Lenna XXXVII

Lenna had never experienced a battle before, let alone a siege. Robert's Rebellion had been the war of her youth, but it had happened when she was so young, and the fighting was so far away that her memories of it didn't even seem real or even that substantial. She was small enough that she barely noted it. Little about her life had changed except for the prolonged absence of her father and brothers. If she missed them, she didn't remember. She and her mother had gone about living as usual, and Lenna had enjoyed the ignorance and innocence of youth, never understanding that war was raging to the south. The New Castle had been a haven, untouched by the ravages of war experienced by King's Landing and elsewhere in the crownlands.

The terrorized milling of the courtiers and the zealous discipline of the guards in the throne room was overwhelming. Nothing had prepared her for what war felt like, what it looked like or sounded like. She had read everything there was to read on Robert's Rebellion, but not of the history books described the disconcerting conflagration of fear and anticipation. Excitement trembled in her innards, not unlike how she might feel the night before her nameday as a child. She didn't know that she liked that kind of anticipation in response to something so dangerous. If she wasn't mistaken, that strange madness has taken over everyone in the Keep from the nobles to the scullery maids, everyone going about their preparation with added intensity, avidity, and hunger.

Sansa's arm linked through hers was an anchor in the sea of anxiety. The girl was decidedly calm, her bearing steady and her hands free of tremors. She was faring better than Lenna in that regard. Her own fingers had set to trembling as soon as Sandor had left her rooms, his footsteps echoing down the passageway. She had waited for him to look back at her, but he didn't. She'd let out a breath like a sob, happy that he hadn't. If he'd glanced over her shoulder, it would have felt like goodbye.

There was no time to mull over such things. Sansa had caught her on her way to the queen, asking her politely to come with her to see the king. Of course, Lenna had agreed. What little strength she could lend the girl she would give freely. Shae had come with them as well, the normally impertinent maid rendered as pale and hesitant as they were, dark eyes enormous in her narrow face.

Lenna was surprised to see the figure of Tyrion Lannister hurrying toward them with his strange gait. He was armored, every inch of his small stature radiating authority.

"Lady Helenna, Lady Sansa," he called, his brow dark and heavy. His eyes flicked to Shae. He swallowed. "Sheila."

"Shae," she replied with annoyance. Lenna wondered why he would bother at such a moment.

"Surely you should be with the other highborn ladies with my sister? Has she not asked you?" he demanded, stopping before them with concern and a fair bit of irritation in his face. He looked older, the lines around his mouth carved deep as he frowned. It put Lenna to mind of Sandor.

"She has, my lord," Lenna assured him. "We will be on our way there shortly."

"What delays you?" he demanded. "We are expecting the first wave of attack at any moment."

"King Joffrey sent for me to see him off," Sansa replied shortly. "See, he comes now."

The king had entered the throne room, arrayed in fine armor. Lenna was unsurprised to see that it sported both lions and stags. He looked well in it, the gold of the plate almost the same hue as his hair, but something about it was too bright. It is perfect, she thought, and likely to stay that way. Lenna felt her heart drop to see Sandor at his shoulder. He looked ready to charge that very moment, his sword at his hip, gauntlets on his hands. She somehow knew it was real, that he would be fighting, when she saw the gauntlets. He seldom wore them except in the tourneys. They made him seem foreign to her, his hands, which so often functioned for his tongue, covered and flexing like scales of some great snake. His eyes met hers briefly, and she saw his surprise and trepidation before the Hound ruthlessly shuttered his face.

"He is a great romantic, my nephew," Tyrion said acerbically, but Lenna saw the look he threw to she and Sandor. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing her attention to her nails, the tips of her shoes that peeked out from her skirt. Anything but her lover.

The word sent a shaft of desperation down her spine, and she turned her eyes on Tyrion, willing Sandor to hear her words and know they were meant for him instead.

"We will pray for your safe return, my lord," Lenna said quietly. Tyrion took her hand in his briefly and pressed it, his eyes doleful and dark. Lenna hoped the king did not see him do it. They had enough trouble with him already. Tyrion smiled wanly before passing by Shae.

"Stay safe, my lady," he murmured, just loud enough that Lenna caught it.

"And you, my lion," Shae replied, adjusting her shawl casually to divert attention. Her dark eyes found Lenna's as he walked away, and she saw her own fear and sadness mirrored in them. Sympathy hollowed her heart.

"Your king rides forth to battle," Joffrey said, his voice shrill as it echoed off the bare walls of the throne room. Lenna almost flinched. He was an inn-yard villain, a caricature of a king that they might see in the frequent touring shows that visited the capital to draw the crowds and take their coin for a few bawdy laughs. Joffrey thought he cut a regal figure, and had he been someone else, he might have. He was nothing but a cruel child pretending to be a man. "You should see him off with a kiss." To her credit, Sansa did not cringe. Lenna could not help but look at Sandor. A muscle near his eye twitched as the king withdrew his blade, presenting it to Sansa. He suffered. She knew that he suffered just as she did. "My new blade. Hearteater, I've named it. Kiss it. You'll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncle's blood."

Sansa did not move any closer, instead drawing herself up in a posture Lenna recognized well. It was her own whenever she was required to maintain her equanimity, to do or to say something she did not wish to, to find that fine line between acquiescence and integrity. With a steadying breath, she bent forward and kissed the blade, the long flow over her hair swinging down like hammered copper.

"Will you slay him yourself?" the girl asked as she stood up, her lovely face open and amenable. She was a tall young woman, likely still growing, and she would be taller than the king. Where Joffrey pretended to be kingly, Sansa could have been a queen in her bearing. For perhaps the first time, Lenna thought that perhaps the child would be a good one.

"If Stannis is fool enough to come near me," Joffrey replied meanly, his eyes resting only on Sansa. Sandor's eye twitched again and Lenna did not miss the short breath of annoyance and the flare of his nostrils. She wished their paths had not crossed. It was one thing to have seen him off, his mouth on hers so briefly, like he would return shortly. She'd liked that thought, it hadn't felt like a farewell, even though they both knew it could be. Seeing him here, though, the Hound looming over them all, it was unbearable to think of what was to come.

"So you'll be outside the gates fighting in the vanguard," Sansa continued, calling Lenna out of her unhappy musing. She'd have thought Sansa would want to leave as quickly as possible, to spend as little time with Joffrey as feasible. Instead, the girl was drawing the conversation out to an end Lenna did not understand. They should go to the queen as soon as possible. The men were on their way to the battlements. Soon it would begin.

"A king doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls," Joffrey spluttered.

"I'm sorry, your grace, you're right. I'm stupid," Sansa said, parroting back his words with little emotion, just like the little bird Sandor insisted she was. She held the king's gaze with neither humility or insolence, just flat reflection. "Of course you'll be in the vanguard. They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is the thickest and he's just a pretender."

Sansa was needling him, goading him, and though she didn't doubt there would be some kind of repercussion for her words later, Lenna didn't much care. She gathered Sansa didn't either. They both knew that Joffrey was to stay well away from the fighting, to take an observational post while his men did the work for him. King Robert would have never let other men fight for him in such a way.

Sansa's insinuation wasn't lost on the king, and his eyes were reptilian. "Your brother's turn will come. Both of you. And when it does, you shall both lick their blood from Hearteater, too."

Joffrey snapped his eyes over Lenna, his lip curling in a mixture of disgust and glee, before shooting one last glare at Sansa and leaving with the flutter of his fine new cloak. It was Lannister red. Lenna dropped a curtsey as he passed, allowing her eyes to search Sandor's face for what she hoped wasn't the last time. He was looking back at her with similar intensity, the gray eyes flat as steel. Then he brushed past her and followed the king, gait heavy and even.

"Some of those boys will never come back," Shae whispered, and Lenna knew she was speaking of Tyrion, of Sandor. It almost made Lenna smile to think of them as boys. She couldn't imagine Sandor as anything less than he was.

"Joffrey will," Sansa replied lifelessly. "The worst ones always live."

"Come, Sansa," Lenna said, linking her arm through the girl's again. "Let us go to the queen. We can do nothing but wait."

The saferoom in the Holdfast was dark, the only window an archer's slit that afforded no view at all except for the blackness of the night. The children of the court were playing, their mothers having had the good sense to bring their toys and some books. Lenna envied them their innocence, their little faces unworried, excitement in their voices. It must seem such a good time to them, a special treat, to be woken in the middle of the night and brought to that place to play with their friends. They were boisterous and laughing, completely unaware. Lenna again thought of her own childhood, safe in the New Castle and far away from the war. She feared that these children would not keep their ignorance for long.

The bells had begun tolling an hour before, and they had not yet stopped.

"I don't know why she wants me here. She hates me. She's always saying how stupid I am," Sansa said, her arms crossed defiantly. Lenna shushed her.

"Maybe she hates you less than she hates everyone else," Shae replied, barely keeping her voice down.

"I doubt it," Sansa retorted airily. If Lenna had thought that perhaps the girl was developing some sense, she needn't have hoped. She had handled herself too well with Joffrey to be so careless surrounded by ears that would love to set tongues wagging.

"Maybe she's jealous of you," Shae offered. Lenna rolled her eyes, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. She shushed them again. Shae looked at her with a touch of pique. If she doesn't want to be treated like a child, she shouldn't act like one.

"Why would she be jealous?" Sansa asked, her upper lip drawn back incredulously.

"Quiet, both of you," Lenna said, her voice sharp and low, her lips pursed with irritation. "There are too many ears here for you to be talking thus. You are a highborn lady, Sansa, of course you are here. Same reason I am."

"But she likes you," Shae said in a sing-song voice, her eyebrow twitching upward. "You're her pet, are you not?"

Pet. She reckoned that was exactly what she was, and what she had always been. A toy, a plaything, to be set aside and forgotten until she became useful again. Shae's accusation pierced her. She had no ready response, but any reply would have been cut off by the doors opening wide for the queen. Lenna was not sure she had ever seen quite that look about Cersei. She sauntered through the dingy room, the lamplight glowing mutely off of a breastplate she wore instead of a girdle. She cut an interesting figure, exuding almost lethal confidence, and Lenna wondered at the effect she was attempting. A warrior queen would not be her first association with Cersei Lannister.

"Sansa," the queen said as she spotted the girl. "I was wondering where our little dove had flown. You look pale, child. Is your red flower still blooming?"

"Yes," Sansa replied, embarrassment sending a tide of pink to her cheeks.

"Fitting isn't it," the queen continued, taking a glass of wine from a proffered tray. Lenna surmised that she had already had many glasses that night. Her features were dull but fierce, as if the wine had blunted and polished them, her eyes filmy and not quite focused. "Men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here. Help yourself to some wine."

"What's he doing here?" Sansa directed her question to Lenna as they sat, taking glasses from a trembling servant. Shae hovered near them, leaning against the wall. Her dark eyes were on the man that had caught Sansa's attention, and Lenna's stomach turned in revulsion.

"Ser Ilyn?" Cersei asked, clearly listening. "He's here to defend us. When the axes smash down those doors you may be glad to have him."

Lenna remembered Tyrion's words to her in the gardens, his entreaty that should the battle go to Stannis Baratheon that she make her way to her rooms. As far from that man as possible, she thought, understanding at once that the queen had no intention of yielding. She'd be dead, her beautiful head lopped off, her golden Lannister hair in a pool of crimson blood like on of her family's banners, surrounded by her dead ladies and their murdered children. She'd take all of the court down with her.

Including you.

She fought to keep her face still, praying fervently that Tyrion and Sandor and the rest of them did their jobs well that night. In that moment, she didn't care if they killed every last one of Stannis Baratheon's men, so long as she did not have face Ser Ilyn Payne and his wicked blade. He stood in the corner like a shadow, a wraith sent by the Stranger, his unnerving eyes wide and his mouth slack, hollow in the absence of a tongue.

"But we have guards to defend us," Sansa said weakly.

"Guards we have paid," the queen snapped. Her patience was nonexistent. Mercenaries had no stake in this fight beyond getting their coin. "Should the city fall they'll be the first ones out of the doors."

One of those very guards trotted up, bowing lowly despite being out of breath. Lenna was worried the man might collapse. "The guards caught a groom and two maids trying to steal away with a stolen horse and some gold cups, your grace."

"The battle's first traitors," Cersei said with a lift of her eyebrow. "Have Ser Ilyn see to them. Put their heads on spikes as a warning."

"Your grace," Lenna said, reaching out and laying her hand on the queen's wrist. "They are scared. They do not know what to do. Punish them later, do not have them killed."

Cersei looked back at her, the beautiful face stiff but her eyes glittering. "Dear Lenna, the only way to keep the smallfolk loyal is to make certain that they fear you more than they do the enemy." She turned her gaze on Sansa, drinking deeply from her goblet. "Remember that if you ever hope to become a queen, girl."

Sansa looked as horrified as Lenna felt, though she was careful not to let it show in her face.

"You said he was here to protect us," Sansa said, watching the man in black as he left the room scurrying like a rat.

"He is," the queen replied, laying her hand over Lenna's where it still rested on her arm. "Traitors are danger to us all. More wine." Lenna squeezed her eyes shut. "Will you sing for us? Read to us? Something?"

For perhaps the first time, Lenna saw Cersei Lannister truly afraid. She had the aspect of a cornered animal, her eyes wild even in the placid landscape of her face. They were little green flames, flicking madly.

"What would your grace like?" she asked, willing her voice to be strong, stroking the queen's hand. "Castamere?"

"No," she said quickly. "Something sweet, like you sang at Casterly Rock. Do you remember? Or at that banquet years ago, with the lutenist at my brother's command."

"I remember, your grace," Lenna replied. Of course she did, both of those nights had been revelatory. The first, as she sat in her red dress and sang in front of the court, that was first night she had been aware of how he watched her. By Casterly Rock she was already aware of what it was she felt for him, and knew what to call it. "I do not know many happy songs, I'm afraid."

Lenna sang the old ones, the ones the queen liked. She sang Come again, sweet love, she sang My heart is sair. She sang childish songs she'd learned at her father's knee, warming despite her anxiety when Sansa's sweet little voice joined hers, the girl keeping those luminous blue eyes on her in exactly the same way Wynna had when they were young.

Cersei calmed, her eyes drifting shut at times. She drank constantly, and Lenna noted that she stirred a droplet of something from a vial hidden in her sleeve into her cup every few hours. She didn't need to wonder what it was, but she kept her eye on the queen nevertheless. Nightshade was good for nerves in small doses, but it would take just one drop too much.

Lenna grew too hoarse to sing, too hoarse and too anxious. There was no word from the battlements, no tidings except what they could hear from the slender windows. She had no idea what time it was. Other ladies had curled up on the stone floors, their arms pillowing their heads as best they could as they tried to sleep. Several of them had succeeded if their snoring was indicative. Lenna wished she could sleep, but she was wide awake, the trembling in her belly gradually seeping through her limbs.

"Wine?" Cersei offered. Lenna shook her head, watching Ser Dontos clumsily attempting to juggle. It made her cringe.

"Would you pray with me?" Sansa asked, her lips pale and barely moving. Lenna realized that she had been ignoring the girl, caught up in her own worries.

"Of course," Lenna said, reaching for the girl's hands. They were childike in her own. Lenna clasped them tightly.

"What are you doing?" Cersei demanded.

"Praying," Sansa replied, darting her eyes at the queen.

"How perfect of you," she said derisively. Lenna sighed. Cersei was clearly drunk. "Praying. What are you praying for?"

"For the gods to have mercy on us all." Sansa's voice had a note of incredulity in it that would have made Lenna stifle a laugh in any other situation.

"Oh," the queen said. "On all of us. Even me?"

"Of course, your grace," Lenna replied for the girl, laying her hand on the queen's again. "Do you pray for Joffrey, I wonder?" Cersei asked, her brow furrowed. "He has been cruel to you."

"Especially the king, your grace," Lenna replied. "I pray for the royal family every day."

"Such piety not even you can surpass, Lady Sansa," the queen said. "Do you pray for the one who beats you every day, too?"

"Joffrey is my-"

"Oh shut up, you little fool, praying to the gods to have mercy on us all," Cersei spat. "The gods have no mercy. That's why they're gods." She looked at Lenna. "My father told me that when he caught me praying. My mother had just died, you see, and I didn't understand the concept of death, the finality of it, and I thought if I prayed very very hard the gods would return my mother to me. I was four."

"Your father doesn't believe in the gods?" Sansa asked.

"He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much," Cersei replied hotly. "I've no use for them. If you had sense, you wouldn't either. Useless. Lenna has always put stock in them, for whatever reason. I give her credit for more sense, but perhaps it is her one flaw. Something you have in common, perhaps."

Lenna let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

"The only one, I'm afraid. Lady Helenna was not like you," Cersei said, looking at Sansa. "She made herself useful. At first Joffrey adored her, then Myrcella. Now Tommen. And me. And do you know what she did, little dove?"

Sansa looked at the queen hard.

"She was honest. Perhaps the only person in this Keep who is, other than the Hound. He's honest, too. But you, dove, you say what you're supposed to say, do what you're supposed to do, but you don't have heart. Perhaps this battle will teach you how to be a queen. How to do something and mean it, to commit to it." She waved over a servant. "One for her. Here," she said, thrusting the goblet into the girl's hand. "Sit. Drink." Sansa sipped daintily from her cup. Cersei snarled. "Not like that, drink, girl." She looked at Lenna again, her eyes hard. "I should have been born a man. I would rather face a thousand swords than be shut up with this flock of frightened hens."

"You'd be fierce, your grace," Lenna replied, and she meant it. Perhaps the queen was right, perhaps that was the difference between her and Sansa Stark. The girl had not yet learned how to believe everything she said, everything she did, to find the balance between a lie and the truth, the balance that kept your head on your shoulders. Sansa was too like her father, too apt to deal in absolutes to see how to step through the quagmire.

"They are your guests under your protection," Sansa said, "you asked them here. How can you-"

Lenna wished the girl would shut up. Being corrected was not an invitation to open herself to more criticism. The child did not understand that it was better to be silent than to open herself up to more admonishment.

Cersei's head turned toward Sansa slowly, and Lenna might have trembled under such a gaze thrown at herself. Her face was a mask of stillness, the cracks through which her true self had bled now closed up, like she was a statue of a queen instead of made of living flesh. Lenna had seen that look before, and it never boded well.

"It was expected of me," Cersei said, the words clipped and precise. She reminded Lenna of Tyrion for a moment, always so careful of his words. "As it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey's queen." Lenna wondered if the child could detect the inflection of the queen's voice, the subtle stress of 'if.' "If my wretched brother should somehow prevail, these hens shall return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits."

"And if the city should fall?" Sansa asked with a tinge of what could only be described as sass. What in the seven hells is the girl thinking? Is she drunk? Lenna looked to find the girl's glass still mostly full. Not drunk then, just daft.

Cersei pounced like the lioness she fancied herself to be, eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" she hissed. "The Red Keep should hold for a time. Long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates I might have hoped for a private audience but this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance of seducing his horse." Lenna saw color sweep over Sansa's face, felt her own cheeks pink at the queen's insinuation. Cersei looked at Lenna for a hard moment before Lenna dropped her eyes. "Have I shocked my little doves? Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one is between your legs. Learn how to use it." Cersei sat back in her chair, arms draped loosely over the arms. For a terrible instant, Lenna saw a striking resemblance to Joffrey. After all, he had learned his ways at her breast. Cersei could be generous, but she was made of crueler stuff, at her heart impatient and unyielding. Lenna felt a fool.

"Drink," the queen said darkly, half to herself. "Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked?" Lenna closed her eyes briefly, but the queen was looking at Sansa. The girl's eyes widened. "No, you wouldn't would you? If the city falls, these fine women shall be in for a bit of rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come the morning. You'll be glad of your red flower then. When a man's blood is up anything with tits looks good, a precious thing like you will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten."

Sansa's face was stricken, and she looked to Lenna for comfort.

"Lady Helenna will not be able to do anything for you. She will probably try. Would that she could have married my boy instead of you. No matter what happens, she'll have her own trials coming, by Ser Gregor or his little brother. I doubt either will be particularly gentle. Can you imagine having two such brutes coming after you, my dove? And still, does Lenna think of herself? No. She thinks of you. Of me. She'd put herself between any of us and danger, even if she had no hope."

"You do my too much credit, your grace," Lenna said lowly, desperate for a change in topic.

"I do not think so," Cersei said. "Lenna came to us at around your age. Alone. Largely forgotten, even by her own family." Lies. "But she never acted the great lady. Her name is not as powerful as yours, but her family has plenty of wealth, more than the Starks. Control of White Harbor, the largest city in your godsforsaken realm, and yet, she has walked these halls humbly. She found ways to serve, not be served. Where you, Sansa Stark, you have demanded and swanned as if you were already a queen."

"Your grace," Lenna said, laying her hand on Cersei's. She did not like the way her praises were being sung. Something was not right. The queen took her hand in her own, squeezing her fingers. "Your grace, she is but a child."

"She was," Cersei said, her face softening as she looked at Lenna, trailing a tapered finger along her cheekbone. "But she is a woman now. She must act it, and we must instruct her."

"I understand, your grace," Sansa said. "I am sorry."

"Sorry," Cersei replied, dropping Lenna's hand. "You don't know how sorry you are. We should all three be sorry. Sorry we were born women at all. Sorry that we should have to always suffer the consequences of the actions of men. They never ask us what we think, do they?"

Lenna looked at Sansa hard, the girl's eyes large as mirrors and reflecting turmoil.

"When we were young, Jaime and I were so much alike even our father couldn't tell us apart. I could never understand why they treated us differently. Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace, and I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock and I was sold like some horse to be ridden, just as Lenna will be. Just as you will be, little dove."

"You were Robert's queen," Sansa said weakly.

"And you will be Joffrey's," the queen said, raising her glass in a mocking toast. "And Lenna, gods help her, will probably be the Mountain's lady. There is little to be done. Enjoy."

Her ramblings made sense now. The queen's odd praise of Lenna was made clear. She was drunk, her mind muddled by the drops she continually added to her cup, and her guilt was speaking. That Cersei felt guilt at all made Lenna quake, her heart stuttering in her chest, her mouth going dry. Fear and apprehension trembled in her gut like eels.

Little to be done?

Sansa's hand had grabbed hers and the girl lowered her head. "If I am able," she said weakly, "I will help. You cannot marry him. Either of them."

Lenna was struggling to formulate a reply when the doors to the room were thrown open, a familiar knight passing through them radiating agitation.

"Your grace," he panted. Lenna recognized him as a Lannister cousin, Lancel. They'd had little interaction, the boy having served as page under King Robert and made a knight shortly after his death. He looked at the queen with an intensity that confused Lenna. She was sure some unknowable current was passing between them.

"What news?" she demanded, trying to affect ease but failing, her face again tight.

"The Imp has set the river afire, your grace, hundreds of ships are burning. Stannis' fleet is destroyed, but his troops have landed outside the city walls."

Lenna felt sick to the pit of her stomach, trying hard to digest both piece of information. The river alight meant one thing. Tyrion had used the wildfire, had gone the direction she had dreaded. Troops landing meant Sandor was to be sent to meet them, to drive them back.

"Where is Joffrey?" Cersei demanded.

"On the battlements with Lord Tyrion," Lancel replied with a stutter.

"Bring him back inside the walls," the queen said lowly.

"Your grace-" the boy protested, his voice going high with disbelief and dismay.

"What?"

"The king must stay," he replied, his face imploring. "It is good for morale."

"Bring him back to his chambers. Now," Cersei said, her voice hard as granite.

"Not here?" Lancel asked in confusion.

"With the women and children?" she spat. "Do you want him to mocked as a coward for the rest of life?"

He already will be if he retreats now.

"No."

"Now." The young knight bowed sharply and left, trepidation in his stride. As soon as he had passed through the doors and the bar had been lowered, Cersei turned to look at Sansa again. "When I told you about Ser Ilyn earlier, I lied," she said, her voice like a sword against a whetstone. "Do you want to hear the truth? Want to know why he's really here? He's here for us. Stannis may take the city, he may take the throne, but he will not take us alive."

Sansa's eyes widened with horror, her pink mouth opening in shock. Lenna closed her eyes.

"But you knew that, didn't you, Lenna?"

"Aye, your grace. As soon as I saw him."

"What do you think of such an end?"

"I will continue to hope, your grace," she said levelly, "that we will not come to such."

"You were always able to see the best in any person, any situation. Let us hope that your effort is not in vain."

Silence fell between them, Lenna taking the time to sit in her own pool of stillness and pray. There was nothing else to be done. She refused to make light of what was happening. The king retreating into the Keep would be a grave mistake. How many battles had been lost when men simply lost heart? She might not like the king, but he was still the king. The troops would not want to keep fighting if they thought all hope was lost. The king's withdrawal to safety would look like a sign of impending defeat even if the battle had not yet turned.

She prayed for Sandor, knowing at that very moment he was somewhere outside those gates in a battle-rage. If given the chance, she would have been on the battlements herself, watching. Would she faint, she wondered, if she saw him fall? A rivulet of pain slid down her spine and seeped between her ribs. Her chest grew uncomfortably tight, her breath too shallow for comfort.

An hour passed, perhaps longer. Lenna was lost in her own thoughts, thinking about what Tyrion had told her. If Stannis won, she had to find a way out, a way to make toward her own rooms. Then the realization of the aftermath washed over her. If Stannis won and Sandor was alive, he would be taken prisoner, and likely executed. He might bend the knee, that might suffice, but his reputation...Lenna felt the weight of it perhaps for the first time. His association with the Lannister family, his brother, it all might mean it didn't matter if he bent the knee or not. How awful that she must sit and hope that his sheer size, his brute strength, would be enough to spare him if he did consent to serve a new king, that Stannis would see him as a useful enough tool not to kill him and mount his head on a spike.

She shuddered to realize she hadn't thought of it before, that instead she had almost been wishing that the king would fall. Now, she prayed for the threat of Gregor Clegane. If, by some miracle, the king was victorious, she would face only a known problem on the morrow, one that she might escape. There would be no chance for them if Stannis prevailed.

A hand was laid on her shoulder, and she looked up to find Cersei looking down on her, a glow behind those beryl-bright eyes. Her face must have failed her, the queen's brow furrowed in concern. Lenna could hear her own breathing, see the tremor in her own hands as they lay shaking in her lap like scared rabbits. Lenna raised her head, focusing on the queen and imagining gray eyes were looking back at her instead of green.

The doors were flung open again, Lancel striding into the room with darkness in his fair face. Cersei stood, drawing Lenna up beside her. She was surprised when the queen looped an arm through hers, and she felt the trembling of her fingers where she gripped her hand.

"The battle is lost, your grace," Lancel said, bowing curtly. Lenna locked her knees to stay upright. "Stannis' troops are at the gates. When the gold cloaks saw the king leaving, they lost all heart."

"Where is my son?" Cersei demanded shrilly, stepping toward Lancel.

"I want to escort him back to the battle," Lancel said, his fists balled at his sides as he attempted to stare down the queen.

"What do I care what you want?" the queen hissed. "Bring me-"

Lancel took a step forward, anger in his eyes. "Now listen to me-"

"Don't be afraid." Lenna turned to see Sansa standing, her face pretty and smooth. All eyes in the room turned from Cersei to her. "The queen has raised the drawbridge, this is safest place we can be. Joffrey's not hurt. He is fighting bravely." Lenna felt a twitch of pride. She listened. She learned. "His knights have rallied behind him. They will save the city. Shall we sing a hymn?"

Lenna was the first to go to her side and take her hand, the other noble ladies crowding around them. Sansa looked at Lenna and she tried to smile. Lenna returned it with more courage than she felt, but the two of them breathed together to begin.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

Save our sons from war, we pray.

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

Let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women,

Help our daughters through this fray.

Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

Teach us all a kinder way.

The queen was leaving in a whirlwind of anger, little Tommen straggling behind her. Lenna did not want to know where they were going. She couldn't bear it. Gold and red splashed through her mind. She couldn't bear it.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

Save our sons from war, we pray.

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

Let them know a better day.

Lenna watched as Sansa slipped out the side door, and Lenna hoped she was making swift progress back to her rooms. She and Shae looked at each other across the chamber, and Lenna felt for certain that it was a goodbye.

"If you will excuse me, ladies," she said softly, squeezing the hand of the women on either side of her. "I will fetch my prayer book. It will comfort us."

"There are no guards."

"We are quite safe," she lied. "I shall return shortly."

Lenna smiled and made her way to the side door with as much calm and deliberation as she could muster, trying to seem as nothing was amiss.

She broke into a run as soon as it was shut behind her, thoughts racing as fast as her feet. She didn't know why she had lied, had told some story about a prayer book. She had no intention of returning, not if Stannis had indeed won.

The trip took less time than she expected, and she swung her door open, halted in her tracks by the mesmerizing green glow that filled her room with a dance of dark and fire.

A/N: Eh, not my favorite chapter. Lots of back and forth on getting this one and the next turned out. It was more challenging than I expected, and it's definitely one my weaker episodes, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I'm a perfectionist, and I'm more or less making myself post it to get to the "good stuff" that's coming up. Hopefully should have Sandor's perspective out on Wednesday, and then we can FINALLY move on. As useful as the show has been, I'm looking forward to not being tethered to it for a while. That's all I'll say about that, though.

Reviews are Love. Reviews are Motivation. Reviews make me write faster. Thank you to everyone who faithfully leaves comments.