaimed, tone so sickeningly sweet Sansa thought her teeth would yellow to even hear it. "Please, have a seat. I won't be here long, unfortunately for you. I've just come to bring you the most wonderful of news!"
Sansa obeyed and felt her stomach plummet even further. A chill crept across her shoulders. "I thank you, Your Grace. What news do you bring?"
The Queen Regent walked swiftly behind her and grabbed a hairbrush off of a nearby endtable. She grabbed Sansa's head rather roughly and began to yank the bristles of the brush through her long, auburn locks. Sansa suppressed a yelp.
"Tell me, sweet little Stark, have you ever been with a man before?"
Her face began to match her hair at the Queen's question.
"Your Grace! I am a maiden; of course I have not been with a man." She felt herself heating up involuntarily at the subject matter at hand.
Cersei let the brush fall through her hair several more times before she abruptly grasped a fistful of it and jerked downward. Sansa shrieked in pain, and the Queen Regent lowered her mouth to Sansa's ear.
"Then how do you expect to please a man like Jaime?"
An alarm burst into life in Sansa's head. Jaime? Please? Nothing but confusion welled up in her brain. Perhaps they had found out about Jaime's actions at the Blackwater? Fear gripped her as she realized they might punish her for what the eldest Lanniser brother had done. They would blame her for Meryn Trant's death, and she would never see the light of day again!
"Your Grace?" she responded, voice high and nonplussed.
Thankfully, the Queen Regent released her hair and walked around the chair. She stood before her, fingers on hips, sizing up the pretty Stark girl. The brush looked like a dagger in her bony hand.
"You," she began disdainfully. "Are to marry my brother Jaime. You will be a good little wife for him. You will do anything he asks of you. You might even bear him children. But," she hissed, leaning in closer. "He will never love you. You might even love him someday. But get this clear: He will never want you."
Sansa reeled. Her head spun like a cup rolled down the hill, trying to digest the firebomb of information Cersei had just dropped upon her. Me? Marry Jaime? It can't be.
Jaime?
The man who had slain Trant. The man who had injured her father. The Kingslayer. The Commander of the Kingsguard. One of the most undeniably handsome men in Westeros and one of the most dangerous. He represented everything she was supposed to hate and everything that lurked in the shadow of her mind as her body slept.
And she was to marry him.
All at once, she wanted to run, she wanted to scream, she wanted to laugh with joy that she was being spared from marrying Joffrey. Most of all, she wanted her mother. Her mother should have been there to hear her wedding announcement. Hot tears stung Sansa's eyes. She looked up, trying to find the Queen Regent through the wet blindness.
Cersei was already halfway across the room, heading for the door. As she reached it, she stopped and turned around. Looking Sansa up and down, she said, "Remember, bitch, that he will never truly be yours."
Then she was gone, leaving Sansa with nothing but her knitting and the thoughts of a particular blonde-haired knight.