Tyrion needed to confirm his suspicions regarding Sansa before doing anything else. What he would do if those suspicions were confirmed, he didn't know. Perhaps the best way was to sing her praises to Cersei? Any endorsement from him would only sour the girl in his sister's eyes.

Tyrion had already confirmed she was too well educated for her age in casual conversation, but he had recently heard about a game from Volantis that might serve as additional proof. And if he was being honest with himself, the game also just sounded like a great deal of fun.

They were having another family dinner with all the important guests. Margeary was sitting at Cersei's right hand and Sansa was trying very hard not to glower at this fact. Sansa herself was seated next to Joffrey and Myrcella. Jaime was also presented and sitting at Cersei's other side.

"Sansa my dear, have you ever heard of game called, Cyvasse?" Tyrion asked near the end of the meal.

"I'm afraid not," Sansa said.

"Not to worry. I doubt more than a handful of people in Kingslanding have. It is a game that came from Volantis, far to the east. I happened upon a set by chance by the docks. A merchant captain told me the rules and I persuaded him to sell his set to me. Sadly, I am lacking an opponent. And everyone is always going on about how clever you are."

"I am sure people exaggerate," Sansa said with a humility that Tyrion didn't believe for a second. "But I'd be willing to play, sure."

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'Quite an intricate war game,' Sansa thought. It held elements of Stratego, in that you could arrange your pieces in whatever way you wanted before the game started without your opponent knowing. But once the game started, the identity of all the pieces on the board were revealed. From that point on, the game resembled chess in that all the pieces could move certain ways and the goal was to capture the king.

No game could ever capture the intricacies of real battlefield tactics, but it was amusing all the same. She had long since grown tired of the real thing, but a simple imitation game with nothing but a minor boost to reputation at stake? Count her in.

Sansa immediately thought of several high-risk high-rewards formations for her opening board, but ultimately decided on something more cautious. A formation that would make it harder to gain a quick victory but would also allow her to respond to all threats and adapt. It reduced the simple luck factor from blind placement of troops to a true game of intelligence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'She actually thinks she's smarter than me,' Tyrion thought, his feelings somewhere between amused and annoyed. Tyrion prided himself on his intelligence and this nine-year-old child thought she could outwit him?

If Tyrion had to describe Sansa's playstyle, he'd name it 'meticulous'. She took no more risks than she needed to and preferred to wait for him to make a mistake. And when he didn't make obvious mistakes, she simply calmly developed her pieces to give her the best control of the area.

It made Tyrion doubt whether she had truly never played this game before. It also made him question whether she had directly caused Margaery's fall into the fire, as that was a risky move that did not correspond to her current behavior.

Soon, he was getting frustrated with the game as he didn't think he'd actually stood a chance of losing when he suggested this.

"I never imagined you'd have this much trouble brother," Jaime commented with a smirk. Tyrion knew Jaime did not mean anything by it, but the words bothered him.

Tyrion had two things going for him. His family name and his wits, and he felt the later would be questioned if he allowed this nine-year-old waif to get the better of him.

Sansa moved one of her Elephants closer to his side of the board. A second after she released the piece, her eyes widened, and she moved to take it back.

"No take backs dear child. Those are the rules I'm afraid," Tyrion said with relish.

"Draw?" she offered with a hesitant smile.

As an answer, he let his dragon eat her elephant.

Sansa's hesitant smile grew sharper. "That's too bad," she said and next moved her light horseman to threaten his king.

Tyrion saw it at once. His only move to save his king from the light horse was to kill them with his spearmen. Yet those same spearmen were also blocking a line of fire from Sansa's catapult to his newly moved dragon.

Tyrion had just lost his dragon. The most valuable piece in the game.

"Did you win?" Joffrey asked Sansa.

"Yes," Sansa said.

"Don't get arrogant. You haven't won yet," Tyrion said. Yet those words, in hindsight, only served to humiliate him further. There were no more clever traps from Sansa. There was no more need. She only accepted even trades, and all Tyrions ruses went ignored. Again, Tyrion called her playstyle 'meticulous' aside from that one move with the elephant. Tyrion felt Sansa might have been able to win sooner, but she was simply unwilling to take any risks from her winning position. Sansa herself looked vaguely exasperated at Tyrion's unwillingness to just give up.

It was a slow, painful death for Tyrion.

"So much for your so-called wits," Cersei said with a mocking smile.

"Would you care to play next, sweet sister," Tyrion said, eager for the chance to win back some dignity.

"That game took over an hour," Cersei said. 'I'd beat you in ten minutes tops,' Tyrion thought. "And I really have better things to do," she continued, and stood up to leave.

"The game does look fun," Joffrey said, and Myrcella agreed with him, for once.

"Then perhaps you should play against Sansa next," Tyrion suggested. The good thing about two people you dislike playing a game against each other, is that one of them – meaning Joffrey in this case – was going to lose.

"Very well, but I also have some other things to do, so I may not be able to finish," the prince said, giving himself an excuse to leave in case he started to lose.

Within ten minutes of the game starting, Tyrion's eyebrows were twitching uncontrollably. The savant Cyvasse player he had just faced was nowhere to be seen. Sansa was just mindlessly rushing her troops against Joffrey, obviously letting him win. She showed only enough competence to make Joffrey expand a bit of effort on his victory, and so give it a sense of worth.

Joffrey was having fun, Sansa's was successfully scheming, and Tyrion was annoyed by the whole affair.

"You do realize she's letting you win, right?" Tyrion said.

Sansa's shoulders dropped, and she looked at him with annoyance.

"I mean, I didn't want to say anything, but I thought so too," Myrcella said.

"Is this true?" Joffrey demanded.

Sansa took a few moments to carefully think of a response. "What is the purpose of a game?" she asked in turn.

"Trying to win?" Joffrey guessed.

"To have fun. And you were." Sansa shrugged her shoulders. "I'm better at this little children's game – I won't lie. I tried to play at a level where you'd feel the most engaged." The girl bowed her head. "As ever, my purpose is to serve you, my prince."

That answer seemed to appease Joffrey, and now he turned angry eyes towards Tyrion. "Why did you have to spoil my fun?"

'How am I suddenly the bad guy? I was telling you the truth, nephew. The girl was mocking you.' "Would you have preferred to remain ignorant?"

"Where you trying to help Joffrey, or did you just not want him to enjoy himself?" Sansa accused with narrowed eyes.

"Why I was only trying to help, of course," Tyrion lied. Skepticism oozed from Sansa, and Joffrey also did not seem to believe him. The prince looked at the Cyvasse board and swiped all the pieces of the table in a fit of frustration. "I've lost interest," he said, and then left.

Sansa looked at Tyrion with the cold eyes of a newly acquired enemy for the briefest instant, before she collected herself and schooled her features into a sad expression. Her head was slightly bowed, and her bottom lip pouted forward. "Why do you hate me?" she asked in a pathetic voice and with large sad eyes that nearly made Tyrion rush to reassure her despite knowing it was false. Myrcella bought it completely and also looked at Tyrion in askance. Even Jaime was looking at him dubiously.

"I don't hate you," he said. 'I simply don't trust you and think you're as bad as Cersei. Or worse,' he thought before scoping up all the pieces that Joffrey had scattered all over the ground and leaving. 'That could have gone better.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Margeary had asked her to walk the gardens with her.

"Have you ever been to Highgarden?" Margeary asked her.

"Sadly no. But I would love to visit," Sansa said.

"It's a much nice place than Kingslanding. That I can promise you," Margeary burned face contracted in distaste.

'Ah. So that is their plan,' Sansa thought. While Cersei inexplicably favored Margeary over Sansa, the same could not be said of Joffrey, and more importantly, king Robert.

Even Robert couldn't miss the competition to be Joffrey's future bride between Sansa and Margeary. For once, Robert was proud of Joffrey. "It figures you'd prefer a Stark over a fucking Tyrell! You're my son! How could it be anything else. Good on you boy. Sansa seems as delicate and sweet as my Lyanna was. And I'm sure your Stark girl will love you as much as mine did me." In typical Robert fashion, he had said these words loud and clear with several witnesses. A great slight for the Tyrells that the Hand, lord Arryn, had to spend a lot of efforts to smooth over. Though Robert had sent Joffrey sprawling to the ground with a slap to the back, the prince had also been pleased. Robert rarely had anything good to say about Joffrey.

Sansa heard from secondhand gossip that Cersei had tried to advocate on Margaery's behalf, but that just made Robert all the more stubborn. By now, Sansa figured she'd all but won.

Margeary stopped. "In truth Sansa, I've come to think of you as a little sister of mine."

Sansa demurred. "I don't know what to say." 'to such complete bullshit,' she finished in her head.

"I'd love for you to meet the rest of my family," Margeary said brightly. If it weren't for the scars, Sansa was sure it would have been a nice smile. "I have three brothers, and two of them are still unwed," that last part she said slyly.

'clever,' Sansa thought. The best way to remove her as an obstacle for the Tyrells ambitions was to have her marry someone else. And Margaery's oldest brother, Wilas, was twenty-two, heir to Highgarden and still unwed.

Honestly, it was tempting. The luxuries she would enjoy as queen of the seven kingdoms wouldn't be that much greater than as lady of the second riches house in the realm. Wilas was much older, slightly older than Renly even, and a cripple, but Sansa hardly cared about that. Not to mention that royalty was traditionally more prone to violence and being assassinated than other high nobility.

"I'd love to meet them," Sansa said honestly. "But if you are hoping for something between me and one of your brothers, I should warn you that that isn't up to me. We ladies do not get to choose who we marry. You should talk to my father." While that was technically true, Sansa knew her father and mother would at least listen to her opinion.

Sansa wasn't going to commit to anything for now. If Robert Baratheon and Mace Tyrell both wanted her, they could start bidding against each other. For someone that was seeking a job, there was nothing better than having two companies competing for who got to hire you.

'Mom and dad better be grateful to me. My bride price is going to be spectacular!'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa asked Jon Arryn to gift her her own Cyvasse game board. While she could say that it was a neat way to show off how clever she was, the truth was that she simply enjoyed the game. Such a game board was an expensive luxury in Westeros, and the whole point of Sansa's effort was to eventually enjoy such luxuries.

The problem was her lack of opponents. She had hoped to challenge some of the court. Maybe strike up a conversation during the game to get some interesting gossip. Network a bit. But few were willing to accept her challenge, and worse, tended to react condescendingly. The few positive response disappeared completely after she beat those first few. Though she had better luck with the highborn women.

It wasn't hard to figure out what was happening. This world was fundamentally sexist and none of the men wanted to risk being defeated by a nine-year-old girl in what was essentially a war game. Tyrion had risked it, and clearly regretted it. Joffrey also refused to play anymore.

As a result of Sansa playing the game mostly with highborn women, those women became better at the game than the men. And so consequently, Cyvasse, at least in Kingslanding, became somewhat of a women's sport. Ironic since it was essentially a war game.

Sansa still hadn't found someone to really challenge at the game though. Tyrion had so far been the only one, and he clearly didn't want to spend any more time around her than he had to. Sansa was trying her best to teach Myrcella, but while she did have some talent at the game, she just couldn't really match Sansa yet. The young Stark was holding out hope that Margeary would eventually be able to. She knew the Tyrell had asked for her own playset and promised to challenge Sansa when she believed she stood a chance of winning. Margeary could get better by just playing against Sansa, but Margeary also hated losing too much.

Sansa knew she shouldn't care so much about a simple game, but there was just not much else to do.

'Boredom is a luxury problem exclusive to the highborn, but it is a problem none the less,' Sansa thought with a sigh at their diner table. As usual, she took her meal along with aunt Lysa and her family.

Jon Arryn seemed to notice her despondent state and smirked at her. "Still having trouble finding players for your game, do you?" He too had refused to play against her as well, always saying he was too busy. He was one of the few for whom she believed that excuse. "Well, I've got a surprise present for you waiting for you up in the solar. You should go there after we've eaten."

Sansa was done first, but lord Arryn told her to wait until he could come with her. He clearly wanted to see her reaction.

He allowed her to open the door to the solar, and there she found Petyr Baelish sitting and going over some ledgers. When he saw them enter, he stopped doing whatever he was doing and stood up to great them. "My lady Sansa," he said with an exaggerated and flamboyant bow, smiling playfully.

"Lord Baelish," Sansa replied with a polite curtsy.

"My lady, I've been hearing such dreadful rumours about you. That you've been leading armies all over the Red Keep, slaughtering innocent courtiers, and putting their men to the sword. It simply cannot be borne. Lord Arryn has found a valiant hero in me to put an end to your reign of terror." Lord Baelish gestured wildly to a Cyvasse board stashed in between some books on the shelve.

Sansa couldn't help but grin at the display and decided to play along. "Many have tried to withstand me Lord Baelish, yet they all bend the knee in the end. You shall be no different."

Sansa had high hopes for this game. The fact that Petyr even owned his own board was promising.

"I hope you appreciate this Sansa. Lord Baelish is a busy man," Jon Arryn said.

"Yes, thank you," Sansa said. Jon left after that. Petry pulled up a chair for her to sit on and put up the game board. "Have you ever played before?" Sansa asked him.

"You'll be my first opponent," Petyr said and again smiled slyly. He seemed to do that a lot. "Just like Tyrion Lannister was yours." The implication being that he'd beat her just like she beat Tyrion.

First part of the game, they assembled their pieces in a formation of their choosing, blind to the other's strategy. Sansa chose something very similar to what she did against Tyrion. Something sensible, with low risks but also low rewards.

When the curtain lifted, Sansa's eyes widened minutely as she saw Petyr's board. He had chosen a very aggressive and risky arrangement that would only work if Sansa's board was exactly the way it was. It wasn't that big of a setback, since as mentioned, Sansa's board was sensible and low risk, but there was always some risk, otherwise everyone would do it.

Petyr's smile grew wider at her reaction. "I did not lie. You are my first opponent, but I have done my research." And Sansa tended to always chose a very similar opening board, especially the first time she played against a new opponent. Petyr must have gone around and asked some her previous opponents about their games.

He was taking her very seriously. This was more than him humouring Lord Arryn by playing against his niece by marriage.

Sansa found herself smiling genuinely. It was frustratingly rare for anyone to take her that seriously. She understood; she was a nine-year-old highborn girl, and unlike last time, she wasn't a well-known military prodigy and ace arial mage, with the rank to go along with it. Here, she was just a well-spoken and intelligent girl with good marriage prospects.

"I hope this won't be a onetime event my lord," she said, making the first move. She'd be playing catch up in the early game.

"I will try to make some time," he promised, moving his armies to reap the rewards of his opening advantage.

"If you've got the time to ask around after my previous games, you've got the time to play more than one," Sansa pointed out, hoping she wasn't too rude.

Petyr chuckled. "True enough. I just don't' like to start a game before researching it thoroughly." They continued playing as they spoke.

"Where did you find a Cyvasse playset? Uncle Jon said it was very difficult to get his hands on one."

"Did he say that?" Petyr asked mildly. "Curious, as all he had to do was ask me for it. The trouble of finding a seller overseas was heaped on my shoulders. I expected the game to become popular, so I immediately bought several dozen copies. They have already nearly sold out, largely thanks to you popularizing it."

"You're welcome," she said.

Sansa tried her best but found herself unable to come back from her disadvantaged position. Petyr wisely didn't allow her to properly develop her pieces. She could sit on the defensive, but that was ultimately just delaying the inevitable.

"All right, good game," Sansa said, leaning back in her chair.

Petyr blinked in surprise. "Already? You still have nearly all your pieces."

"There is no point. I can see how this ends." She wasn't Tyrion. She recognised a losing position when she saw one. To be sure, if she were playing against Joffrey for example, she could still turn this game around. But she knew that wouldn't work against this man. Even disregarding the early advantage, she found him at least as skilled as Tyrion. And if he researched her previous games, she knew he wouldn't fall for a trick like she'd done against Tyrion. That game was her most well-known one.

Petyr looked heartbroken, exaggeratingly so, and threw up his hands. "After all the work I did to make sure I was ready for you, you're not even going to let me enjoy playing this match out."

"I suppose I could humour you, but really, you've won." Sansa then went on to explain what he needed to do to win. She also went to describe what she could do to fight back, and also how he'd stop her from doing that. "So, do you want us to play that out?" she asked.

"Well now, you've sucked all the fun out of it," Petyr stilled looked upset. "Maybe you're just not trying hard enough."

"No," she denied simply.

"How about a wager," he offered.

"No. Like I said, you've won." Sansa rolled her eyes. "I'd be happy to play again if you want."

"Fifty gold dragons," he offered.

Sansa had to pause at that. Not because she was tempted, but just because that was just a large amount of money to bet so casually. At least in her experience. It was enough to equip more than ten men in full plate armour. With a second thought, she realized that wasn't that much for a rich lord. But it was certainly more than she'd ever had in her pocket.

"Raising the stakes for a game I can't win, isn't going to make me agree my lord," Sansa said.

"All you need to do, is not lose your king in twenty turns. Then you win the wager."

That was something she could potentially pull off. "I don't have fifty gold dragons to give you if I lose though."

"I suppose you could ask Jon Arryn," Petyr said thoughtfully.

"Forget it. Having some extra money would be nice, but my life is already nice. The amount it will improve if I win, is simply not equal to how much it will go down if I have to confess this to Jon Arryn," Sansa looked at Petyr in askance. "And he won't be pleased with you either. Seems like you'd lose either way."

"True enough," Petyr sighed. "I'm not giving up though. Let's just say that if I win, you'll be indebted to me. None but us need know. You can pay me back years from now or do some other favour."

That was something she might agree to. "None but us need know."

"If you lose, none need know. If you win, feel free. We'll just not mention that there was anything on the other side of the scales."

'Alright then,' Sansa thought, and picked up her Heavy Horse, and grinned. "Winter is coming for you Lord Baelish," she said, and rushed the horse past the enemy lines.

"Oh, you're attacking, are you?" Petyr said, seeming to find this fact delightful.

With this wager, the rules had completely shifted. 'Winning' no longer mattered. It didn't matter if one of her attacks had no chance of working. What mattered was that those attacks still required Petyr to respond. A turn he was busy destroying the armies that were blindly rushing his king, was a turn he wasn't trying to kill her. With every failed attack, her chances of winning conventionally dropped even more, but again, that didn't matter. Even her dragon was thrown away in a reckless assault that couldn't work, but the sacrifice did buy her a couple of turn.

By the twentieth turn, her last piece, a spearman unit, was burned away by Petyr's dragon. Her King stood alone and undefended. Petyr had taken all that she had, except the only thing that mattered for the wager.

"This is the strangest loss I've ever experienced," Petyr said. "If this was a real war, your men would have abandoned you long ago."

"Anyone that compares this game with real war doesn't know what they're talking about."

"And how would you know what real war is like?" Petyr asked.

'Shit!' she said too much. "My father told me stories."

Petyr looked at her sceptically. "Lord Stark told his young daughter about all the horrors of war? I'm not sure he's even told you where babies come from."

"Where do babies come from?" Sansa asked innocently, trying to divert the subject.

Petyr guffawed. "Alright. I walked into that one." He reached for a pouch hanging from his waist and removed ten gold dragons from it. "I don't actually carry fifty gold dragons on my person, but you can ask me for the rest at any time."

"That's alright."

"If I may ask, what do you intend to do with this money?"

Good question. It wasn't as if she was lacking in anything right now. If she wanted for something, she could ask Jon Arryn and he'd give it to her. Within reason of course. The Cyvasse game was the perfect example. And for what's outside of reason, fifty gold dragons probably wouldn't be enough. The immediately obvious use for it that Sansa could think of, was to use it to buy gifts for people. After all, it was a bit awkward to use someone else's money to buy a gift for someone.

After giving it a bit more thought, she had another idea. Sansa believed that the best use for money, was to get more money. But a nine-year-old girl couldn't go around investing money. Nobody would take her seriously.

Except. . ..

Sansa gave Petyr Baelish a considering look. The man had already taken her seriously with this game, hadn't he? There was a chance.

Sansa pushed the ten gold dragons back to Petyr. "Would you be willing to manage this money for me?"

"I could hold onto to it for you, sure."

"No. I understand you are from a very small noble house. Yet you turned yourself into something more. You're good at making money."

Petyr played with his small beard and again showed his trademarked sly smile. "Well, one does not mean to brag."

"During your next business venture, I want you to use my fifty gold dragons as part of the investment. And you'd give me an appropriate return on that investment."

"Really," Petyr leaned back in his chair and looked at her appraisingly. "You are a delight my dear. If I agree to this however, I'll also charge you a small amount for my service as a middleman. Let's say that whatever profit you make from my efforts, I'd take seventy percent." The rest was simply haggling. They ended up shaking on it. "I must say, I look forward to working with you. . . . partner."