A/N: Gotta long chapter for you guys today (finally). It's time for the wedding: part 1. So it's sure to be full of drama. Hope you enjoy the chaos.

Chapter 36: The Wedding

Arya spent much of her time wishing the wedding would arrive already so they could move forward. But that morning, she woke up full of dread. Every 'what if' in the world swirled through her mind. What if Joffrey didn't show? What if he did but managed to escape? What if the Lannisters helped him to escape?

What if all went fine and Joffrey was arrested for his crime? Would the Faceless men consider their end of the deal fulfilled even though Joffrey was not the soul guilty party in this mess?

All at once, the questions she had been ignoring were crashing down around her. So she did what she always did when Arya Stark became too much. Tucked her away and became someone else. Beth was not concerned with such things. Beth wanted only to do her job—return to Myrcella and guard her well during the wedding.

The Lannisters—including Tywin, Cersei, Jaime and Tommen—elected to take the train to the Tyrell estate. Arya thought she would be riding with the Lannister security detail. At the very least, she wanted to stay far away from Cersei. But Tywin insisted she ride in his car for some reason or another.

"I recall you being very helpful during our last train ride," Tywin told her as he flipped through a contract. "In case of another attack, I'd prefer to keep you close."

"Are you expecting another attack, sir?" Arya asked.

"No," he said. "But nonetheless. I am the careful sort."

Arya didn't argue. At the very least, Cersei was in a different compartment with Tommen and Jaime, so she didn't have to endure her. She perched across the way from Tywin, studying him carefully. He did not look at her, but all the same, she felt as if she was being watched.

He's worried about what I might be planning, Arya thought. Good. As much as he's watching me, I'll be watching him as well.

"Who else in your family is aware that Joffrey is going to be at the wedding?" Tywin asked. He'd been silent for an hour and the question startled her.

"I'm not sure," Arya said. "I told my mother. I don't know who else she told. Maybe Bran. Maybe Robb. I haven't asked. Why?"

"With matters such as these, it's important to know who is on the same page," Tywin said.

"And are we?" Arya asked.

"Are we what?"

"On the same page."

He glanced up from the contracts. "I suspect whatever answer I give, you won't believe it until the day is over."

She held his gaze. She did not confirm or deny it. She didn't need to. The storm in her grey eyes was enough.

The wedding festivities were already in full swing hours before the wedding itself. A parade of limousines lined the circular driveway when they arrived, and the place was crawling with press. The whole front of the house was sparkling with the flash of their cameras as they waited to get a picture of the distinguished guests.

Arya checked to make sure her Beth disguise was set and convincing before she got out of the car and even once she did, she kept close to the security detail, trying to hide behind Clegane to make sure no cameras caught a glimpse of her face. If there was one thing she learned from her time with the Faceless men, it was how to avoid cameras.

In any case, they weren't looking at her today. Once upon a time, when she was a Stark, she had to cope with press on more than one occasion. After her father's death for instance. But she hadn't endured those vultures as much as Robb or Sansa. If she had remained in Westeros, she imagined it would have gotten worse. But as is, she ended up in the papers for her supposed death more than her life.

Once they got past the initial hail of paparazzi, Arya could take a breath, but she almost lost that breath again at the sight of the manor. It truly was a marvel, even more so than when she last saw it. They must have bought out every florist in the country because every room was covered in flowers. Some rooms could have been mistaken for jungle at the right angle. The wedding itself was meant to be out in the garden, and Arya could only imagine what that display would look like.

She scanned the room, already on the look out for Joffrey. She doubted he would arrive early, but she wouldn't let her guard down regardless.

"Beth!"

Myrcella's voice came from her left, giving her just enough warning to turn. The moment she did, she found herself caught up in Myrcella's embrace.

"Oh it's so good to see you," Myrcella said. "I've gotten lonely being here without you or any of my other friends."

Arya thought about correcting her. Saying they weren't friends. But then…Beth had already crossed that boundary some time ago. So she hugged her back, feeling warm fondness spread through her chest.

"It's good to see you too." She pulled back to look at her. Myrcella was beautiful as always, garbed in a sparkling golden dress which resembled sunlight when she moved. She had a pink flower in her hair, and it matched the rosiness of her cheeks. "You… look like you're doing well."

"I've been all right. A bit worried about today, considering everything," she said.

Oh Myrcella, you have no idea, Arya thought. But she gave her a neutral smile. "Don't worry, miss. I'll make sure everything goes well."

Myrcella pouted a bit. "You're never going to stop with the miss thing, are you?"

"This is a formal occasion. I think I should attempt some formality," Arya said with a little grin.

Myrcella sighed. "Fine. I suppose that's an acceptable answer." She looped her arm through Arya's. "But since you are my bodyguard you have to stay close to me. Otherwise, I won't feel safe at all. You need to do your job, right?"

A laugh left Arya. Because seeing Myrcella was a nice distraction from all her fears. She was sunshine personified, and she shone throughout the room.

At the very least, Arya could disappear next to her light. And besides that, she wouldn't mind spending the day with her, awaiting the inevitable.

Sansa had always liked weddings. Even when she was a child, she used to imagine what her wedding would be like. She'd sketch out plans for a gown which got more refined as she got older and better at drawing. She imagined it would be the happiest day of her life.

Her own ambitions for love and marriage had soured in recent years. Her mess of a relationship with Joffrey which left her questioning if she'd ever find love. The death of her father and the loss of her sister making it hard to find joy in much of anything. When everything was crashing down around her, how could she think about happy things.

But today…she was determined to enjoy today.

The Tyrell manor was truly a wonder and the gardens even more so. In the midst of the pre-wedding festivities, guests were taking turns about the hedges, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres. The women wore a variety of elegant pastel gowns and sparkling jewelry. Tomorrow, the tabloids would no doubt be full of their pictures comparing the best looks of the season.

Sansa might be in one of those tabloids along side them. She was rather proud of her sea foam green gown. She had a touchy relationship with the tabloids, so it would be nice to be in a magazine for something normal and frivolous.

Even if it's frivolous, they may find a way to bring up past mistakes, she thought, smoothing down her skirts.

Still, she played the good girl throughout the gala, knowing the Stark family would be under a microscope as always. Her mother was working her way through the wives of their various business contacts. Robb was speaking with some of the Greyjoys, looking handsome and effortless as he always did. And once she saw Arya pass by, in her usual disguise, keeping close to Myrcella Baratheon.

It was all very normal, or it should have been—if not for the undercurrent of tension in her family.

She knew why Robb was tense. She had heard him speaking on and off for weeks about the potential consequences of this union in the business world. Baratheons and Tyrells were rivals. They weren't supposed to join forces. Only two nights ago, he was talking about losing the Baratheons as allies with Theon, which Theon promised wouldn't happen. Not as long as Stannis Baratheon was in charge.

So she understood the tightness in his smile. But then there was her mother. She kept looking around the party as if she expected to see a ghost and she was barely listening to any of the women she conversed with. She had been off for a few weeks now but when Sansa asked, she always insisted it was work.

And then there was Arya. Her sister was playing the body guard, but she was scanning the area as if she expected some sort of attack. What was she waiting for? What was her mother waiting for?

Truth be told, it felt like she had been out of the loop with her family ever since Arya came back. She didn't like it one bit. If something terrible was going to happen, she wanted to be informed.

She managed to catch her mother in a break between conversations. Her guard was down, if only for a moment, when Sansa asked the question.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "And don't say work. We're at a wedding."

"Social events are often work for us," her mother said. "You know that well enough."

"Maybe," Sansa said. "But that's not what this is."

Her mother exhaled, sipping a flute of champagne. "Joffrey might show up today."

Sansa blinked. What did Joffrey have to do anything? "I expected as much. I can deal with him mother. I've dealt with him before."

"I know," her mother said. "But if you do see him…try to avoid him. And find some way to tell me or your sister. All right?"

Sansa's brow furrowed. "I will but…why do I need to—"

"Trust me, Sansa," her mother replied, turning to face her. She rested a hand on her cheek. "I'll explain everything tonight. I promise."

It was not a comforting promise, but so long as the cameras were close and eyes were watching, Sansa supposed it was for the best. So she nodded and promised her mother she would tell her if she saw Joffrey.

Maybe she shouldn't have asked, because now that his name came up, she was looking for him in every crowd. Every corner. Every shadow. She tried to enjoy the festivities, but a shadow of anxiety rose up within her. She needed to go somewhere quiet for a bit. Somewhere she could breathe without worrying about the cameras.

She ended up inside the manor, drifting down the hall until she found a parlor. It seemed quiet enough and while she doubted guests were meant to come in here, it was just as decorated as every room. She let out a breath, for a moment letting herself relax.

"You're far from the party."

Sansa's eyes snapped open and she was surprised to see Margaery on the other side of the room, perched on the edge of a chair. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a perfect updo and her makeup was flawless. She wasn't in the full dress yet, but at least part of it. And in her hand, she held a bottle of champagne.

That was the one thing that clashed with the image of the beautiful bride on her wedding day. The drinking before walking down the aisle. And the fact that she seemed to be hiding away as well. Why?

"Are you… all right?" Sansa asked.

"Of course I am," Margaery said. "It's my wedding day. Every girl's dream. I'm just splendid, Sansa Stark." She sipped at her champagne and Sansa wondered just how much of it she'd had. Margaery noticed her gaze and smiled. "Oh this? Just getting rid of a few pre-wedding nerves. I'm expected to be perfect, after all."

"You will be. You always are," Sansa said before she could stop herself.

Margaery tilted her head to the side. "I am, aren't I?" She took a few steps toward her. "What about you?"

"Are you…asking if I'm perfect?" Sansa asked.

"No," Margaery said. "I'm asking if you're all right. Is this wedding entertaining you?"

"Yes, of course. It's all very beautiful," Sansa said.

"Then why are you hiding away back here?" Margaery asked, reaching out to adjust a piece of Sansa's red hair. "And looking so lost."

"I'm…not…" Sansa wasn't sure at all what to say. She'd never been quite this close to Margaery Tyrell before and it was distracting. "I just wanted to get away from the crowds for a bit."

"Hmm. I understand that I suppose." Margaery withdrew her hand and smiled. "I hope you do enjoy the party Sansa. You deserve to have a few carefree days when you can."

"Of course," she said. "And I…I hope it's everything you wanted."

Margaery's smile was sad. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will be." She moved past her. "I'd better finish getting ready. Its almost my cue."

"Right. Good luck," Sansa said.

Margaery laughed, glancing over her shoulder and giving Sansa a wink. "Don't be silly, Sansa. With acting, we say break a leg."

Is that what you're doing? Acting? Sansa thought. And she almost asked it too, but Margaery was already gone, leaving Sansa wondering about the many emotions beneath the surface of her perfect face.

Wondering if girls like them got to have carefree days.

How to spend a wedding reception, Jaime mused as he looked about the garden. Looking for your murderous nephew so you can take him into custody and ask who told him to do the murdering. He sipped his wine. Exactly how I like to pass the time at a party.

The wedding had been a lovely spectacle. The two were joined beneath an arch of roses, Renly adorned in a fashionable suit that may have eclipsed the dress of the bride had the bride been anything less than Margaery Tyrell. Certainly, they would make a splash for the papers. Maybe they'd even be beautiful enough that the press would stop speculating about the political nature of the match.

Or not, Jaime thought as his eye caught on Stannis Baratheon. He would never stop speculating about the political nature of this match. Jaime was, quite frankly, surprised the man was even here. Even if he approved of the match, he didn't seem like a wedding person.

Just shows his dedication to the business I suppose, Jaime thought.

Stannis caught his gaze and Jaime cursed inwardly. Too late to look away so he merely raised his glass in greeting, hoping that would be sufficient.

It was not. Stannis was making his way toward him and Jaime braced himself for a very difficult conversation.

"You've been coming to these sorts of events more often lately," he speculated, jumping right past the small talk.

"Well, I love a good wedding," Jaime said. "The free alcohol is the main draw."

"Is it," Stannis said. "Unless of course your father is pulling you back into the business."

"Is that the rumor?" Jaime asked. "You should tell my father. He'll be thrilled."

"I'm not here to verbally spar with you, Lannister."

"That's a shame. It's what I'm best at," Jaime sipped his wine. "Why are you here then?"

"Because. I like to be aware of my enemies," Stannis said. "The Lannisters are allied with the Tyrells. And the Tyrells are moving in on the Baratheons."

"And here I thought it was young love."

"Renly is too old for young love," Stannis said. "But regardless of his aims or the aims of the Tyrells or the aims of your father, I want to assure you that they never have my company. And neither will your nephew."

You have no idea how right you are, Jaime thought. "Enemies, huh? We're not at war, Stannis. Don't be so dramatic."

"No. I know all about your exploits in war," Stannis said.

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "I'm glad you're so well informed. And your declaration is noted."

"Good," Stannis said. Then he turned and left Jaime standing there wondering what the hell he'd done to earn that conversation.

"It's almost as if he thinks you care about the company."

Tyrion's voice came from beside Jaime. He exhaled and glanced down at his brother. "Yes. Terrible mistake on his part. Father clearly isn't complaining about my lack of business sense enough."

"Or maybe you still look like the model son next to me," Tyrion said. "Still…It almost seems like Stannis is nervous."

"Seems confident enough to me," Jaime said.

"Confident. Harsh. Cold. But the very fact he felt the need to talk to you—to vow that the Baratheons would maintain control over their business—shows that he's worried about keeping it." Tyrion sipped his wine. "He knows the Tyrells are a threat. So he's letting everyone know he won't be moved."

"What if I gave him a strong shove," Jaime asked.

"Careful brother. You only have one hand. He may be able to take you in a fight."

"I'm offended that you doubt my skill with one hand."

Tyrion chuckled, scanning the reception. "Also…I haven't seen Joffrey yet. I don't suppose he decided to skip the event."

"Entirely possible," Jaime said. "And if he did, it might take us a long time to find him."

"My curiosity grows every moment we talk about this," Tyrion said. "I'll keep an eye out. He does sometimes like to make a late entrance."

For once, I don't think he'll want the attention, Jaime thought. "Thank you. Really."

"Gives me something to do besides drink," Tyrion said with a wink as he continued on his path, leaving Jaime alone.

Jaime exhaled, returning to his search. Hopefully Joffrey would make his entrance soon. But no matter how quiet he tried to keep it—it was sure to be dramatic, one way or another.

The Tyrells were required to invite all of the major families of King's Landing to their wedding or else cause a huge stir in the papers. But even if it wasn't required, Tywin was sure Olenna Tyrell would have invited him anyway, if only to watch him squirm.

He never enjoyed events such as these. They could be used for business, yes, but nothing that he couldn't accomplish elsewhere. For the most part, they were frivolous indulgences. It's only use today was the possibility of drawing Joffrey out of hiding.

Olenna Tyrell made a point to talk to him early in the reception, a smug smile on her face.

"Well?" she asked. "Are you taking my advice to have fun."

"I'm having an excellent time," he said flatly. "Can't you tell?"

"I'm flattered you would attempt humor just for me," Olenna said. "Seems everything is going well so far. If we're lucky, the papers might actually talk about the wedding and not some scandal they've plucked from nothing."

"That is the ideal outcome of a wedding," Tywin agreed, scanning the garden.

"You seem distracted, Mr. Lannister," Olenna said. "Is there a reason?"

"No," Tywin said. He gave her a nod and excused himself. "Enjoy the rest of the reception. I hope it was worth the money."

"It always is," she called after him as he strode away. He was so busy with detaching himself from the woman he almost collided with Catelyn Stark when she rounded a hedge.

"Mr. Lannister," she said, taking a step back.

"Forgive me," he inclined his head. "I didn't see you."

"Well, nothing is spilled, so I think we can forgive it," she said. There was something strange about her voice and expression. It was…forced and her eyes were suspicious. He was tempted to blame it on the Joffrey situation but he had already made his position on that clear.

"Has anything happened?" he asked.

"No," Catelyn said. "I haven't seen any of your family arriving if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't asking that, no," Tywin said. "It's something else. What?"

Catelyn held his gaze for a long moment, as if calculating her options. Then she turned to face the shrubs instead, running her finger over a leaf.

"It seems we are not the only ones who suspect that certain deaths of the last few years are not accidental," she said at last. "My sister has suspicions as well."

"About her husband?"

Catelyn sipped her wine but did not respond.

"Strange she would wait so long to voice her suspicions," Tywin said.

"She was afraid," Catelyn said. "Apparently, there were threats made against her."

"I see," Tywin said. "What moved her to speak to you now?"

"Worry for my safety," Catelyn said. "And the company I am keeping."

Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly as her words registered as well as the intention beneath them. It wasn't an accusation. But nor was she dismissing her sister's words. "She suspects my family, does she?"

"I didn't say that."

"I didn't need to."

Catelyn let out a breath, studying the bush in front of her intently. "I suppose she doesn't think highly of the Lannister moral compass."

"Nor do you," Tywin pointed out.

"Nor do I," Catelyn agreed. "And given recent events, you can't blame me for feeling conflicted."

"Recent events are exactly what make me suspicious of your sister's testimony," Tywin said. "It seems a strange coincidence."

"It does. There have been many strange coincidences lately. But you don't need to make your case to me, Mr. Lannister," Catelyn stepped away from him. "Your actions will show me well enough who I should believe."

Then she left, making her way through the gardens. Tywin watched her go, tapping his fingers against his glass of wine. It wasn't that he expected her to trust him. It would be foolish to do so. But having her trust in this matter would make things much easier. Their families had been unwillingly tangled in this mess and they couldn't be at each other's throats. If they were, they'd never find answers.

And someone knows that, he thought. Someone who doesn't want to get caught.

How frustrating this shadowy figure had become to him. How he longed to drag them from the shadows and put an end to this mess. Tywin had played many games and won many literal and metaphorical battles in his lifetime. But always from a position of control.

He did not appreciate being a piece on someone else's board. And they would regret thinking they could move him.

When Joffrey did not make a quick appearance in the gardens, Arya wondered if he might be hiding somewhere in the manor, hoping to wait until the festivities died down. It would match his cowardice, but it was also a desperate hope on her end—she needed him to turn up here, because if he didn't, they had nothing.

She had memorized the layout of this house well enough on her first visit here, and she made her way from room to room like a shadow. Dressed as she was, the guests dismissed her as staff and barely gave her a second glance. When one wanted to be invisible to the rich, they had merely to pose as "the help".

Still, it was hard to remain neutral and shadowlike with her anxiety building inside of her every moment. She tried to transfer all of the tension to her back molars or to her thumb as she dug it into her index finger. And all along the question kept building in her mind.

Where is he? Where is he? Where—

A shiver crawled up Arya's spine—the sensation of being watched. Being seen. She turned to look over her shoulder but saw nothing but a few clusters of guests laughing and discussing the festivities. But that didn't mean anything. She knew someone could be watching her at any time and she'd never know.

She released a breath, letting go of Arya's anxiety. Refreshing Beth on her face. Then she kept looking.

A few rooms later, she paused as she heard shuffling behind a cracked door. The sound of something falling. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted very carefully around to peer through the crack. Was Joffrey hiding in here?

She didn't see Joffrey. She saw two other men—one blonde and one brunette. The first she recognized in an instant: Renly Baratheon. The other, she realized after a moment, was Loras Tyrell. But their identities were not quite as interesting as what they were doing—kissing each other breathless.

Arya stepped back from the crack in the door in an instant, staring straight ahead at the wall instead as many things rapidly became clear to her. She had suspected, of course, that this was a political and not a love marriage. But she hadn't anticipated it might have some personal aims—such as disguising a potentially controversial relationship. Two men or two women together might be more accepted now and days amongst commonfolk, but amongst the elite it was still a dangerous scandal waiting to happen.

"Beth?"

Myrcella's voice came at her from down the hall and she quickly turned to move toward her, guiding Myrcella away from discovering what she had. "Sorry. I was just checking the building. Making sure everything is secure."

"I'm sure the Tyrells have done that a million times over," Myrcella said.

"I like to be thorough," Arya said simply.

"Of course," Myrcella said. "Well, if you want to check every room for threats, I'm happy to help."

"If I come across a threat, then you may be in danger," Arya pointed out.

"You'll protect me," Myrcella said. "Anyhow, you did teach me self defense, didn't you?"

Arya gave her a little smile and nodded. "I guess I did."

In any case, if she did find Joffrey, it would be good to have Myrcella with her. She was the one who convinced him to come in the first place, so he might not run the moment he saw her.

Still, as much as they moved through the house, there was no sign of Joffrey, and Arya was beginning to grow especially discouraged. The reception would only go on for another few hours. They were running out of time.

Myrcella convinced her to return to the gardens and she agreed. They went out through the back door into the slightly less crowded hedges. Less crowded by this wedding reception's standards anyway. There were still people everywhere.

"Oh." Myrcella paused beside Arya. The sound seemed to leave her throat almost involuntarily—a mix of surprise and relief. Then she smiled. "So he did come."

Arya followed her gaze to the edge of the garden. Stannis and Renly were standing opposite each other, arguing about something. But their argument didn't matter in the least to Arya. Because standing just beyond them…almost hidden behind Stannis…stood Joffrey. Just He looked terrible—hollow eyed and very thin. Smaller than usual. The possibility of consequences had absolutely drained him. And they should.

"Would you like to go see him, miss?" Arya asked, her voice flat to her own ears.

"Yes," Myrcella said, not seeming to notice the shift in Arya's tone. But she had her own tint of worry in her voice. "Yes, I would."

A/N: Time for a confrontation I'd say! I enjoyed writing this chapter even though I was working on it up until the last minute. Hope you guys enjoyed. Review, subscribe and I'll see you next time!