(King's Landing: 9/22/298 AC) Sansa II

"Bah! Baratheon's don't flee!" bellowed the inebriated stag.
Sansa and her father spun their heads around to identify the source of the commotion. Both had seen the King shouting after his son's retreating form, to Sansa's dismay. The Queen had scowled at her Kingly Husband, Robert Baratheon, before whispering something only the two of them could hear. Her father had a grim look on his face, and Lord Renly seemed amused. The Lady Azula had either not heard or had chosen to ignore the King's outburst. She had remained gazing out, thoughtfully, towards the tourney grounds, before rising from her seat. As the Lady Azula stalked towards the Royal box, Sansa couldn't help but stare at how she moved. Her movements were fluid, her steps light and free, but with a sense of power and refinement. 'She held herself with a royal bearing even more so than the Queen, herself,' Sansa was ashamed to admit. As the Lady of Dragonstone approached the royal box Sansa could see the King and Queen having a heated discussion. The most likely topic involving her betrothed. They had instances in which their voices would rise, but the majority of the conversation between the two had been in harsh whispers. Sansa had only been able to hear every other word, "truths…rise…..you…..weaken….him…"

Suddenly, the King shifted his mood and gazed past his Queen and towards Azula, who had come up from behind the Queen. She called their attention towards her, uttering "Your graces?" before bowing. The King burst into a jovial mood and dismissed the standard formalities she had displayed.

"Goodsister! No need for that! Come! Rise! Let me look upon you," he had thundered, his gazing wandering. "You grow lovelier with each passing day! My brother is quite a fortunate man. Dour and humorless, but fortunate!" Sansa had the thought of the King having been too forward with his affections for Lord Stannis' lady wife, and she noticed her father frowning, seemingly agreeing with her.

"You flatter me, your Grace," Azula had said, smiling timidly before giving a slight, but respectful bow. "But surely I cannot be as lovely as your majestic wife?"

She saw a dark look cross the Queen's face after Azula spoke her words, and Sansa grew fearful for Lord Stannis' Lady wife.

"Yes, of course," the King had responded glumly, before asking the Lady of Dragonstone, "What brings you to your King?"

"A request," she stated simply.

"Ask and it is yours, Goodsister."

The Lady Azula had begun to explain of a helmet she had forged on Dragonstone and how it would be an honor if Ser Steffon be allowed to don it in the upcoming match. Through it all, Sansa could not take her eyes off of the Queen. Queen Cersei held the most baleful gaze towards Lady Azula, and the Lady of Dragonstone had not noticed. This seemed to have angered the Queen more before the King announced his answer to his goodsister's request.

"Of course, Goodsister! But first I must view this helmet to see if it pleases my eye," he said.
Sansa saw Lady Azula fire a look towards one of her Flameguard, who nodded their head in acknowledgment. The man then rushed into the tent which held the jousters. He emerged, a few moments later, alongside her little brother, Bran.

'Bran? What was he doing here in the tourney? The last I saw him was in the tower of the hand,' she thought to herself. As he approached he was carrying an object, draped in a rich satin cloth, within his slightly too small arms. He seemed terribly excited and Sansa couldn't help but smile as he passed, even though she had no idea why he had been present before the thought had struck her. 'He always wanted to be a knight, and he came to perhaps squire for one,' she thought, thinking back on her brother and the high regard he held for the eldest child of Stannis Baratheon.

After the Stepstones, Sansa remembered her little brother always speaking of Ser Steffon. He would rant about how Ser Steffon had "bested a thousand pirates with his sword and wits, alone!" A number greatly exaggerated, Sansa and everyone else knew, but her brother had not let it dampen his spirits. In truth, no one but Steffon Baratheon himself knew how he escaped that large den of pirates, and perhaps none would ever find out. The idea of a thirteen-year-old convincing a whole lair of monstrous pirates, rapists, slavers, and murderers, into killing themselves, was preposterous. However, it was the most widely believed tale of Ser Steffon 'Silver-tongue' Baratheon, and everyone had their own version. So much so, that she would often overhear her two eldest brothers, Robb and Jon, get into numerous, tedious, arguments about the subject. The Lady Ursa would sometimes be present with Arya at her side. She would always find the darkest corner, and stand in the room, facing the door. As Sansa's elder brothers argued, a grim scowl would adorn Ursa's face, whilst Arya did her best to mimic her new friend's firm guise. Together they watched as the argument proceeded towards its eventual end, with neither side having achieved a modicum of victory. Sansa would find the arguments dreadfully boring, but Steffon Baratheon had fascinated her enough to, at least, spend some time hearing of his exploits.

Steffon Baratheon aside, Sansa still held a slight amount of jealousy towards the daughter of the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone. It had bothered her when Arya had chosen to remain behind, with Ursa, in Winterfell. The only thing that hurt more, was that Arya only thought the choice difficult because she also wanted to remain with Azula, who would return to King's Landing with the King and his Royal entourage. In any event, Sansa's continued ruminations, brought her towards the single most obvious conclusion, on Bran's presence here at the tourney. 'Spectators do not carry the weapons and armor of Knights, in a tourney,' Sansa knew, 'Therefore, Bran was likely Ser Steffon's squire or the squire of another Knight,' and Sansa was happy at the thought that someone, other than herself, from her family, was realizing their dreams. She watched her brother clamber up to the foot of the stands, bend his knees, and present the satin covered helmet, towards the King. The Lady Azula glided down the steps, towards Bran, glancing to her father, before gently removing the shrouded object from her little brother's hands, and bringing it up to the King.

"My King," she began, to the King's delight, after bending the knee, "I present to you the humble offerings of the smiths of Dragonstone."

King Robert excitedly tore away the red covering and sat awestruck at the frightfully nightmarish helm the Lady Azula had crafted for her son. 'It looks like a smiling demon with golden horns,' Sansa thought. The King, however, had not shared her opinion on its hideousness. He had, instead, praised Azula and had demanded to wear the ghastly thing. A wish, which the Lady Azula, had happily agreed to.

As the King of the Seven Kingdoms, donned the monstrous helm, he began to holler on the great feeling of being in armor again. He had even called towards her father on how a "helmet is still armor," to which her father smiled, causing him to let loose a quiet chuckle under his breath. After the King had had his fill of wearing the helm, he removed it and returned it to the Lady of Dragonstone.

"Thank you, your Grace," Azula stated and bowed, smiling thankfully. She rounded back down the stands to give the helmet back to Bran. Bran, gave a slight bow towards the Lady Azula and King Robert before the King dismissed him.

"Go on Lad!" he said joyfully, smiling towards her little brother, "Go give my nephew his helm, and let everyone see how I was in my youth!"

Bran sped away from the stands towards the tent which held his mentor. As she waited, for Ser Steffon 'Silver-tongue' and Ser Barristan 'the Bold' to make their entrance, Sansa had taken the time to observe the other nobles present within the crowd. After skimming the outskirts of the stands, she spotted the ward of Tywin Lannister under heavy guard. Ser Loras Tyrell, youngest son of Lord Mace Tyrell, had his arms crossed at his chest, and observed the crowd in what Sansa could tell was a look of pure disgust. His head was comprised of cropped, brown hair, and his face was as stone. "Hard and uncompromising," much like Tywin himself, or so her father had said of the man. His eyes, like Azula and her children, were golden. However, unlike the Dragonstone children and their mother, his eyes did not share their fire. His eyes were dead, devoid of feeling, and Sansa pitied him. 'He was handsome, to be sure,' Sansa thought, but his stance and grim look made her know that he was dangerous. His armor was wrought in gold and red, a single jeweled flower at its center, clenched between the fearsome fangs of a golden lion. He had made it far and was one victory away from the semi-finals. He was slated to match next, against Ser Jamie, after the bout between Ser Steffon and Ser Barristan had concluded.

Ser Loras and his sister, Margaery, had been the terms of Mace Tyrell's release, all those years ago. After two years of imprisonment, in Storm's End, Mace Tyrell had finally relented. Only doing so, after his mother, the Lady Olenna, had sent word of his bannermen's growing restlessness.

"Restless bannermen are cause for alarm, for any lord," her father had said, years later, when she had asked of the great houses of the south. "I did not envy the man then, nor do I envy him now. His sacrifice was a difficult one, and his position was impossible to navigate. He was caught between the flame and the lion. Neither would leave him unscathed." From what her father had told her, the original terms for release had been for Lord Stannis to receive Loras, as ward, while Margaery went to Lord Tywin. However, Lord Arryn had reportedly sent word to her father that Tywin had refused to take the girl, and had instead demanded the boy. The arguments between Storm's End, Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and King's Landing had apparently been the talk of the Seven Kingdoms for several years afterward. Ultimately, Lord Tywin had won.

"What good is an invincible fleet? If there is no gold to see it built?" her father had told her, before adding, "Lord Tywin's words. Not mine." Even as he had said it, she remembered his jaw clenching in anger. He had no doubt been driven to it by Lord Tywin's direct challenge to his friend, the King, and how Lord Arryn, his mentor, had allowed it to go unanswered.

Caught deep in thought, Sansa was startled when the horn announcing the entrance of the jousters sounded. She focused on the two knights entering the field, Ser Steffon was clad in his black armor and smiling demon head helm, while Ser Barristan bore the brilliant white armor and cape of the king's guard. Truth be told, Sansa had a small sense of excitement, as she thought it a match only found in her songs. 'A heroic white knight facing off against a villainous black knight,' she thought with glee, before remembering that Ser Steffon was not a monster. 'His armor only made him seem so,' her mind thought in embarrassment, as she remembered his handsome face and radiant smile. As they made their way towards the foot of the stands, facing the King, the crowd roared in anticipation. Cries of "Steffon!" and "Barristan!" were heard, before the cheers of "Barristan" were drowned out by the chant of "Silver-tongue! Silver-tongue! Here comes the Silver-tongue!" Upon reaching the royal box, they opened their face plates and bowed to their King, before he spoke.

"Ser Steffon Silver-tongue!" Ser Steffon's head shot upwards, giving his King his full attention. King Robert pointed at him, "That is my nephew!" His face was slightly red, but full of smiles and joy, before he added, with a sly grin, "And ladies of Westeros, please, calm yourselves! His title of Silver-tongue is only because of his ability to speak!"

The men in the stands had laughed and a few of the women swooned, except for the Queen and the Lady Azula. Both wore a face full of embarrassment, as the Queen's eyes swirled with anger, the Lady Azula's possessed a mix of irritation with a slight hint of amusement. Sansa was confused, she had not understood what the King had meant by that, and when she looked towards her father, he also looked embarrassed. However, as she laid eyes on Ser Steffon, his face was as red as a turnip.

"Go on, and make me proud, nephew!" commanded the king.

"I will try, your grace!" he said hopefully, his youthful face glowing with determination and left over embarrassment, before bowing and galloping to his end of the field.

"And Ser Barristan?" the king uttered.

"Yes, my king?" the old knight answered, seemingly immune to the king's previous and apparently embarrassing remark.

"Don't kill the lad. I would be very upset," he said, his mood changing slightly, but still jovial.

"I will try not to, your grace," Ser Barristan said, as he slapped his visor shut, bowed and galloped towards his side of the arena.

She watched as Ser Steffon readied his horse. A smile rose to her face as she saw her brother emerge from the jouster's tent and rush towards Ser Steffon, with ecranche in hand. He was followed by the tall, slim, young heir to the Iron Islands, who was carrying Ser Steffon's jousting lance. They appeared to exchange a few words, as the young Greyjoy ruffled Bran's hair, causing him to smile. After the exchange, Ser Steffon armed himself, and they moved away. She glanced towards Ser Barristan at the opposite end of the field and heard a trumpet sound. The White Knight and the Black Knight charged at each other, their horses galloping beneath them.