Hello, I apologise for the long wait. I haven't looked over the plot for quite some time, but I hope you like it. Please review, if you like, and all mistakes are mine, no beta. Written in under an hour, so do forgive anything glaring, and I know I misspelled some spells in the last one, I'm never usually so careless in other fics, this one is surprisingly difficult. Anyways, enjoy :)

"Sansa! Wh- What are you doing here?" Margaery stammered, hurriedly slamming her books shut.

"I need to talk to you," replied Sansa coolly. She hadn't seen Margaery anxious before, it was definitely odd. Margaery looked odd. Her hair was messier than usual, she had bags under her eyes that her make-up couldn't conceal, and her eyes that usually sparkled mischievously were dimmed. Sansa saw her eyes dart to the books lying scattered on the table, before trying to casually gather them up so Sansa couldn't discern the titles.

"I'm really… really busy, I have… classes and –"

"It's lunch." Sansa's voice was as icy as the wintry wind outside that pressed against the groaning windows, threatening snow. Margaery froze, checking the clock on the wall hastily. "You haven't been in class all day," Sansa continued, folding her arms. Margaery avoided looking at her as she placed her books in her bag rather clumsily, ignoring Sansa.

"Margaery," implored Sansa. "Will you look at me?"

"I need to go." Margaery swung her bag over her shoulder and breezed past Sansa. Tired of her games, Sansa grabbed Margaery's arm, swinging her round.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing –"

"This isn't nothing. You look exhausted, you're skipping classes, you haven't been to a meal in the past week –"

"It's none of your business –" Margaery made to walk off but Sansa held fast, not letting her run away again.

"That kiss is my business!" she exclaimed, stooping slightly so she could meet Margaery's averted eyes. "If you want nothing to do with me, then just say so and I'll leave it alone. But something's going on, and I'm worried about you."

"Don't do that, it's not worth it," mumbled Margaery, staring at the floor. Sansa's grip on her arm had slackened but Margaery didn't try to move.

"What?" asked Sansa, still fuming internally, but taken slightly aback.

"Worry about me. Don't." She could swear that Sansa's fingers seemed to stroke her arm, holding it in a more supporting way than restraining, but she didn't want to think about that. Well, she did, but she couldn't.

"Well, I do," said Sansa defiantly. Margaery smiled weakly at the Stark, but it faded quickly. Sansa could sense that Margaery was starting to relent. They were alone with the stacks of ancient books, the only sounds for a few moments was their breathing. Margaery placed her left hand on Sansa's, tracing a gentle pattern on her arm as she considered telling her. Sansa watched her carefully, detecting every nuance of her face; the subtle tightening of her jaw, her brow softening and her weak and hopeless eyes.

"I…" Margaery looked up at Sansa and carefully tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear, her thumb gently running across the warm skin on Sansa's cheek. "I want to tell you… but…" Margaery picked her words carefully. "It's dangerous. The less people involved the better. Especially you."

With that said, Margaery could still see that Sansa had misgivings; wondering if Margaery was playing with her. Unable to prove anything with words, she did the only thing she could. She stood on her tiptoe and slowly leaned closer to Sansa, giving her the opportunity to back out. This time she met Sansa's icy blue eyes. Sansa didn't recoil, instead she leaned in and their lips met.

"What's this about?" demanded Joffrey as he turned in the empty classroom. "You can't do this! I am Joffrey, Son of Baratheon –"

"Oh, shut up, you little git," sighed Cersei as she closed the door behind them. "Sit," she said, approaching him and pushing him into a seat. Joffrey glowered but remained in his seat as Cersei paced the floor in front of the teacher's desk. "The Tyrell is trouble. She knows too much."

"What do you mean? Knows about what?"

"Joffrey, this is a very complicated situation. The less you know, the better. You'll just find some way to ruin everything I've painstakingly planned out." Joffrey looked confused, but said nothing, not wanting to offend his rather impolite cousin. He knew there was something going on, but was kept in the dark. "Just don't get too close to the Tyrell." Joffrey took in the words then a smile grew on his face.

"What?" asked Cersei, confused. Joffrey then let out a laugh.

"I see what's happening here!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Cersei towered over him, giving him a glare that would make anyone sensible quiet down immediately, but Joffrey waved it off, still chuckling away. "You're jealous of Margaery!" Cersei stood stock still for a few moments before it was her turn to laugh. However, where Joffrey's laugh was arrogant, Cersei's was dry, humourless and cruel. She leaned in close to Joffrey, slamming her hands on the table and staring him straight in the eye.

"Dear Joffrey, I haven't the remotest feelings for you. This is a fact. That girl –" Cersei spat out the last word like it was poison. "– threatens your inheritance of your family's fortune. Which means she threatens any chance I have of living comfortably after I'm done with this dump. Everything my family has worked to obtain; power, status, everything is at risk by your affiliation with her."

"You would take my money?" demanded Joffrey indignantly before Cersei's hand snapped out and struck him in the back of the head.

"Over the past few years, who has protected you? Who has single-handedly kept you in this school, even when you were threatened with exclusion? Who was it that kept an eye on you; practically saved your life on several occasions when you're wayward mouth had gotten you into trouble? You think I did that out of the goodness of my heart?" Her eyes burned with rage. "I did these things because I was promised by your father that I would get a significant portion of your inheritance, provided I keep you safe, and I keep your family's murky past out of public knowledge."

This time, Joffrey had no riposte. He sat, staring at the desk. Cersei, confident she had made her point, swept towards the door. She paused as she opened it, turning and glancing over her shoulder at the blonde boy.

"Stay away from Tyrell," she warned, before slamming the door shut behind her.

Sansa broke apart from Margaery, but kept her right hand on the smaller girl's waist, relishing the feeling of Margaery's hands linked around her neck. Looking down at the normally confident girl, she saw a trace of uncharacteristic shyness and a genuinely warm smile on her face.

"Joffrey was nothing. Just a pawn in a much larger game," she said quietly.

"Am I a pawn as well?" asked Sansa.

"No, of course not. You're too important to even risk on the board," replied Margaery, her tone firm. "People I care about tend to be dragged into these… games." Margaery smiled sadly, caressing Sansa's cheek before hurriedly stooping and grabbing her bag – which had slipped off of her arm. "I'm sorry," she muttered as she darted away. Sansa didn't even bother going after her. She needed to find out what was happening. Sansa took a step forwards and nearly tripped over a small object. Glancing down, she saw a brown, leather-bound book. It was rather thin, compared to the other books in the stacks. She picked it up curiously – it must have fallen out of Margaery's bag. Opening it, she read the title page. Wizarding Genealogy: The Baratheon Line. Skimming through the pages, she saw a few notes scribbled on little scraps of paper on specific pages. She read a few of them inquisitively. The notes were out of context for Sansa, and she didn't understand the significance of the first three, but the fourth made her stop dead.

"Oh…" Margaery's note read: The sandy hair is traditionally a Lannister trait. No Baratheons have had blonde hair. Even if the lines had merged, black hair would have historically been the dominant gene.

Margaery read the remaining notes, all twenty seven of them hidden throughout the book, sitting down at the table. After five minutes, she sat back, her head reeling. Joffrey Baratheon, the arrogant, young heir to the Baratheon fortune; the boy who could do or say anything he wanted due to the fact he had the great Baratheon name to protect him, wasn't even a Baratheon? The evidence Margaery had gathered seemed conclusive. There were also a few notes regarding Cersei Lannister, Joffrey's cousin. She wanted a comfortable life, and the Lannister name didn't have nearly enough money to maintain their influential status for much longer, it transpired, so if Joffrey inherited the money upon his 'father's' death, which it appeared was going to be orchestrated at one point, then the Lannisters would keep their reputation. However, as Sansa understood – the notes were a bit clouded here – Loras, who had been 'cavorting' with one of the Baratheon's inner circle – had heard a rumour and told Margaery. Margaery, demanding revenge on the Lannisters for killing her father, was waiting for the right time to reveal this information.

Suddenly, it snapped together in Sansa's head. Loras. The Lannisters had something to do with his 'suicide' if it even was a suicide. Sansa sighed, holding her head in her hands as she couldn't believe what she had just discovered. If the Lannisters could bring about Loras' death, no wonder Margaery didn't want anyone involved in this plot. But Sansa was involved now, and she had to make sure Margaery didn't do anything reckless.