Chapter 8: Mine are Long and Sharp, My Lord
With squinted eyes, the King commanded his Hand to repeat himself.
"The Flaming Heart banner has been spotted by our scouts near Riverrun." Kevan uttered for the second time, watching his eldest brother's turned back with trepidation.
"We've already sent word to Walder Frey at the Twins, as well as the Starks in Winterfell. However, ravens take time… things can change, Tywin. There's no need to send out men before we know what Stannis is planning. Plenty of Houses in the Riverlands are still loyal to House Lannister. He won't make it very far."
From high up in the Red Keep, Tywin looked down at the people below with a sneer.
"He's made it far enough as it is." He tapped his knuckles against the railing, turning to take a seat across from Kevan. "How loyal can the Riverlands be if they're allowing the Baratheon name to ride across their lands, gathering bannerman in an attempt to take the throne?"
Around Kevan's neck, an unseen noose tightened. He gulped.
"I implore you, brother, there is no need to act as of yet. If we allow him to gather his bannerman, let him try and cross the Kingsroad, we'll welcome him with the Lannister Army and end the Baratheon name once and for all."
"What of the third brother?" Tywin grunted.
"Renly, your Grace." Kevan sucked his teeth, tapping his pant leg. "And last I heard, he was traipsing around the Storm Land's with one of the Tyrell's. Since Robert's death, there's been little sight of him."
"The cripple?"
Kevan shook his head. "Not the heir, nor the woman, Margaery. There have been rumors circulating around that Renly finds his comfort in the arms of stable boys and feeble-minded men. Even if he were to arrive on the steps of the Red Keep and announce himself King, no one would listen to a man with such queer taste."
"Hm." Watching his brother, Tywin asked, "With all your knowledge and knowhow, you've yet to tell me when I should expect to see the Flaming Stag at our gates."
It took a moment for the brother of the King to take into account everything that had been said, wanting to be as precise as possible. "Within two or three moons, if Stannis is able to accumulate the men to cross the rest through the Riverlands and the Reach. We will have war, Tywin."
The side of Tywin's mouth ticked up, and Kevan watched his brother with wary eyes. They'd been raised together, and his brother's mind worked in mysterious ways. Their youngest sister, Genna, had looked up to Tywin, and from her place at Casterly Rock, still sent ravens inquiring to her brother's welfare. Perhaps it was the naivety of women that she overlooked her eldest brother's lack of care and love for anyone not of their blood, which made Kevan thankful he'd not been born anything less.
"Speak with Lord Baelish on our standing with the Iron Bank. If war is to come to the Capital, we must have all men at the ready."
"Yes, your Grace. And…" Kevan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What of any plans for the wedding to come? That is, if you've come to a decision on your bride, for if you have, marrying and bedding your new wife should be your next priority. To fall in battle would be an honorable death, and while I may wish you the best of luck with your sword, we both know you are not the young man you once were."
Tywin chuckled at his brother's jest. "I have not lost a battle yet, and I've no intention of being struck down by that failure of a Baratheon. Any man with two eyes and a sword hand could fight this war and win."
"That may be true, but perhaps, sending Jamie in your wake would be a better strategy." Kevan said. "Of course, that is only if you've not yet left your young wife an heir or two."
"You're not only my brother but my Hand as well, speak freely, Kevan."
"Marriage, Tywin. I insist that your wedding is done well before Stannis' leaves the Riverlands. Your binding of House Stark and Lannister would tie the Northern bannerman to your side. They would not allow King's Landing to burn under the Flaming Stag if the daughter of the Warden of the North lies within its walls."
When Tywin raised a brow at his brother's hefty assumption, Kevan gave a simple smile.
"Rumors, while mostly false, do hold merit at one time or another. The entire castle cannot stop whispering about your infatuation with-"
"Lady Sansa."
Whipping around to find what had captured Tywin's gaze, there stood the Lady Sansa; her blue eyes shining with unshed tears and cheeks brighter than her fiery locks. Remnants of dirt speckled her cheeks, and her hands balled into fists at her side. A woman scorned.
"Excuse my intrusion, Lord Hand." Her voice was light and soft, but her face was a different tale. "I can see that I've interrupted your meeting, but I very much need a word with your Grace. If you could give us a moment alone?"
Before Tywin could spit some snarky remark, Kevan nodded to the girl, rising with speed and leaving the room.
Tension filled the air, Tywin and Sansa glaring at one another with malice from one side, curiosity from the other. Crescent moons dug into the palms of her hand, pain inching up her arms.
Tywin sat forward in his seat, elbows resting on the dark top of his table.
"Did you know?" Sansa spat, marching forward to stare down at the eldest Lannister with disdain. When he said nothing with a bored expression, she asked him once more. When he remained silent, she asked again with more bite.
"About what?"
In her rage, she painted a picture of a stunning Targaryen filled to the brim with dragon fire.
"About Cersei." She snarled. "I've just come from my brother, Jon Snow, and guard, Ser Clegane. They tell me that Cersei has kept them prisoner since my arrival, that she'd denied them food and water for days, sleeping in their own filth in the darkness of the Black Cells. And I swear on all of the Gods, that if you knew…"
"You'd what?" Tywin gave a mocking laugh. "Please, Sansa, tell me what you'd planned if I indeed had known what my daughter had been plotting against your brother."
Sansa took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders against the fierce lion of King's Landing.
"I'd leave this place and never look back. Sandor and Jon would see me home in the North, I'm certain of it. You'd find little trouble in marrying another woman who would gladly kiss your feet." Her breath came out in shuddering gasps, blood pooling in her shaking fists.
Her eyes were stuck to Tywin, watching as he calmly stood and sauntered around his desk. Each step echoed through the room before he stopped before her, looming over Sansa.
His wildfire eyes shined with intrigue, but his mouth was pursed in a hard line.
"I neither know nor care the ways in which the Warden of the North raised you, but if you ever presume to threaten me again," he lifted one hand to her chin, gripping it tight enough to ache, "I'll have your brother beheaded and you chained to my bedpost until you've birthed me as many heirs as I see fit."
Nearly relishing in her trembling form, Tywin released her jaw, but made no move to step away. Standing this close, he could smell her soft, sweet scent, eyeing her smooth young form. Truly, she was more stunning than any other woman, even his Cersei.
Maybe their children would inherit the crimson locks of Sansa, a change to the Lannister line.
Tywin was not one to apologize or regret his actions, but as beads of colorless tears floated down her face, unheard of emotions ran rampant in his chest.
Crying women had never affected him before—Joana had rarely cried in front of him, hiding her fears and worries out of plain sight. But this one is not Joanna.
"If it makes you feel better, I was not aware of what Cersei had done." A half-truth at most; Yes, Cersei had demanded usage of the Black Cells, but for what, he had not asked. "I've never had any intention of scorning you, Sansa. Especially not if we're to be married."
He felt, as well as heard her sharp intake of breath. "Married?"
Nodding, Tywin turned away from her, pacing back to his desk. "Tonight, the feast was only a means to announce the tournament for the new Lord Commander under the guise of joining my Kingsguard, but seeing as Stannis Baratheon is attempting to align himself with the Riverlands, I've been left with no choice. I will not go into battle without the prospect of an heir nor will I allow my children to be the saving grace for the Lannister line."
When she said nothing, he continued. "As of this moment, your status as a maiden is no longer standing. You will be given new maids, new clothes, and shortly, new chambers, no doubt close to mine until the day of our wedding. There will be Septa's who will teach you what your new duties as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms entail, and it would be most unwise to disappoint your people. Your place will now be by my side, Lady Sansa."
"Have…" she gulped. "Does anyone else know?"
"They all will soon enough."
Still she said nothing, but his eyes honed in on her dainty hands as they clenched the soft fabric of her dress in a deathly pale grip. And while no more tears fell, he could practically taste the salt in the air. Looking at her now, Tywin noted just how young she was.
A girl no more than six and ten—a young girl barely grown.
Her hips would no doubt birth child after child if he saw fit, but it was her mind that intrigued him. She'd been raised with knowledge and smarts, and he saw in her eyes that she was not the fool Cersei claimed. And for some unknown reason, it only made him want her more.
"If you've anything to say, speak now, for you will not have another chance."
When she asked, "Do you even love me?" Tywin felt his heart twist into knots.
No, and I fear I never will. You are not Joanna.
"Marriage is not about love, Sansa. Marriage is about power. Ned Stark wed your mother because he was told to, not because he loved her. I married my first wife to procure heirs, nothing more. Cersei married Robert because I gave her to him, not because either of them particularly cared for each other."
Lies, she wanted to spit, Lies, Lies, Lies. Her parents loved one another, and she'd heard tales of the love between Tywin and his first wife.
There were songs of their union that still traveled across the lands; Lady Joanna's beauty and the way in which the King had loved his wife. Septa Mordane had said that she would marry for love if nothing else, that a woman's worth lied in her heart and not her hips.
"And look where a loveless marriage got Robert Baratheon." Her eyes watched him. "I spoke with Jamie and he told me stories about things you've done and the people you've killed."
He avoided growling at the girl. Jamie always did have too loose of a tongue. The nuisance of Robert Baratheon and his bastardized attempt at a coup those years ago was a memory best left dead.
The lame, fat Baratheon remained one of the largest glaring failures in Tywin's life, and it would remain a shame that his son had been the one to behead the oaf, and not his own steel.
"Is that how you thought this would end?" Tywin lightly scoffed.
"I've taken you for many things, Sansa, a fool not being one of them. You came to King's Landing on my order, and you will marry because it is your duty to produce children with my blood running through their veins. Whether I can stand the sight of you was never an option."
Every word was a sharp knife to her chest, twisting and plunging deeper and deeper until the pain ran into her core. Sansa had never thought herself a girl of little mind or modest knowledge, but perhaps everything she knew was wrong.
Sure, not every marriage was destined to resemble Robert and Cersei, but if people did not marry for love, what did they marry for?
Power came from the back of her mind. Power is everything.
Would their children simply be pawns as well, pieces to move whenever it was deemed wise? Did nights of lemon cakes and new silk dresses mean nothing but a means to soothe her righteous need for the illusion of a loving marriage?
And would he ever hold her close and kiss her sweetly, as she'd always dreamed? Perhaps Cersei was right and she was an empty headed child, and every dream of hers would remain just as they were, dreams.
No longer paying her any attention, Tywin turned his mind to the papers scattered across his desk, "If you've nothing else to say, find your handmaid and prepare for tonight's feast. A Queen-to-be must look the part if she wants to command the respect of her people. As for the attire you wore to our last feast, try not to make the same mistake."
With a curt nod, Sansa fled the room, not wanting Tywin to see the tears staining her cheeks. Her hands scrambled to dry her tears once she found herself outside the King's chambers, leaning against the shut doors.
Every breath was a near shuddering gasp that had her keeling over, trying to clear her misty eyes and see straight, but everything seemed to be tilting off kilter.
She only became aware of a hand softly patting her back after a few moments of deep breathing, "Breath, M'lady, you must breathe" being softly whispered into her ear as her heart started to calm once more.
After a few more calm breaths and soft rubs on her back, she stood up and gave a thankful smile to the Hand to the King, Kevan Lannister.
He looked nothing close to Tywin, missing the piercing green orbs and hard stare. His hair lacked the golden hue and had faded to an ashy grey, already half way back from his forehead, receding so. A shadow of stubble lingered on his chin, trailing up his cheeks. Age had not been as kind to Kevan as it had to Tywin, folds of skin hanging from his cheeks.
Brown eyes with deeply furrowed brows gazed at her still shallow breathing form. "Are you alright, my Lady? I nearly feared for your life."
"I'm alright, Lord Hand." She tried to shake him off, but he would not budge. "Please, let me leave before I cause you more worry."
Kevan shook his head, patting her shoulder. "My Lady, I insist we speak to my brother on such things. If you are ill, he must know."
"And if he is the one who has done this, Lord Hand?"
"Then I would clock him on the head for hurting you as he has, my Lady." Both of them chuckled, Sansa's eyes clearing and Kevan's worry fading. Slipping his hand to the small of her back, he insisted on leading her back.
When she told him it wasn't necessary, he simply led the way. Down the hall they stepped, passing by Kingsguard with stony faces. Lit fire flickered on the walls of each corridor, illuminating each shut door and imposing guard.
"If I may, Lady Sansa," Kevan said, leading her down a set of winding stairs, "What has my brother done to put you in such a state?"
He felt her back tense under his palm. "I'd rather not speak on such things, Lord Hand. It would be best they stay between husband and wife-to-be."
"If you wish, my Lady, but know that I am not someone who reports back to my brother, nor do I have my own plans in regards to your future. I am merely the Hand to the King, and while I am loyal to Tywin, as he is my brother, by marriage I shall be loyal to you as well."
When she said nothing, he continued, "And while you may see Tywin's actions as cruel, cold and unkind, it would be remiss of me to not attempt to paint him in a better light."
Sansa gave an empty laugh.
"Tywin is… difficult, per say." Kevan tried to think of the right words. "But if I may offer you a bit of hope for your marriage to come, Lady Sansa, my brother does not treat others the way he treats you. He sees something in you that intrigues him, and while you may never be Joanna, you could perhaps be more. But I will not lie to you, the uniting of the Starks and Lannister Houses is not something we could simply allow to slip through our fingers."
He thought it best to not mention Stannis, as to not cause unnecessary worry.
"But he said marriages were not for love," Sansa turned with him down another corridor. "He will never love me, will he?"
"He might," was the best Kevan could offer. "But it will not be without hardships on both your ends. He will push you to your limits, and I only hope you push back. You must prove to my brother that you deserve to be at his side, and making it as far as you have is half the battle."
"Did Lady Joanna face these same hardships?"
"Lady Joanna and Tywin were betrothed as children, therefore, they knew briefly of one another before their marriage. And even with that, my brother attempted to shield himself from her at every turn. Only once Cersei and Jamie were born did he allow himself the time to truly see Joanna as his wife, and most would be right to think it was too late."
"But I've heard the stories of them, Lord Hand. Who in the Seven Kingdoms doesn't know the sadness that befell the Red Keep when Lord Tyrion was born?"
"Ah," sighed Kevan. "A great tragedy it was, and one I do hope does not befall my brother again."
Sansa sniffed with her nose held high. "Tully's are known for their simple births, which I assume helped your brother in his choice of wife."
Does she truly not see her worth, Kevan thought; She is more than a pair of wide hips with a pretty smile.
"Tywin's choice of bride was his and his alone, Lady Sansa, and as I said before, he does favor you, even if you do not see it."
"I will need more than your word to believe that." Sansa spotted her rooms at the end of the dimly lit hall. Jon and Sandor would still be inside with questions no doubt, and her belly rumbled in protest.
"But how will I know what's right?" she gave a shallow smile. "I was never supposed to come this far, Lord Hand. I never thought I would and now I feel as though I can hardly breathe. I could… I could love him, Kevan, I truly could. But if he could not truly love me, then why should I try?"
They stood in front of her chambers, Kevan's hand on her shoulders, staring into her eyes.
"Because it is your duty, my Lady," was his simple response. "And I can assure you that one day you will reap the benefits of all that you do for your Lord Husband, the King, and all of Westeros. And you must never forget that a Lannister always pays their debts."
Sansa watched Kevan leave back the way they'd back, feeling lighter than she had before. She smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress and made sure her cheeks were dry.
Through the door, she faintly heard Sandor's deep timbre and Jon's much softer one. Gods, to have them back brought her an immeasurable amount of joy, and it almost crushed her to think of how quickly Tywin's mention of marriage had dropped her initial rage.
Words of marriage tended to flutter her heart and ring her ears, these were things she'd dreamed of since childhood. While marrying beneath a Heart Tree would not come to pass, the Great Sept of Balor was something much more stunning. There would be so much for her to learn, creating the perfect dress, planning a royal feast.
It nearly made her lean against the closed chamber door.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling through her nose, Sansa squared her shoulders and wrenched open the chamber door.
Riverrun, Riverlands
Inside the walls of Riverrun, the stench of fish and rotting moss permeated every corner, vines of scarlet clinging to the walls, crawling to nest in the ceiling above. Along the floor, in the cracks on the walls, a boggy stench emitted. It was the same aroma that clung to all the maid's clothes, following the knight's in their wake. Wetness saturated the ground, green water slipping and sliding under every footfall. And under the smell of fish and iron, the earthiness that typically followed a storm wafted through the corridors.
It's warmer in Dragonstone, Davos noted.
At his side, Stannis Baratheon stood proud and tall, looking down at the guards of Riverrun. Even though his head stood not above many, it did not tarnish his spirit. Baratheon blood gave him courage that no other had, but it blinded him in more ways than one. Like to the fact that the red woman at his side was a poison in their crop, a thorn in their side.
"Where is Lord Edmure? I need to speak with him urgently." Stannis' voice boomed through the hall. "We've not a moment to waste."
One of the guards stepped forward, "He's indisposed at the moment, Ser Stannis, but he—"
The red woman uttered, "Lord Stannis."
"My apologies," the guard looked to Stannis with utter respect, bowing deeply. "If you and your companions would follow me, Lord Stannis, you can wait in a more comfortable setting."
The higher up they walked, the more the air stunk of stale water. It burned the hairs in Davos' nose. He was used to the salinity of Dragonstone, with its salty air and oily fish. On the shores of the fortress he called home, the air never smelt rotten and dank. Yes, this is not Dragonstone, but I wish it were.
The guard waited by the door, waiting for the three occupants to sit. "He will be with you all very shortly. Thank you for your patience." And then he left, shutting the door silently.
"Well, it's a good thing they haven't tried to kill us yet." Davos muttered, looking around the chilled room. "I didn't think we'd made it this far."
"And look how wrong you were, Davos," chided Stannis, sitting straight up in his chair. "I'll not leave this mud land without the Tully allegiance."
"When has a man ever willingly bent the knee and not ended one head shorter?"
Stannis shot him a look, "Then I suppose this will be the first of many times to come."
The trio sat in silence. On the left wall, a window showcased the grim sky outside. Much like their night in Hedgestone, grey clouds clustered amongst themselves, down pouring rain and scattered thunderstorms. It was a grim sight to see, and Davos prayed it was not a sign from the Gods that showcased their displeasure. Mother have mercy on myself, Mother have mercy on Stannis, and may the Stranger take the red woman.
"Patience is a virtue, Onion Knight," the red woman uttered from her spot halfway across the room.
"I wouldn't call a little bit of friendly worry being impatient," Davos spat without looking her way, rubbing the stumps on his hand.
Before Stannis could reprimand his Hand again, the chamber door opened, revealing Edmure Tully of Riverrun. His short filthy blond strands clung to his soaked forehead while his bright hazel eyes took stock of his visitors.
A crooked smile formed when he spotted Stannis, crooked overlapping teeth shining through the darkened room. Wet clothes clung to his pale skin, no doubt a chill settling in his bones. Even though this man was Catelyn Stark's brother, the two looked nothing alike.
While she had red hair and blue eyes, he was much more of a Lannister in blonde roots.
"Welcome," Edmure started, "to Riverrun, Stannis Baratheon. I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting one another."
He held out a hand, grinning when Stannis rose to shake it, both men plopping back down in their respective seats, one behind the desk and the other in front.
"Davos Seaworth, my Hand," Stannis motioned to his left, "And my companion, Melisandre of Asshai. We're in need of your help, Edmure, and seeing as you've yet to respond to my ravens from Dragonstone, I saw it best to come myself and seek what I need."
"Perhaps this would be better spoken about with Brynden," Edmure offhandedly mentioned at Stannis' pause. "He's a bit better than I am at planning these sorts of things."
"I do not seek the counsel of your Uncle, nor do I want it," spat Stannis. "I need you, Edmure. Riverrun does not belong to your Uncle or your sister. They are not the ones who decide where Riverrun pledges its alliance."
Edmure squirmed in his seat, avoiding the eyes of the red woman. "Every choice I make must go through my uncle, Brynden. That was the promise I made when he appointed me Lord of Riverrun, Ser Stannis. I cannot turn my back on my own House."
"We would never ask such a thing of you, your Grace" Davos reasoned. "But simply to hear out what my Lord has to say, nothing more."
Thankfully, Edmure nodded to the Hand.
"It is time the Lannister line came to an end." Stannis spoke bluntly.
"My brother and Ned Stark took back King's Landing from the Targaryens, and they were given nothing but that vile woman, Cersei, and she turned my brother against her Father. It is because of them that Robert is dead, and I will not stand by one moment longer while their foul reign rules these lands. King Tywin allows children—his grandchildren— born of incest and filth to live in the Red Keep. The Capital starves and weeps for mercy as the Lannister's sit on the Iron Throne. I, Stannis Baratheon, brother of Robert Baratheon, am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and I need the Riverlands if I am to take King's Landing."
Edmure looked daunted by Stannis's proclamation, and he gulped. "I don't… Why did they kill your brother?"
"Because he tried to take back what was rightfully his, and now his bones lie in an unmarked grave beyond my reach."
The younger Tully rubbed his hairless chin, patting his damp thigh. "You still have not said what it is you want from me."
"Men," was the simple response. "You have soldiers and could feed the men I've brought to your door. I no longer care whether the Southern regions will side with me. Together, we could storm the Capital and finish my brother's work."
Davos' stubbed fingers pulsed while he watched Edmure. The Tully Lord's brows had furrowed between his eyes, lips caught between his teeth. Yes, his Lord's speech had been true and fair, but this was treason.
It was wrong that Edmure was unaware of his sister's child, but when Davos even thought to lean forward and speak, the heat on his side intensified, and a quick look around the room showed the red woman glaring with fury.
Edmure rubbed his chin and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "You're not the first person today to ask something of me, Lord Stannis. In fact, I think this conversation would be better done with them here as well."
Davos watched Edmure rise and stride to the door, whisper to the guard waiting outside, and move back to his seat. "I'm afraid at his age it may be a bit of a wait before he joins us. Can I offer you a drink while we wait?"
Immediately, Davos rose and rushed to the side table, taking a sip of bitter red wine, doing his best to pay no mind to the raging winds outside. Wine rumbled in his belly as time passed, each clap of thunder sent another shock down his spine.
The glass clutched in his full-fingered hand nearly fell when a knock sounded at the door.
All four bodies rose, and Davos' eyes rounded to the size of goose eggs at the sight of Walder Frey, his hunched curmudgeonly form wobbling in with the grace of a crippled crow. His greasy grey hair hung in a curtain over his ears. His teeth were decaying and dirty, but his eyes were more alive than the rest of him.
Likewise, when he spoke, which always ended in a chuckle, he tended to enunciate his words.
"Stannis Baratheon, heh," he said, "I see you've outlived your brother."
The old man hobbled to Davos' unoccupied seat, plopping down with a haughty grin. "Have you thought about my offer, Edmure? I'm not a patient man, heh. "
"Lord Frey," said Stannis. "My ravens to the Twins went unanswered. I do hope you have a fair reason for such an act of ignorance."
The old man only chuckled at the Baratheon heir. "I'm no fool like your brother or this Tully right here. I may not be as young as yourself but I've not lost my wits… unlike some of us, heh. "
Davos quickly took another gulp of wine, still feeling the eyes of the red woman in his side.
"Why have you brought Lord Frey into our negotiation, Edmure?" Stannis had grown irritated, spitting "He's ignored my plea for aid and pokes fun at the death of my brother."
"I met Robert, the fat oaf he was, and he hated you," Lord Frey grumbled. "Heh, at least I'm not using the dead to convince the living ."
Rarely had Davos heard anyone speak the truth of the Baratheon brothers and their dismal relations, the ways in which Robert looked down on his younger siblings.
An invitation to the royal wedding of Robert and Cersei had not come to Dragonstone, and Davos remembered the pain in his Lord's eyes. The Hand never told his King that one had been sent to Storm's End for Renly, as it would've driven a deeper divide between the brothers.
"Please, I did not bring him here to fight, Lord Stannis," Edmure pled. "In fact, I think perhaps we could all come to an agreement of sorts."
He motioned to Lord Frey, "My sister's son has rejected a marriage to the House Frey, and while I cannot speak on how she raises her children, I can try to make peace with this. Lord Frey has offered me his daughter's hand, and would therefore unite the Houses Frey and Tully."
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Davos weakly offered.
"And while I may not personally have ill intent towards the Lannister name... Perhaps you are correct in your thinking, Lord Stannis. If I were to marry Rosline, and I were to agree to your demands, then we could take the Capitol back from the lion's claws."
"Heh heh heh heh." The old man slapped his bony knee. "Take back the Capitol, foolish Baratheon. Then what? Heh. Tywin is King for a reason, boy. He's paid my debts to the Iron Bank for years-"
"But not recently, Lord Frey, you said so yourself."
The old man hm-ed, rubbing his greying stubbled chin with crooked nails. His sharp eyes went around the room, eventually stopping on the red woman. "Who's the pretty woman, heh?"
"I am a follower of the Lord of Light, I do as my Lord commands."
"Lord of what?"
She sharply smiled. "It is of little importance to you. I will see Stannis to the Iron Throne, and I've seen that you will aid us on our journey."
"You have, heh." He looked intrigued. "What else have you seen?"
"Two Houses united as one. A wedding, my Lord." She said, reciting the sights the flames of R'hllor had shown only nights before.
Outside, thunder struck the ground.
A laugh bubbled up out of his decaying mouth. It started out soft and quiet, but eventually became a full-bellied wheeze in Lord Frey's belly that had Stannis' looking worried. Old men tended to lose their sense from time to time, and Walder was no exception
Spittle coated his chin as he cackled in glee, eyes closed as if this laugh would be his last.
"Heh! A wedding!" Lord Walder hooted.
Whilst the three men discussed wedding preparations, Lord Frey adding that Edmure should bring his sister and useless son, Davos stood at the side of the room, holding his empty wine goblet. Chills set in his bones as the cold from the outside storm swept in.
Still, the red woman watched him, but no longer with distrust, but mere curiosity.
He looked outside into the storm and watched the raging clouds. Mother have mercy, he prayed, Mother have mercy on us all.
King's Landing
"Are you sure about this, Sansa?" Jon sat on her frilly fresh made bed, watching her with squinted eyes and clenched fists. "I'll play a Kingsguard if I must, but you must allow either Sandor or I to accompany you tonight. It's not safe to go alone. You put too much trust in them."
In the mirror, the image that stared back was a woman full grown, no longer a girl. Shae had carefully chosen the dress, proclaiming it would be the one that catches the gilded lion's eye. It hugged her in all the places it should, cupping her wide hips and lifting her full breasts.
She painted the picture of Margaery at the last feast, beautiful and stunning.
Instead of hiding her hair away, Shae had styled the flowing crimson hair down her shoulders, cascading in a river of luxuriant locks. Soft pink color tainted her cheeks, red painted her lips, and she looked so different it was nearly dizzying to look too long.
When Jon saw her staring in the mirror, he grumbled "You look beautiful, Sansa, stop worrying."
"Are you sure?" She sounded uneasy. "I've never… looked like this before."
From the corner of the room, Sandor grumbled, "Pretty little bird's all I see."
At the door, a knock sounded three times. Instantly, Sandor and Jon rose with swords in hand, watching the wooden entrance with distrust. Sansa smoothed down the middle of her dress, relishing in the delicate design that had been stitched piece by piece, and made her way to the door.
On the other side stood Jamie Lannister, fully decked in Kingsguard gear. His blonde locks were shorter than last time, a style she much preferred, and golden lions roared across his breastplate.
"My Lady," Jamie said. "Might I say that you look ravishing.
His eyes started at her styled do, and moved down to her covered feet in stunning golden heels. "And with Lannister colors, even more so."
"Is there something you need, Ser Jamie?" She attempted to shield the contents of the room from his eyes, not wanting a fight to start between Sandor and the Kingslayer.
"Haven't I told you to call me Jamie?" He smiled. "And I've come to escort you to the feast being held in your honor, my Lady. It would remiss of me to allow my new Mother to find herself lost before joining us at the Head Table."
Her heart plummeted deep into the bowels of her belly, Naturally; Jamie spotted her grief stricken expression. "Fret not, Sansa, I'm to keep you and my sister as far apart as I can. Though, that may result in Tyrion talking your ear off all night, I do hope you're prepared for that."
When Jamie offered her his elbow, she meant to take it but was lightly tugged back into her chambers. Jon came from behind, staring with dark eyes at golden haired Lannister. His lips were pursed and his hand knotted in the fabric clinging to his sister's back.
Jamie spoke first, still smiling brightly. "I don't believe we've met. Jamie Lannister."
"I know who you are, Kingslayer." Jon spat.
Immediately, Sansa slapped her brother on the shoulder, apologies falling from her painted lips and dancing across the doorway to Jamie. But the Lannister man was unfazed.
"No need to apologize for him, Sansa. Though I am interested to hear who exactly this man thinks he is. I don't think my Father would take kindly to any relations you seek outside your vows."
Flames trailed up her spine at the accusation. "He's my brother, Jon. I asked you his whereabouts some time ago and you had nothing to say."
Understanding glistened in the Kingsguard's eyes. "Ah, yes, I do remember." He turned to Jon, "Where were you all this time... Snow, right? Not a Stark like your sister."
"He's a Stark in all but name, Jaime, and I would appreciate it if you would not antagonize my brother, such as he should not do the same to you." Both men bowed their heads in shame whilst Sansa glared on.
"My apologies, to you both." Jamie said. "I see I've spent too much time with my sister. Picking battles where there are none."
Despite the apology, Jon proceeded to glower at the other man. Sansa could see that her brother was holding back from strangling Jamie, or possibly demanding a clear path to Cersei to take her head as well.
And while a small voice in her head wanted to let Jon demand revenge for his imprisonment, a selfish voice reminded her that this was her night to announce her wedding. Revenge can come later, Jon, but not tonight.
This time, when Jon made to stand off with Jamie, Sansa tugged him back and lightly pushed him deeper into her chambers.
She lifted her skirts and rushed through the doorway, shutting it on her way out. From inside, the sound of Jon pounding on the wooden door went on deaf ears, his yells of her name nothing more than an afterthought as the pair strolled away.
Much like the last feast that had been held in the Red Keep, stunningly beautiful women crowded the corridors, gossiping to one another. Their dresses were every shape and size, from olive with braided birds to scarlet with golden flowers stitched up the waist.
Some were towering with hair as tall as the Hound, while others were barely half a hair taller than the Imp. Men were decked in their finest silks, golden hoops dangling from their ears, and a few were painted with pink cheeks and red lips.
And as Jamie and Sansa strolled hand in hand, she felt all of their eyes on her, assessing every step and judging each subtle movement. She was vaguely aware of Jamie attempting to whisper something comforting, but it barely came across as more than an intelligible mumble.
Unfortunately, as the duo turned down the final corridor leading to the Feasting Hall, Sansa halted a hair too late and crashed into another body. Neither of the pair crashed into the floor, and Jamie moved quickly in taking her against his side once more.
"Pardon me," came from Petyr Baelish, his mouth curved into a smirk while smoothing down the front of his coat.
His layers were colored in dark grey, six buttons running up the middle, meeting at the top with a closed collar. "Sansa, as beautiful as ever."
"Lord Baelish," Jamie cut in, eyeing the leech called Littlefinger. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Not at the moment," Petyr's eyes never looked away from the young Stark. "I wanted to formally apologize to young Sansa for my actions during our last meeting. I was wrong, and I've felt nothing but remorse ever since. I would never mean to disrespect the Stark family, and I only hope you can forgive me."
While his words were concise and apologetic to a point, she grimaced at the way his eyes seemed intent on peeking through her clothes. His last attempt at stealing her affections had fallen flat, and still, something about Lord Baelish unsettled her.
"Thank you, Lord Baelish. All is forgiven between us, I promise."
"That is good to hear, Lady Sansa. We would not want a ruthless Queen."
Jamie snarled, "Stifle your tongue or you will lose it, Littlefinger. Just because you and the Spider have little birds hiding around doesn't mean you can speak the King's secrets as you please." His hand drifted to the hilt of his gold sword.
Are all the men in King's Landing pigheaded? Sansa sighed to herself; Perhaps Jamie brings out the worst in everyone he meets.
"Jamie," she said, resting a hand on his gold plated bicep, "You were escorting me to the Head Table, were you not? My business with Lord Baelish is done."
A beat passed before Jamie released his sword and resumed his hold on Sansa's elbow, marching past a smirking Baelish. She hoped he would not sit anywhere near her during the night's feast. In fact, the previous bubbling in her belly came back as they stepped into the Hall, making their way up the short steps.
Her seat was all but in the middle of the table, the center of attention. But alas, a larger chair remained empty for their King.
Tyrion was the next Lannister to arrive.
He waddled in with all the regality his name deserved, his top covered in a dark leather tunic with matching trousers, rings donning his stubby fingers that jingled when he moved. The hair on his head sat in a mop of brown locks, some covering his eyes, and even hanging down to his cheek.
The Imp wiggled his fingers at a few staring women, but turned his gaze to Sansa when taking his seat.
"Lady Sansa, it feels as though I've not seen you in ages." Tyrion sipped his wine. "Do tell me how you've been. I can only imagine you're better off than you were following our last meeting."
She'd yet to thank him for their nightly trip to the Red Keep those weeks ago. There was little doubt that such a thanks would go straight to his head… nonetheless, "Thanks to you, I've been quiet well. And yourself?"
He took a small sip of wine. "Never better, my Lady. The sun is shining, I have a drink in my hand, and to top it off, the loveliest little rumor in my ear. Do you know the eunuch, Varys? He does tell me the most interesting of things."
"I've not had the pleasure of meeting this Varys, Lord Tyrion."
"Shame," he chuckled, "I do have the most interesting friends, and this one told me that my Father has already spoken to you."
All too quickly, wine was looking to be more and more appealing. "He has, and if you were patient as the rest of the Red Keep, you'd know tonight as well."
"But where is the fun in that?" A young boy servant appeared to top off Tyrion's glass, and his eyes moved over Sansa's shoulder, rolling with ease. "And so it begins," he muttered, already sipping his next glass.
"Little dove," came from over her right shoulder, Cersei's sickeningly sweet tone sending a trill up her spine.
Of course, the eldest female Lannister looked stunning in her carmine gown that dragged behind when she floated to her seat. Golden locks hung down to her breasts, and her green eyes were full of fire; "Don't you look lovely. All eyes will be on you tonight."
"Oh, do be nice, dear sister," Tyrion added with red stained lips. "If she's to join the family, you two must get along."
"I don't think I was speaking to you, brother, or are you already inclined to protect our new… Mother." Cersei hissed Mother through clenched teeth. One of her pale hands reached for the full glass of wine and took a heavy sip.
"I'm inclined to show the least bit of kindness to dear Sansa before she's thrown headfirst into things she doesn't understand."
"And whose fault is that?"
"No one is at fault for our Father's actions," Tyrion chided. "But we must live with it nonetheless."
"I disagree. And if either of you think for one moment that the senseless child sitting next to you will ever replace our Mother, I'd sooner fling myself into Blackwater Bay." Cersei's eyes jerked over to Jamie, who'd been watching with a grin. "Has our lovely Sansa enthralled you as well, Jamie?"
He shrugged, "The girl's done nothing to earn my ire, sweet sister. Has she even said a word to you, or is it her looks you hate?"
"Her presence is a burden on our home." Cersei chuckled to herself. "You're all to blind to see it."
Before Tyrion could once again defend Sansa, her soft voice cut in, "What have I done to you that you've not done to my brother?"
Silence fell over the Lannister children; Tyrion near chuckling into his drink, Jamie all but too confused to speak, and Cersei seething with the ire of a dragon. Sansa sipped her drink and ignored the fire searing into her side.
It would be a lie to say that the contents of her stomach wanted to coat the floor after speaking such words to the most beautiful and powerful woman in Westeros... but If I am truly to be Queen, I cannot show fear to the likes of Cersei.
"Already bickering amongst yourselves." All four of them stood as Tywin stepped up to the head table, his thumping footsteps sounding throughout the Hall. All of the royal men and women had gone quiet, watching with curious eyes as their King appeared. Even when his children rose to bow and sat once more, he stood a head taller.
Instead of sitting, Tywin stood in front of his chair while resting a hand on Sansa's shoulder.
"Welcome," boomed the King's voice. "As most of you will already know, I've come to a decision on who will join me in the Great Sept of Balor to become my new wife within three months time, and as a gift to her, I've decided to open the Dragon Pits and allow any man worthy enough the chance to join my Kingsguard."
Excited whispers slithered through the tables, but abruptly halted when the King cleared his throat. "It was not without difficulty that I chose the women most fit to rule by my side on the Iron Throne. Her Grace, the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, soon to be, Sansa Lannister of Casterly Rock and Queen of the Andals and Seven Kingdoms."
Under the table, Tyrion nudged her thigh, and she steadily rose to stand beside Tywin.
Her nerves were on fire and flooding her veins. It felt as though the air was too light in the room, but a steady grip on her hand had her grounded, taking deep breaths. All eyes were on her.
"Is there anything my Lady would like to say to her court?" Tywin asked aloud.
Looking out across the table, there were piles upon piles of rich meats and vegetables. Bowls of stewed beets in sweet wine sauce, candied turnips in a ginger glaze, mashed carrots and starchy potatoes that were dolloped with fresh salty butter.
Legs of rabbit were stacked upon one another, brown and leaking juices, meat pies lingered in the middle of each table, and an entire pig ready for carving rest in front of a round lord who was practically salivating.
Golden brown chickens stuffed with dried bread and cranberries were plated next to gargantuan wheels of fresh cheese that lingered near steaming loaves of bread.
Bowls of blueberries and raspberries were piled high, strawberries cut into delicate shapes decorating the tops of the structures of fruit. And of course, pitchers of deep red and white wine were scattered amongst the hall.
Everything had its own individual smell, but Sansa could only detect the stench of foul death that had assaulted her upon arriving in Flea Bottom. Swollen bellies and pained eyes were enough to have her squeezing the hand in her grasp and clearing her throat.
"It is truly a blessing from the Gods to allow this union to take place, and I could not ask for a finer lord Husband." Sansa's pulse thrummed.
"Your King has prepared this magnificent feast for all you, and for that we owe him thanks. And I would only feel it right that what is uneaten goes to the poorest of the city. They are the spine that keeps the Capitol afloat, and we must not allow our body to collapse. It will be my goal as your Queen to never allow the Lannister name to die."
At first the people said nothing, all of the eyes still watching and waiting.
Slightly turning her head, Tywin's face surprised her. She'd been expecting anger or annoyance at her actions and words that had not been said with permission, but the ghost of a smile graced his thin lips.
"Hail!" Tyrion hiccup-yelled. "Long live the Queen!" Jamie joined his brother in the cheer, and rightfully, Cersei remained silent while sipping her wine.
Pompous Lords and Ladies nodded to one another, lifting their glasses and cheering, "Long live the Queen!"
"Long live the Queen!"
"Long live the Queen!"