"Do you like it? I want it to be a lion, for cousin Gerold."
"I think its lovely princess."
Sansa Stark's answer had come to her without thought. Just say whatever they want to hear. She didn't want to think that way, but her time in King's Landing had changed her, and not for the better. Her father was dead, her sister was missing and most likely dead, the household they had traveled south with was slaughtered. They were all gone, even her dear friend Jeyne Poole was gone, simply disappeared from their rooms one day, never to be seen again.
Princess Myrcella Baratheon was a girl of eight, yet Sansa couldn't help but tread carefully in her presence. She was a daughter of Cersei Lannister, and Sansa had learned that soft and gently words could hide daggers. That there was a threat to everything that was spoken within this city. But Princess Myrcella was young and innocent, she didn't play the games that the courtiers did. She called Sansa a friend, and her little brother Tommen did as well.
They wouldn't hurt her, would they?
Joffrey did, however. How she had been so blind she didn't know. She was so wrapped up in her dreams of marrying the prince and becoming a queen that she did not see the rotten boy that lay underneath the golden hair and the emerald green eyes. She failed to see how cruel and quick tempered Joffrey was, and she still blindly believed in the good of him, up until he ordered her father's head removed from his shoulders. Then he had her beaten for her supposed treasons, for the fact that Robb was winning the war.
Or had been winning.
Ser, no, he was the lord regent now. Lord Regent Gerold Lannister had come to personally inform her of Robb's defeat at Oxcross in the Westerlands. That his host was defeated and that he was taken prisoner along with many lords of the North and the Riverlands. That he was still alive, but his war was as good as done. Lord Gerold didn't smile when he said it, he looked grim and serious, and nothing like Joffrey. Sansa's betrothed would have laughed at her face or mayhaps have her beaten just for good measure.
Either way, Sansa had cried herself to sleep that night.
Her only consolation was that Robb was still alive. Her brother was still breathing, and she prayed that he would be by the time the war was over. He was a prisoner yes, but if he bent the knee he could keep Winterfell, he could go back home. Lord Gerold was the lord regent after all, so he spoke with the king's voice, so he could do it. He could have Robb bend the knee and swear fealty and then everything would be alright. Robb would stay alive and head back to Winterfell.
He had to.
Then news came from the North, and none of it was good.
Lord Tyrion had come to tell her of this news, and grimaced while he did it. The Iron Islands had declared themselves a separate and independent kingdom, and laid claim to the North in the process. It was said that Theon Greyjoy had taken Winterfell. That he had betrayed Robb and attacked the place he had called home for years. That he had done all of that and killed Bran and Rickon in the process. Sansa didn't hear anything else that the Hand of the King after that, only the pounding of the blood in her ears.
Bran and Rickon were dead.
She hadn't even noticed when the dwarf had left, but she had cried herself hoarse that day. Her little brothers were gone, her home taken by rapists and reavers, savages from the Iron Islands. She didn't truly like Theon, but she had lived with him for years, and she didn't think he'd do something like that. It was unimaginable, yet, Lord Tyrion had showed her the little scroll of parchment, and the words it held.
Bran, Rickon, Arya, they were all gone.
All that was left was Robb and their mother. They were the last Starks, and her father's words rang through her head as she laid in her bed at night. When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. They weren't a pack though. The snow wasn't falling, and the wind wasn't blowing, but they were not a pack either. They were scattered to the wind, dead or dying or captured.
She hated herself for it, for being so stupid. Arya was right, life wasn't all fairytales and dreams. Joffrey was stupid and mean and Sansa just hadn't seen it until it was too late.
"Sansa? Its going to be okay."
Princess Myrcella put a small hand on top of her own and Sansa looked up. The golden haired and emerald eyed girl had stopped her embroidering and was looking at her with a sad smile. It was a blurry image, and Sansa belatedly realized that she was crying. The tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"I…"
"Uncle Jason won't kill your brother, not like Theon Greyjoy did." Princess Myrcella said. "Uncle Jason's a good man, nice and kind, honorable too."
Sansa didn't know what to think about the man. Honorable? Jason Lannister was known as the Kingslayer from Dorne to the Wall. Sansa knew it from the moment she could understand what a king and what honor was. The man had killed Mad King Aerys and tried to save Princess Elia and her children. Everyone knew the tale, of how the brothers fought before the Heir to Casterly Rock came out on top and then ascended the steps of the Iron Throne to kill the king, driving his blade through the man's stomach.
Princess Myrcella said that her uncle was a nice and kind man, that he would never kill Robb like Theon had done to Bran and Rickon. Sansa wanted to believe that, but the man was a Lannister. Queen Cersei had said nice and kind words to her and look where that had ended her at. No, she would not trust another Lannister just because they had nice and kind words. Lord Gerold and Lord Tyrion were at least truer than the queen, but Sansa was still wary of them.
She was surrounded by Lannisters, a lone wolf in a pit of lions and stags.
"That's… good to know princess."
"You don't have to keep calling me that Sansa."
"You're a princess, I have to."
"Gerold says that your Joffrey's betrothed, so that means you'll soon be my goodsister. If you're going to marry him, I'd rather you call me Myrcella."
"Okay, pri-… Myrcella." Sansa fumbled out the sentence.
She got a smile in return and soon the two of them returned to their embroidery. Princess Myrcella was stitching a lion for her cousin, the outline already finished. Hear Me Roar was already finished, and the words were in gold on the red cloth. Sansa looked down at her own embroidery and found it rather empty. She hadn't seriously done any embroidery since her father had died.
Her hand trembled slightly as she started to stitch. A direwolf, that's what I'll make. She was a Stark of Winterfell, she had to remain strong. She'd hopefully see Robb soon, and mayhaps their mother as well. It wouldn't do good for them to meet someone who was unrecognizable, but Sansa feared that she already was.
"Wildfire?"
"Wildfire."
"Wildfire?!"
"What are you all, children learning their first words? Yes, wildfire."
Tyrion watched as his nephew rubbed his face with a hand, sighing all the while. He had to admit, that had been his reaction when he had learned the news as well. Of all the things to find underneath the Dragonpit, wildfire was the least expected among them.
"What in the name of the gods is three hundred jars of wildfire doing under the Dragonpit?!" Gerold yelled.
The rest of the small council grimaced as the Lord Regent looked at them all as if they were children. Pycelle certainly acted cowed, and Varys was bowing his head. Tyrion was a little amused at that and made sure to remember it for later.
"They were found by some whores entertaining their patrons, ha!" Hallyne, the wisdom and head of the pyromancers, was a pallid man who was slightly hunched over due to his age. He was garbed in the clothes of the Alchemists' Guild, leathers and chains all.
"I want to know why there are three hundred jars of the stuff under the Dragonpit." Gerold demanded. "I want to know why its there and who put it there."
"Lord Rossart placed the cache of wildfire there my lord regent, but the reasons for why are lost to us." Hallyne explained.
"King Aerys' Hand of the King?" Tyrion asked. He knew his histories, as well as the tales that Jaime told. The head pyromancer raised to the position after Qarlton Chelsted was burned.
"Correct my lord hand, Rossart was the last Hand of the King to Aerys Targaryen." Pycelle said.
"So, a dead man ordered them placed there and he told no one of it?" Gerold said. "Varys, I want to know of any more such caches of wildfire that may or may not be around the city. We're soon to be under siege and I'll not have the city accidently burnt to the ground."
"At once my lord regent." Varys said and made a hasty exit, no doubt to do many things with this piece of information, as well as carry out Gerold's orders. Tyrion disliked the eunuch, and they would have to think of a way to get rid of him once the war was done.
He gave off a wrong feeling to Tyrion.
"The wildfire could be useful in defeating Stannis or Renly when they come to siege us." Tyrion pointed out. "We may have a use for it."
"It is a dangerous substance my lord." Pycelle warned. "Not for the faint of heart."
"It is most useful my lords." Hallyne said. "The substance burns so hot that it melts wood, stone, even steel, and of course, flesh."
"We'll need every advantage we can get until Lord Tywin finishes with his campaign in the Riverlands. Very well, continue making the wildfire Wisdom Hallyne." Gerold said.
The pyromancer chuckled as he nodded his head and made his way from the room. Wildfire was a dangerous thing, even Tyrion knew it. The tales of the Mad King burning his enemies was still a well-known one. Wildfire burnt so hot that it could do so on water, and that gave him some ideas. If Stannis were to emerge victorious from his little confrontation with Renly in the Stormlands, then he would be attacking by sea with the stolen royal fleet, and that had opportunities.
If Renly won and marched on the city, they might need to find a way to safely catapult the jars at the attacking host. Though, Bronn had said it was a stupid plan, for in the chaos of battle, men dropped things, and they were just as likely to burn down King's Landing's walls as they were for Renly's host.
Still, the wildfire would be of use to them.
"Grand Maester, send a raven to my grandfather. Inquire as to how long it will take until he is able to march to King's Landing." Gerold said. "We will need him if either one of the Baratheon brothers marches on the city, and I'd rather not leave it to fate."
"Of course, Lord Gerold."
Tyrion watched as the old man stood very slowly and shuffled out of the room. The act of the senile but wizened old man was a good one, but Tyrion was pretty sure it was a false one. A mummer's trick to fool people into believing that the man was not a threat, when he clearly was. The Mad King had learned that lesson far too late after all.
"Well, its not all bad. At least the Baratheon brothers are fighting one another." Tyrion said.
"Aye, but we both know that sooner or later one of them is going to march on the city." Gerold sighed. "Gods, I'm starting to regret all of this. How did Grandfather do this for over twenty years?"
"Fear not nephew, you won't be Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King. By the time that happens your grandfather, your father, and I will all be dead, and Joffrey won't be king any longer." Tyrion said.
"How very enlightening uncle." Gerold snorted.
"Oh, then you are going to love what I have in plan for us now." Tyrion said and got off his seat.
"I'm not visiting Chataya's brothel uncle, I don't do whores."
"Not that, though we'll have to fix that at some point. No, we'll be taking a stroll towards Maegor's Holdfast."
"And what possible reason do we have for visiting Aunt Cersei and Joffrey?" Gerold asked as they left the small council chamber.
"To deliver the good new after all. I'm sure they still think that Robb Stark is out there and that Balon Greyjoy was still a lord."
"Hardly good news, and she'll probably yell at us both before we even get a word out." Gerold sighed.
"Aye, but we still need to tell her, she is the Queen Mother, and Joffrey is the king."
Gerold rolled his eyes and Tyrion chuckled as they made their way through the Red Keep. Aye, they were going to tell Cersei and Joffrey of the comings and goings of the world, but also to see how they were holding up. Being basically imprisoned wasn't an overall enjoyable experience, but this was Maegor's Holdfast after all, and it was certainly better than a sky cell.