Cersei I.

She didn't like it. She didn't like it at all.

This place…these people…

The Northern climate didn't agree with her. Cersei Lannister hated the North. She hated the winter breeze that seeped into her bones despite the countless cloaks and fur smocks she wore. She hated being in the presence of her oafish husband as he laughed and drank and groped at the Stark servants right in front of her. She hated the pitying looks she kept receiving from Lady Stark; as if the humiliation wasn't enough, that she had to be looked down upon like some beggar in Flea Bottom by the sister-in-law of that ghost, that girl, the She-wolf that had haunted her marriage bed for seventeen years. But more than that, more than anything, she hated that that doe-eyed, red-haired, waif was going to be betrothed to her son—

The nerve of it!

Robert hadn't even consulted her about it before he made up his mind. And when she had made to contest it, all she had gotten for her trouble was a busted lip and a command from her king to keep her silence. He wasn't her king. How could she ever call a man like that a king? Prince Rhaegar Targaryen could've been a king, a true king, and she, his queen once upon a time. That's what she had wanted. That's all that she had wanted. But the gods had decided to be cruel. First, by taking her mother and leaving that deformed, lecherous little beast in her place, then by taking her Dragon Prince and leaving her with a fat, boarish, drunkard Baratheon King.

And now, the gods were trying to take her children from her— Ha!

She wasn't going to let that happen. Come hell or high water, she'd protect her cubs just like the lioness that she is. Robert is a fool if he thinks he can marry Joffrey off and she'd simply let it happen. That girl is a fool if she thinks those smiles and coy looks are fooling anyone. And Joffrey, her son, heavens-help-him, is a fool to not see her for exactly what she was. Somehow she had played the game more expertly than she'd ever seen the young maidens at the court do, catching her son's eye and holding his attention for longer than she's ever seen it held.

He is thinking with that little worm between his legs, she thought with a frown.

She watched them while they danced. She saw the hungry look in her son's eyes. It was the same look mirrored on her husband when he saw anything with teats. He looked at her as if he wanted to devour her. And worst still, she didn't shy away from such a look. Most girls her age would've ducked their heads and blushed, the shy maidens they were would've been ruffled by the hunger that a man can possess, but not her… Why not her? That concerned her. It concerned her more than she was willing to admit, but what angered her so, what made her see red was that that hunger was also mirrored in the girl's eyes.

She may look like a Tully trout, but she was nothing but a Stark wolf sharpening her teeth, the Queen considered with another gulp of wine. She lost count of how many cups she has had. No matter how much wine she drank, it hadn't seemed to quell the sick feeling coiling in her belly.

Hasn't one wolf already ruined my life as it is? Now I'm forced to sit here and watch another sink her teeth into my son, my sweet baby boy? The fool likely thinks she hunting a little fawn, but think again, sweetling. My son is a lion. My son is a lion just like me and he'll rip you apart just as I will if you even think of—

"Is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?" Lady Stark's voice cut through the vitriol that had been spewing from Cersei's thoughts. The Queen paused, bringing her goblet away from her mouth and smiled a saccharine smile toward the Tully clothed in the grey of the Starks, and nodded.

"Yes. Lovely country," she couldn't help her eyes drifting back to her son. He was grinning, positively beaming from ear-to-ear, as that little harlot whispered something in his ear. She didn't know what she could be saying to him, but whatever it was it made Joffrey smile and Cersei felt sick.

"I'm sure it's very grim after your time in King's Landing," Lady Stark continued unaware of the woman's inner turmoil. "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me here for the first time."

"Your daughter is quite the beauty," Cersei remarked. "She takes after you."

Lady Stark smiled and looked out in the hall to where her daughter and the prince were dancing. Her expression softened to a look of tender affection at the sight of her. "She does in some things, but it's only the looks I'm afraid," she said. "She has my looks and Ned's patience, but everything else… Well, I have to say that's all her own."

"She's tall, still growing?"

"Yes. She's only thirteen, Your Grace?"

"And has she bled yet?"

Catelyn paused, turning her attention back to the Queen. "No... not to my knowledge, your grace."

"Ah, well, there's still time. I wasn't flowered until my thirteenth year. Your daughter will likely be expecting her first blood in the next couple moons," she said turning her eyes to look at the woman seated beside her. Lady Stark stared back unflinchingly. "I hear we might share a grandchild someday."

"I hear the same."

"Your daughter will do well in the Capitol," she said. "Such a beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here forever."

"I agree," Lady Stark turn away to look at her husband conversing with the queen's brother, Ser Jamie, in his gold-plated armor and white cloak. "I do hope my husband says yes to the betrothal and Sansa gets to go to the Capitol. She's always wanted to travel and leave Winterfell. She's become rather stagnant here in recent years. Maester Luwin keeps telling me he's finding it more and more difficult to keep her challenged academically. Perhaps the Grandmaester would have an easier time of it."

"I had heard your daughter is exceptionally intelligent." It was one of the stories boasted about from castle Winterfell all the way down south to Sunspear in Dorne.

She had heard stories for years about the beautiful daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn of House Stark. She had heard how she was blessed with hair as bright and warm as flame and eyes as blue and shining like the sea and how the Maiden had given her a voice as sweet and a song as pure as her heart. Those singers do like to exaggerate, for Cersei neither thought Sansa's hair was that vibrant a red nor were her eyes a shining sea—if anything her hair had a darker luster of auburn and her eyes were as pale and cold as the icy Wall. But from the way people talked about her, her beauty, her intellect, her talent with music, it was obvious that the girl was the jewel of the North. There was something about it that reminded Cersei how people used to speak of her when she was young, before Robert's Rebellion, before she ended up married to that fat stag and he ruined her reputation making her a laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms.

"That's putting it rather mildly, Your Grace. She's a prodigy and keeping her interest is extraordinarily grueling. I hope you don't take offense, but the fact that your son managed to capture her attention is something I didn't expect. She's never showed much of an interest in boys. Never really cared for the songs and stories that the other young girls fancied. She's always studying, any time you see her she's almost always reading, and she'd likely prefer to live in the library if my husband and I allowed it…"

Sounds like my little beast of a brother, she considered spotting the dwarf hiding himself in the shadows of the hall. Cersei was glad. At least he had the presence of mind to keep to himself and not embarrass her any more than she was. If she had her way, she would've him left back in King's Landing or Lannisport with his whores but Jamie wouldn't hear of it. He insisted on having someone along who wasn't a complete dullard.

"Does she not socialize with other people?" Cersei questioned.

"No, she does," Lady Stark shook her head. "But my daughter has always preferred the company of herself to anyone else, I suppose. I think a change would be good for her. Perhaps she and Princess Mrycella can become good friends."

"Perhaps." Cersei pursed her lips as her eyes fell on gentle Myrcella and sweet Tommen. She vowed to herself that she wasn't going to let Sansa Stark anywhere near her other children.

"If it pleases Your Grace, Sansa would be happy to play a song for you and your husband tonight in honor of your arrival here. She's quite experienced with the vielle," Lady Stark began.

"Ah yes, I heard she was quite the accomplished musician too. The King and I look forward to hearing her perform for us if she were so obliged." Cersei turned her eyes back to Lady Stark's face with a smile, "You and Lord Stark must be proud to have such a daughter of so many talents."

"Oh, we are, Your Grace," Lady Stark beamed under the praise. "I have no doubt that she'll make a fine match for your son."

The Queen's smile faltered for a moment before she nodded along in agreement. A voice hissed in the back of her mind familiar words that she'd tried to forget.

Then comes another, younger, more beautiful than you...

She picked up her goblet again for another drink. But again the wine did nothing to squash the fear coiling in the recesses of her heart. The girl was not more beautiful than her...Not yet anyway. But she very well could be in time after she's matured. She could very well surpass her when she became a woman. She could very well make Cersei obsolete.

I'm not going to let that happen, she told herself. I will not lose to a child.

She told herself this again and again. Repeated the phrase like a mantra. I will not lose. I will not lose. I will not lose…

And when Lady Stark excused herself and her boorish husband returned to her side, when the great hall fell silent and that girl stood before them, put bow to instrument, and played a hymn so pure, so sweet, so exquisite in its pain and unattainable longing that it cut through her chest as if she'd been run through with a dagger, when she looked over and saw Robert with tears in his eyes as he whispered that name—that dreaded name—she felt the room sway as the ground was torn out from under her.

Lyanna…

Her ears rang with the sound of it.

Lyanna…Lyanna...Lyanna—

NO! Cersei wanted to scream. She wanted to shout, to throw something, anything—she would've lept down and strangled that little wench, except her body, was frozen in fear. In her fear and rage and unparalleled horror, she realized she had made a grave miscalculation. She thought she had only need to worry about her son—

How foolish! How unbelievably foolish! How cruel!

The gods were too cruel. Too cruel. This went far beyond her realm of thought, far exceeding her wildest imaginations—She couldn't have known. She considered with horror as her husband's expression softened to one of joy, longing, heartbreak, hope—and dare she even think it—love?

The lines of that witch's prophecy came back to her then; mocking and biting in its intensity.

You will be queen for a time.

Then comes another, younger, more beautiful than you.

To cast you down and take everything you hold dear.

The great hall filled with applause as the King bellowed his approval. Cersei didn't hear it. She couldn't hear anything over the thundering of her heart in her ears. As the girl ducked her head shyly and thanked the king for his praise, Cersei vowed to herself that she would do everything in her power to ruin the girl before her. If she had to sell her to the brothels in Lys then so be it.

The Queen would ensure that Sansa Stark would never, could never steal away her husband, her son, or her crown.

A/N: It was brought to my attention that chapter 2 had been posted twice. I've since fixed the mistake, but I want to thank the reader that took the time to let me know. I appreciate it! And to the rest of you, please feel free to leave any thoughts, critiques, suggestions, or corrections in the reviews when you have them. I love feedback and it's is the only way I can improve my writing.