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My name is Chloe Jane and I really wish you guys could see my outline for this story. Seriously.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Four Hundred Gold Dragons

Joffrey

The throne was uncomfortable. No one had told him that. When he was growing up and his mother and his uncles were preparing him for the day when he would eventually become King no one had told him that the throne was so damn uncomfortable.

And he spent so much time in it. No wonder why his father had gotten fat, a king spent so much time sitting that it was impossible not to become fat. But his father had still found time to leave the Iron Throne and have fun. Robert had had his hunts, his tournaments, his whores and his bastards.

When he was a child, Joffrey had sat for hours watching his father be king. It seemed to him that a king had very little to do with running the kingdom. That was what Jon Arryn was for. Robert had been the old man's ward growing up, that was how he had met Ned Stark, and when he became king he had named the man Hand of the King.

Robert had the crown and the throne, but Jon ran the country.

Robert made being king look like fun. But it was not fun. His mother had explained that to him when Ned Stark had taken over as Hand of the King. She had whispered to him and explained that Robert was a horrible king. That he should not have given Stark so much freedom and power. That the purpose of the Hand was to advise the king, to rule in his stead during the times when the king needed to be away from his throne.

A hunt or a tournament, a feast or a whore, were not times when a king needed to be away from his throne. Robert may have been a better king than the Mad King, but he had been an absent king. He shirked his responsibilities and was never there when his people or his kingdom truly needed him.

Joffrey did not mean to be an absent king. He meant to be better than his father.

And so he sat, for what seemed like hours, every day in that damned uncomfortable chair, his mother seated at his side as they listened to one petitioner after another. Farmers begging for an end to the war so that they might live in peace without fear of their lands being raided, lesser lords asking Joffrey to excuse their sons from the army so that they could be safe at home, greater lords competing with each other for a larger share in the glory.

It was exhausting. And trying on his patience.

He stifled a yawn and turned to look at his mother, silently praying that she would allow him to leave. He could not hear another petitioner, he was sure that he would go mad if she made him. She smiled at him softly and leaned closer to the throne, "At least one more, Your Grace," she suggested, her voice little more than a whisper. "These men have traveled so far to be heard. It is a duty to hear them, and do what you can to help ease any of their suffering."

Joffrey rolled his eyes, he didn't care for their suffering, he was suffering. But he knew that if he left his uncle Tyrion would see to the rest of the petitioners. He did not trust that Tyrion had his best interests at heart. Tyrion wanted the people to love him. He would give too much, be too kind, and the people would praise him instead of Joffrey for whatever they got.

He sighed and nodded, "One more," he agreed with his mother before he turned back to face the hall and beckoned the next man forward. It was always one more.

The man walked forward, his armor making noise as he moved. He was dirty. From the look of him he had been traveling for a long time. He quickly dropped to his knee in front of the throne and bowed, "Your Grace," he greeted, "I am Cordin, of House Banefort."

Cersei smiled from her place beside him and she spoke before Joffrey could, he clenched his jaw. "Arise Ser Cordin," Cersei commanded the young man. "I know your father, he fought bravely for us in the Whispering Wood."

Joffrey scoffed, "Not brave enough," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard in the throne room. "We lost that battle, in case you have forgotten, Mother. We have lost every battle of this whole war."

The man in front of him shifted slightly, no doubt he had felt the insult of Joffrey's words. Cersei's smile seemed to be nailed to her face as she ducked her head apologetically, "Be that as it may, I am sure that Lord Quenten Banefort is not at fault. He was taken captive by the traitor Robb Stark, just as your uncle Jaime was." She paused for a moment, visibly paling at the mention of her imprisoned brother. "Do you fault your uncle for our losses, Your Grace?"

"Well if he hadn't been captured we would damn well be doing better," Joffrey muttered, his tone sullen before he turned to the man in front of him. He was here to listen, not to argue with his mother. "Well met, Ser Cordin," he told the man with a nod. "I thank your father for fighting for our cause and am at your service. If you need any assistance it is yours, I assure you."

The knight nodded his gratitude, "I would not have come if I weren't in desperate need of your assistance, Your Grace," he assured the king before he told his tale.

With his father captured at the Whispering Wood his stepmother, his father's second wife had called him from the battles to return home and be the acting Lord of the Banefort until his father was returned to them. He had gone home unwillingly. He was better suited for battle than ruling and he would better serve his king on the battlefield than at their seat, but his mother had insisted. Joffrey rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a gesture that told the man to, in no uncertain terms, get on with it.

He was sure that Ser Cordin Banefort had not ridden the long and somewhat dangerous ride on the Gold Road to flatter him. He had promised his mother that he would listen to one more petitioner and he did not mean to sit for an hour while this man prattled on.

"My stepmother, the lady Miranna, has been Lady of the Banefort for close to ten years," Ser Cordin continued, speaking faster now. "She is perfectly capable of running the castle. It is the traitor, Robb Stark, that she is worried about. Each day his host moves closer. First with Oxcross, then the sacking of Ashemark -"

"Are you here to remind of us of all of our losses, Ser?" Joffrey sneered at him. "Because I am already well aware of them."

"No, Your Grace," the man told him, quickly shaking his head. "It's just that, just a week ago he attacked the Crag. It was under defended and an easy victory for the Northmen."

"And that should alarm me?" Joffrey asked, looking between the man and his mother. "From my understanding the Crag has done very little to support the kingdom. It is one of my grandfather's lesser bannermen."

"Lord Gawen fought in the Whispering Wood as well," Cersei supplied.

"And lost at the Whispering Wood," Joffrey snapped at her before he turned away and back to Ser Cordin in front of him. "What would you have me do, Ser Cordin? March to the Crag even now with Stannis' army bearing down on King's Landing. Take the miserable little castle back for the might of House Lannister?"

"A King who cannot protect his people is not a King who can expect their loyalty," Ser Cordin bit out. It took a moment before he seemed to realize what he had said. He quickly dropped back to his knees, "Forgive me, Your Grace," he begged. "I did not mean that. It was harsh and inappropriate."

Joffrey held his hand up, tired of the man's groveling, "I cannot take the Crag back," he told the man, though he was sure that retaking the Crag was not what the man was after. "But I can supply your stepmother with some men, no more than half a hundred, to help guard the Banefort so that you can return to Lord Tywin's army where you belong."

The man nodded his gratitude and stood from the ground. He made to turn and leave, but Cersei called out to him. "Ser?" she called, waiting until he turned back to look at her before she continued. "How did you hear of the Crag falling?" she asked.

"The maester sent a raven," Ser Cordin told them. "After they had been sacked, begging for assistance. He said that they had surrendered to the Starks, but they remained faithful to Lord Tywin and His Grace, King Joffrey."

Cersei nodded as if she had expected that, "And did he -" she started, pausing for a moment. "Did he mention my daughter? Princess Lenora?"

Ser Cordin nodded, "Queen Lenora he called her, though that is treason in itself. He said that she looked well, though she had been injured when she helped take the castle."

"Helped take the castle?" Cersei asked, echoing the man's words in a breathy whisper. "Surely he was mistaken."

Ser Cordin shook his head, "She had a gash on the back of her head from a shield, and took a sword wound to her hand. She was better off than the Stark pretender, he took an arrow to his arm. He is healing at the Crag now."

"She fought?" Joffrey bit out. "The bitch fought to take over the seat of one of my grandfather's bannermen?"

Cersei drew in a quick breath, no doubt angry at what he had called his sister, but Joffrey did not care. Ser Cordin nodded, "No doubt she was forced to by her husband. He must be using some kind of Northern magic to control her somehow."

Joffrey shook his head and quickly stood from his throne, ignoring the whispering Lords and Ladies of the court. No doubt they thought him weak for being unable to keep his sister loyal to her family. "Four hundred golden dragons," he muttered angrily before he stormed from the throne room.

He heard his mother's quick footsteps behind him and his jaw clenched. Perhaps she should go spread her legs for Tyrion, if the rumors were true that she had played the whore to Jaime then why not the Imp? She could create more traitorous bitches like his sister. "She is your sister," Cersei reminded him, speaking to his back because he had yet to turn around to face her. "Whatever he has done to persuade her to help him, he will be punished for that. But she is your sister."

Joffrey shook his head, "Four hundred gold dragons," he hissed. He tried to breathe, to calm down, but every time he thought about it he got angrier. His fists clenched as he turned on his mother. "Did you hear me mother? Four hundred gold dragons!"

Cersei looked at him, her eyebrows raised in confusion as she shook her head. She did not understand. "What are you saying, Joffrey?" she asked him.

"I am saying that everyone in this damned city is whispering about my father and all his whores and all his bastards. And how much they all look like him. They whisper because Lenora looks like him. But the rest of us? We don't look at all like a Baratheon. We don't look at all like him. We look like you. We look like Jaime." He shook his head angry. "They call me a bastard, Mother!" he fired at her. "And it's your fault! And it's her fault! For having his hair, and his eyes, for having his humor and his heart. Father loved her in a way that he never loved me. And they all saw that!"

He moved away from his mother, reaching out to swipe a wine goblet from the table in front of him. It crashed to the ground, but the noise was not satisfying enough. This time he swung both his arms, knocking everything off the table with a roar. His mother flinched away from his anger. "And there she is, they call her his trueborn, married to a traitor, giving his cause enough honor that men follow them. They call her Queen willingly while they call me King because they must. Because they're afraid."

He turned on his mother than, she was watching him, tears shining in his eyes. "It does not matter that it's all a vile lie. They believe it. Rebellions have been built on softer stuff than that." He shook his head, "Four hundred gold dragons that's how much I had Littlefinger pay him to kill her. It was too much, I thought, she's nothing but a little girl. It should be easy work. The man was set up for life, all he had to do was kill her."

He turned away from his mother, shaking his head again, "But instead she is alive and well. Helping that traitor husband of hers take over more of my kingdom. They say that Robb Stark cannot be a king with Winterfell taken right from under his nose. But what does that say about me? Can I truly be a king when my own wench of a sister is chipping away at my kingdom every day? When her husband has won every battle he has fought? When my own mother is named a whore and laughing stock from Salt Shore to the Wall?"

His back was turned on her, he had not seen or heard her move to him, but when he turned to face her she was standing directly in front of him. She raised her hand and a second later his cheek burned, his head twisted to the right and he tasted blood in his mouth. He brought his hand up to his lips and wiped at the blood as he turned to look at her. She looked shocked, as if she could not believe what she had done. But she also looked angry. He wondered if she was angry because he had hired a man to murder his sister or because he had called her a whore.

It did not matter, she had struck him. If anyone else had done that he would have their head or worse.

If Sansa, for example, ever thought to strike him, he would rape her, give her to his guards, and only then when she was utterly ruined and begging him to end it would he take her head.

But this was his mother, and no one had seen her slap him. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, "What you just did is punishable by death," he told her, shaking his head slightly, feeling an odd bit of pleasure rise up in him with his mother looked down, as if afraid for her own life. Even she feared him. "You will never do it again. Never."

Then, before she could say anything in her defense he turned and walked away from her, "That will be all, Mother," he called over his shoulder. "I am done for the day."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

She was in the library almost a fortnight after they had stormed the Crag. She wasn't reading, though there were quite a few books that she could have chosen from. She had come to the library for the windows, the room's western wall had several floor to ceiling windows that gave an astounding view of the Sunset Sea.

The sea was living up to its name now. She stood in front of one of the windows watching as the sun began to sink down below the horizon, painting the sky and the water in reds, oranges, and pinks. It was beautiful and as she watched she felt tears prickle in her eyes. It reminded her of Casterly Rock.

When Jaime had brought her to the Rock as a baby he had her nursemaids set up her nursery in a western facing room. For five years she had been able to watch the sun set into the Sunset Sea every night. And she had been sure that she would never see anything more beautiful.

Thirteen years later as she watched this sunset she was still sure that there was nothing more beautiful.

She was so wrapped up in the view that she did not hear the doors to the library open behind her back. She did not hear the footsteps as someone moved across the room behind her. She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder and she turned, laughing slightly when she caught sight of Raynald Westerling, the eldest son of Lord Gawen and Lady Sybell.

"Ser Raynald," she greeted him as she turned back to the windows in front of her, wiping her hands determinedly at her cheeks, hoping that he had not noticed the tears in her eyes. "How are you this evening?"

Ser Raynald was perhaps a year older than Lenora. He stood a foot taller than her, his skin tanned by the western sun. His auburn hair was lighter than Robb's and straighter, much like his sister's. He was a handsome man, she had seen him several times at tournaments. She had probably fancied him at one point or another in her youth.

But now she was unsure of how she felt about the man. With his father one of Robb's prisoners, the surrender of the Crag had been Ser Raynald's decision. But something made her nervous. The Westerlings were a proud House, one that valued its honor. The Westerlings she had grown up hearing about would not have believed it honorable to surrender to the Starks. They would have died fighting before they surrendered.

Since they had surrendered they could still live in their castle, it did not belong to the Westerlings anymore, Robb had named a new Lord of the Crag, but they were guests, not prisoners. When Robb and his host left, if they had not sworn their allegiance to him, he would leave a group of guards and soldiers there, to keep the castle and ensure that the Westerlings did not go back on their word. Lenora could not wait until they left the castle. She was suspicious of everyone here.

Ser Raynald nodded to her, "I am well, Your Grace," he told her with a smile on his face. "I hope that you are as well."

Lenora nodded, "I am," she told him with a soft smile. "I snuck in here to watch the sunset," she admitted, almost sheepishly.

He nodded, "It is a beautiful one, Your Grace,"

"More than that," Lenora argued with him, shaking her head. "It reminds me of home."

"The Rock, you mean?" Lenora nodded, looking down at her hands. She held her left hand in the right, it was unbandaged, but still stitched up. She grimaced as she bent and straightened her fingers. The maester had told her to do that as often as possible as her hand healed.

Ser Raynald watched her for a moment, "I assumed that you were here for the sunset," he told her, looking away from her at the shelves that surrounded them. Half of them were empty. "Gods know that no one comes to the library for the books anymore." Lenora turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. "My grandfather sold the bulk of the library when my father was young," Ser Raynald admitted, "to supply his men with weapons when Lord Tywin called the Westerlands to fight for whichever side he chose."

Lenora tried to hide the disdain on her face, but she couldn't have done a very good job at it. She could not imagine what it would feel like to be so desperate as to sell the bulk of her library. It was clear that Ser Raynald was waiting for her to say something, but she was unsure of what the situation called for. "That's horrible," she settled on.

Ser Raynald nodded, "It was," he told her. "I spent my entire childhood listening to my father rage against his father's action. Father was so mad at Grandfather for selling the books. He swore that he would never do something as disdainful as that."

Lenora could tell where the story would end, she could see it in the harsh lines of the young man's face. "But then my Grandfather called his banners for the War of the Five Kings," she whispered.

Ser Raynald nodded, "The War of the Five Kings," he sneered. "I don't know if that's the right name for it."

"No?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "And what would you name it, Ser?"

The man hesitated for a moment, no doubt weighing what he wanted to say against the likelihood of it insulting Lenora. "Seems to me that there's only one King fighting any battles," he told her with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "You have the squid prince claiming the North because he holds Winterfell, but he won't hold it for long. And King Squid sits on his island growing old. The king in Highgarden died on the eve of battle and no one knows how. Stannis and his Lord of Light haven't fought a battle yet. King Joffrey has not and will not leave King's Landing, he lets Lord Tywin fight his battles for him."

"The false king Joffrey," Lenora interrupted. If they were going to claim they had surrendered to the Starks and continue being guests instead of prisoners Ser Raynald was going to have to get that distinction right.

He inclined his head to her, "Old habits, Your Grace," he assured her. "As for the fifth king -"

"Only Robb fights," Lenora finished for him. "It's a war of five kings, but only one king has been on a battlefield."

Ser Raynald nodded, "With his wild Lannister queen at his side."

Lenora shook her head, "Baratheon," she corrected the man, turning away from him to look out the window again. "Now Stark. But never a Lannister."

Ser Raynald studied her, "You never thought you were a Lannister?" he asked her, his brows furrowed. "Even when you were a young girl at the Rock?"

Lenora shook her head, "My uncles Jaime and Tyrion always took great care that I knew exactly who I was. I may have spent my first five years in a Lannister castle, wearing Lannister colors, but I always knew that I was Baratheon, just like my father."

Ser Raynald watched her for a moment, his hazel eyes narrowed, "Do you miss them?" he asked her finally. "Your family?"

Ah, Lenora thought, this was the root of all of his questions, all the poking and prodding about her life at Casterly Rock. She took a moment, thinking her answer through before she answered. "I miss who I thought they were," she told him finally. "I was never such a fool as to believe my mother kind but I thought she was good. I thought my uncle honorable. I thought my brother would grow into whatever responsibility the Gods saw fit to give him."

She shook her head, blinking back tears again, "And in the last year I have seen each of those assumptions fall away. I don't miss them, I miss who they were when I was blind."

"And Lord Tyrion?" Ser Raynald asked her. "What assumption did you have about him?"

Lenora smiled and shook her head, "None," she told him. "Tyrion was the only one that I saw clearly. Tyrion is the only one I still miss."

She stood for a moment longer, but the quiet serenity of the sunset had been ruined. So she turned to Ser Raynald and inclined her head before quickly leaving the room.

...

"Is it true that she dresses like a man?" Lenora heard as she walked into Robb's chambers the next morning. She smiled, Lord Gawen's youngest son Rollam had taken to visiting Robb every morning and peppering him with questions.

The first day he had stood stiff by the door and question Robb about Grey Wind. The second day, he moved to a chair by the windows and asked about the war. The third day, he pulled his chair next to the bed and asked about Robb, himself. It seemed that today the spot was on the bed next to Robb, and the subject was Lenora.

She stood by the door, not wanting to interrupt the young boy's questions, but very much wanting to hear Robb's answers.

She could just imagine the smile on Robb's face when she heard him answer, "She does, armor and everything. When she wears breeches, she even rides like a man."

"My sister Jeyne would never wear breeches," Rollam told him, his voice solemn. "And she's not very good at riding in a dress, I think she would be worse riding a horse like a man."

"Well Lenora is not like most ladies," Robb supplied.

"No she is not," the boy told him forcefully. "My brother tells me that some of the Lannister men have started calling her the Black Lioness. Is that true?"

"I would not know," Robb told him, from where she stood Lenora could hear the pride in his voice. "Your brother would know more Lannister men than I do. What do you think?"

"I don't think she's a black lion," Rollam told him. "She's a stag. Not a lion."

"I think they call her that because she's turned from her family," Robb explained. "And most of her family are lions."

"She hasn't turned from her family," Rollam argued, "she married you. My mother told me when a woman gets married her Lord Husband's family becomes her own. My mother is no longer a Spicer because she married into the Westerlings. The only way Queen Lenora could turn from her family is if she started fighting you. Then they could call her the Black Wolf."

Lenora smiled, this whole situation seemed so simple through a child's eyes. He did not linger any longer on the subject, because he believed it was settled.

"Is it true that she's a better fighter than most men?" he asked. Robb must have nodded, because Lenora did not hear his answer, but a moment later the boy was off again, "You're right. She has to be, the Kingslayer taught her how to fight."

"She doesn't like when you call him that," Robb warned him. "It's Ser Jaime, at least when you're around Queen Lenora."

"She's young to be a queen," the boy mused as Lenora moved further into the room. Rollam did not notice her, but a smile spread wide across Robb's cheeks when he caught sight of her. "She's only a year older than my sister. And she knows so much more than Jeyne."

"Be nice to your sister," Lenora commanded as she sat down on the bed, just behind the young boy. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him back toward her, pressing kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. He was the only Westerling that she liked, and she was grateful to him for distracting Robb. The pain over losing his brothers seemed lessened in Rollam's presence.

"Your Grace," Rollam squealed as he swatted lightly at her, trying to hold her kisses at bay. "Please, you are a married woman."

Lenora smiled down at the boy, "I would much rather be unattached," she told him, sending Robb a wink over the top of the young boy's head. "And then you and I could run away together."

Rollam shook his head, his face grim, "King Robb would be sad," he told her, turning to glance at Robb for confirmation.

Robb waved his hand dismissively, a playful glint in his eyes. "She's more trouble than she's worth, Lord Rollam," he warned the boy. "I would not be sad to see her go. If you want her, you can have her."

The boy shook his head and Lenora prepared to pretend to be insulted, but it soon became clear that he was not denying Lenora, but rather Robb's words about her. "You are wrong, Your Grace," he told Robb, almost angrily. "Queen Lenora is not trouble. She's strong and she's brave. She's beautiful and she's smart. My mother says that she reads every day. She knows how to sword fight and rides very fast. And she's not afraid of your wolf," he said the last sentence as if it were the most important. Lenora had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at him and she was glad she did because a second later he turned to look at her, "Your Grace?" he asked.

"Yes, Lord Rollam?" Lenora answered, biting back a smile.

"Would it please you to accompany me on a ride on the beach?" he asked her. "We could be gone all day. And King Robb would feel terrible about what he said about you."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "That would please me greatly, Lord Rollam," she told him. Her smile widened into a grin when the boy took a hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to the top of it while glowering at Robb. Then he hopped off the bed and ran for the door, yelling that he would meet her in the stables.

Lenora turned to stare after him for a moment before she turned back to see Robb smiling at her softly, "You're good with him," he told her, a hint of sadness coloring his tone.

"So are you," Lenora told him.

Robb hesitated for a moment, "Is this what it would have been like?" he asked her. "If we hadn't lost -"

Lenora closed her eyes and shook her head, even now she could not bear to have him finish that sentence. "They don't talk as much at the beginning," she told him, trying to make a joke out of his question.

Robb smiled at her sadly, "I am so sorry, Nora," he apologized. "I never gave you enough time to mourn."

Lenora waved her hand dismissively, though she felt tears filling her eyes, "You gave me plenty of time to mourn," she told him. "Any more and people would have gotten suspicious. He -" she shook her head at the slip. "Whatever it was, boy or girl, it wasn't born yet. It wasn't alive. I hadn't held it in my arms or felt it move within me. It's as if it wasn't real." She paused, making sure to look Robb straight in the eyes so that he understood how important this next part was. "I would prefer to pretend that it wasn't real."

Robb nodded, much as he seemed to dislike her statement, he understood. "Nora -" he started, but he was cut off when Rollam came running into the chamber again, panting with the effort of it all.

"Queen Lenora," he gasped out. "The stable master needs to know if you mean to take Casterly out!"

Lenora smiled almost ruefully at Robb before she turned to the young boy and stood from the bed, "Yes," she told him. "We'll go tell him together, shall we?"

-.-.-.-.-

Tyrion

His sister had invited him to a private supper in her chambers. And Tyrion would have been lying if he said the invitation did not make him a little suspicious. He and Cersei seemed to have turned over a new leaf in their interactions with each other. But Tyrion would have been as big a fool as Joffrey's Ser Dontos if he had believed for a moment that the goodwill would last.

Cersei believed, at the moment, that Tyrion was doing everything he could to ensure the safety of her daughter and Jaime. And he was. But the woman's mind was so changeable from one moment to the next that he could wake up the next morning and Cersei would believe that she had some proof that Tyrion had been working against her the entire time.

He was not sure which Cersei he would meet for supper that night.

Pod dressed him for the ordeal in a tunic of plush velvet, in a Lannister crimson. The squire brought him his chain of office, but Tyrion chose to leave the chain on his bedside table. His sister hated to be reminded that she had demanded their father come to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King and that Tywin Lannister had sent Tyrion to her instead.

He wanted her in a good mood tonight. He wanted her in a good mood until after Stannis had attacked the city. The last thing he needed to do was rub her nose in his position.

As he was crossing the yard between the Tower of the Hand and Maegor's Holdfast Varys approached him. The eunuch walked quickly, his hands folded in front of him. Tyrion had the distinct feeling that the Spider had been hiding in the shadows, waiting for him to leave his tower, waiting to catch him alone in the smoke-filled darkness.

"My Lord," the taller man greeted, sounding a bit breathless. "You had best read this immediately." He reached into a pocket in his robe and pulled out a piece of parchment, handing it over to Tyrion. "News from the North," he supplied before Tyrion could ask or read what was written on it.

"Good or bad?" Tyrion asked, hesitant to read the news. When it was still unread he could imagine. He could imagine that it was good news, that Robb Stark had lost a battle and that his father marched back to King's Landing with Jaime and Lenora in tail. If it was bad news, if they had harmed Jaime, for example there would be nothing he could do to protect himself from Cersei.

"That is not for me to judge," Varys told him with a wave of his delicate, soft hand.

Tyrion sighed and unrolled the parchment, wishing that Varys would stop playing his game and simply tell him what the news was. He had to squint to read the words in the torchlit yard. "Gods be good," he breathed once he had finished. "Both of them?"

"I fear so, My Lord," Varys told him, inclining his head. "It is so sad. So grievous sad. And them, so young and innocent."

Tyrion snorted, his sister would not think they were innocent. They were Starks after all. He remembered how the wolves had howled when the Stark boy had fallen from the tower. Are they howling now? He thought. He shook his head, the only way Theon would have been able to get to the boys was if he had killed the wolves first, of that he was sure. "Have you told anyone else?" he asked, turning to look at Varys.

The Spider shook his head, "Not yet, though of course I must."

Tyrion nodded, rolling up the letter and clenching it in his fist, "I will tell my sister," he told his companion. He had a theory. He wanted to see how Cersei took the news. He wanted to be able to study her face when she learned what had happened.

She looked especially lovely that night, he noted when he had been admitted to her chambers. She wore a low-cut gown of deep green velvet that brought out the color of her feline eyes. Her golden hair tumbled across her bare shoulders in one of Lenora's favorite hairstyles, nothing, and around her waist was a woven belt studded with emeralds. Tyrion waited until he had been seated and served a cup of wine before he handed the letter to her. He did not speak, watching her as Cersei blinked innocently and took the parchment from his hand.

"I trust you're pleased," he told her as her eyes scanned over the parchment. "You wanted the Stark boy dead, I believe."

Cersei shook her head, making a sour face, "It was Jaime who threw him from that window," she told him. "Not me. For love, he said, though it was not for love of me. It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides, but when did our sweet brother ever stop to think?"

"The boy saw you," Tyrion pointed out, it wasn't a question.

Cersei shook her head again, a bitter set to her mouth. "Jaime hasn't touched me since I was pregnant with Tommen," she admitted. "He hasn't wanted to touch me since the night Lenora took ill and I did not help her. It was his love for Lenora that had him push the boy from the tower."

"I am sure that Lenora appreciates it," Tyrion told her, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "What with the boy being her future brother by law. And a child. If he did not see you together why did he have to be pushed in the first place?"

"He heard us," Cersei told him, looking down in shame. "I had lured Jaime up to the blasted tower. I wanted him to scheme with me, to find a way to bring Lenora home with us. I wanted him to help me persuade Robert to make him Hand of the King instead of Ned Stark. Lord Eddard was too smart by half, I was sure that he would figure out what Jaime and I had done. I wanted to know if he was worried."

"And he wasn't," Tyrion guessed, "At least not for himself."

Cersei nodded, "He did not worry for his own neck, he told me. He gave a long speech about how he worried that Lenora would be used as a pawn if the truth came out. Shuffled between Houses, used by everyone. Or worse killed before she could have a son and claim the throne for him. I asked him if he was worried for me, after all, I had been the one who cuckolded the king of Westeros."

She shook her head, looking away from him. "The boy was climbing the tower and he heard me. Jaime didn't think, he just threw him from the window. He was a child. I could have frightened him into silence."

She looked down at the letter in her hand thoughtfully, "Why must I suffer accusations every time some Stark stubs his toe? This was Greyjoy's work, I had nothing to do with it."

Tyrion nodded, "Let's hope Lady Catelyn believes that."

Her green eyes widened, this was the first time that thought had occurred to her. "She wouldn't," she told him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Kill Jaime?" Tyrion asked, raising his eyebrows, "Why not? What would you do if Joffrey and Tommen were murdered?"

"I still hold Sansa," Cersei declared.

"We still hold Sansa," Tyrion corrected her. "And we had best take good care of her. She's the only Stark left to have any hold over that brother of hers." He clapped his hands together, quickly changing the subject, "Now where is this supper you've promised me, sweet sister?"

Cersei peppered him with questions while they ate, during the first course she pointed out that they had heard no word from Bitterbridge and she asked him if he truly trusted Petyr Baelish to do as he had been ordered.

During the second course, the honeyed ham she lectured him for sending his clansmen into the Kingswood when they could have done so much more in the city.

During the third course, as they cut into a roasted swan filled with mushrooms and oysters she questioned him about the Antler Men a group of King's Landing soldiers that had turned traitors and declared themselves for Stannis. From there she moved on to the whispers that she had heard that he meant to take the Hound from Joffrey.

That had disappointed Tyrion, he had thought more of Varys, he had been so sure that the Spider would have kept his secrets. "I need Clegane for more important duties," he told his sister.

"There is nothing more important than the life of the king," Cersei bit back as she speared a piece of swan on the end of her dagger and ate it.

"The life of the king is not at risk," Tyrion argued. "Joff will have brave Ser Osmund guarding him, and Meryn Trant as well. I need Balon Swann and the Hound to lead sorties, to make certain Stannis gets not toehold on our side of the Blackwater."

"Jaime would lead the sorties himself," Cersei told him, her voice sharp and angry.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, "From Riverrun? That's quite a sortie."

"Joff's only a boy," Cersei tried again.

"A boy who wants to be part of this battle," Tyrion reminded her, "and for once he's showing some sense. I don't mean to put him in the thick of the fighting but he needs to be seen. Look at the Starks, the Northmen fight more fiercely because Robb Stark rides among them. They will respect the king who shares their peril, not the one who hides behind his mother's skirts."

She still looked unsure, Tyrion sighed, "If the city looks to be in the least danger of falling I will have him escorted back to the Red Keep immediately."

He had thought that would reassure her, but when he looked at her there was no sign of pleasure in her green eyes, only worry. "Will the city fall?" she asked him.

"No," Tyrion told her quickly, too quickly to reassure her.

"You've lied to me before, Tyrion."

"Always with good reason, Sweet Sister," he assured her.

She still looked worried, but after a moment she brightened, as if she had just remembered something. "Dessert," she told him with a nod. She nodded toward one of her handmaidens, "I hope that you like blackberry tarts."

Author's Note:

So in my outline I have this story broken down by each chapter. It includes what points of view will be featured, important events, any quotes that I want to include, and a brief summary.
The summary for this chapter included the phrase Cersei slaps a bitch and I stand by that summary. It was a lot of fun writing the first part of this chapter in Joffrey's whiney immature voice.
And I hope that you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!
If you did ... do everybody a favor and go fill that empty box down there with a review. Reviews bribe me into posting! It's pretty simple, really.
Many, many, many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. I would knight you all if I was a queen and I had a sword to do so.

prince711: Sansa is pretty naive, but she won't always be. Her problem is that she's spent her whole life day dreaming and isn't quite ready to give up her dreams yet.

RHatch89: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!

Melmela: I'm good with the cannon characters too? That is a relief. I always get nervous when I start writing in a new cannon character's voice because I so desperately want to do them justice. So it's good to hear that I do.
I'm excited for the Jon story too.
As for a Jaime story ... I have played around with the idea. I would love to write one. But I have to wait for the idea to come to me. Like, I don't want to write one just for the sake of writing one. If I'm going to write a story about Jaime I want the story to be solid and amazing, not just okay. So I've got to wait until inspiration strikes. But I have not closed the door on it.
And you're not the only one who loves Robb, Jon, and Jaime. I'm sure.

Raging Raven: Duuun dun, duuun dun, dun dun dun dun dun dun! (That's my best attempt at typing out the theme for Jaws.) And you should feel it, doom is coming, and it's not that far away. Not really.

DannyBlack70: Thank you! I love writing the Sansa bits, I think she gets a bit of a bad rep some times and I want to fix that. And I'm glad you liked the way I dealt with Jeyne. I'm not going to lie that I giggled a bit when I was editing the chapter and I read the line "in another life I might have married Jeyne," or something along those lines and I was like "Hah! You did Robb, you did marry her in another life and it didn't work out for you!"

That's it for now, friends. I hope you enjoyed!
Chloe Jane.