The Master of Whispers

Lord Varys glided into the Hand's office unperturbed by the Queen Regent's pacing. She was extremely agitated that despite her best efforts and sending not one but three members of the illustrious Kingsguard out into the streets of King's Landing, so far Sansa Stark remained very much missing. It was getting harder and harder to conceal the fact that the girl was no longer under their control. They'd made some ridiculous excuse about her being ill and retreating to her chambers, but Queen Cersei was convinced that none with any sense believed the tale. It was only a matter of time before the whispers about the riot and her humiliation at the hands of that woman started travelling up the Rose Road and the Kingsroad, shortly to spread throughout the kingdom and become common knowledge- with it their most powerful form of leverage disappeared.

They needed her back, observed the Master of Whispers with the faintest ghost of a smirk. The stakes were too high for them to lose such a valuable prisoner not with the Young Wolf moving ever south, winning battle after battle.

Joffrey was infuriated that his betrothed had so far not returned. Denied his usual outlet for his cruelty, Joffrey's behaviour had been getting steadily worse. Cersei had caught him trying to torment his younger brother Tommen and had been forced to put a stop to things.

The Lannisters are desperate to cover up their mistake and pretend everything was back to normal, nothing wrong here. Very hard to do when the secret had leaked out already.

"My lord Varys, how good of you to attend us." Cersei intoned in her most imperious manner. She looked down her nose at him as if he was something dragged in by one of those feral cats that stlked the strets of King's Landing. He knew full well that the woman despised him personally, even as she appreciated his work and the fruits of them.

"How may I serve your Grace?" He gave her an unctuous smile, oily in it's insincerity.

She scowled, not inviting him to sit down. "The Stark girl is still missing. How could she have evaded our forces for so long? Even the Hound claims that he has had no luck. The Goldcloaks have been sweeping the city, looking for clues but not a word. She cannot have just vanished!"

"Are you sure she still lives?" he intoned delicately holding a silk handkerchief to his face. "Very tragic, she was quite the Northern Rose by all accounts. How his Grace must grieve-"

Frankly, he doubted whether Joffrey would grieve with any sincerity for the lost Lady Sansa. It was exceedingly doubtful if he truly loved the girl- or indeed if he was capable of love. His treatment of the girl whilst at his court left much to be desired. On the other hand, he kept her close to hand and refused to reject her – even though she was damned as a traitor's spawn, and she was beautiful, as lovely as a porcelain doll to look upon with that flawless fair complexion and those deep blue eyes. That wonderful striking hair, red as sunset and fire.

"We would have heard if something of that sort had happened. A body, a disturbance of the peace reported to the Goldcloaks." Cersei fretted. "There's nothing! The girl just evaporated into thin air!"

"What would you like for me to do, your Grace?" he intoned.

"Do?" she stuttered, coming to a halt.

"I imagine that is why you called me here tonight, Your Grace?"

She stopped pacing, fixing him with her piercing emerald gaze. "I want you to use your 'Little Birds' or whatever you call them to find out what happened to the girl. My son and I need her found, alive and unharmed. You understand me?"

He inclined his head. "Perfectly-"

Privately Varys was intrigued that he like everyone else had underestimated the girl. If this was an escape- if she'd fled her captors and disappeared into the teeming mass of King's Landing maybe there was more to her than met the eye. Not just a pretty face, then... Perhaps the girl has friends in the town. Traitors willing to help her link up with her family once more.

If so, the situation was as dire as he suspected. Surrounded by enemies and rebellious subjects the time was ripe for the new regime to make a mistake. And when they did, he would be waiting in place. As he always had been...

Varys was returning from his conference with the Queen Regent when he was accosted by Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin who gave him his usual smug little smirk.

"So the little wolf maid ran for it. How intriguing. I would never thought she would have the guts to do something so foolhardy." Varys remarked, making small talk.

"The girl was very proper and delicate bred. She won't survive life on the streets of a city teeming with unrest." Baelish's face turned sly. "Oh, is that why her Grace was so intent on seeing you today?"

There was no harm in leaking out a little information, priming the mousetrap as it were. "Her Grace requested that I use a few of my contacts to see what I can dig up." Varys said in as bland a voice as he could muster up. There's no need to tell him how desperate the Lannisters are to find the girl, is there?, he thought.

"I warrant she promised you a handsome reward if the girl is found. They are very keen to keep her close to hand." Baelish remarked. "Why send out Ser Boros and Ser Meryn, and then order the Hound to search for the girl if they didn't want her back?"

"Where brawn fails, brain might prevail?" Varys said with an arch little smile.

"You do have a way with words, eunuch!"

Varys was ready with the easy rejoinder. "They cut off my cock; not my tongue, Lord Baelish."

Baelish smirked, acknowledging the sharpness of his quip. "If all goes to plan, well...it might not matter that we don't have the younger girl any more?"

Despite himself, Varys was intrigued by Baelish's words. He certainly did seem sure of himself. A substitute, eh? It would be an audacious move as soon as the Starks saw the lass they would not be fooled, but it might buy some time.

"May the best man win, Lord Baelish." the other man smirked as if the prize was already in his sights.

Don't worry Littlefinger, he will, and it won't be you. Don't you fret...

Eponine

Eponine and Gavroche turned up at the tavern to check up on their new friend. Relieved that Sansa hadn't disappeared into the night, and she had managed to convince the group to assist her new friend, Eponine had taken to dropping in while trade was quiet and catching up with the girl.

"So she's actually running away? Blimey-" Gavroche was sceptical as he walked with his sister to the tavern.

Eponine gave her brother a curious look. There was something that he had said that had interested her when they first met the mysterious maiden, but so far Gavroche had rather uncharacteristically held his tongue.

"'Roche, do you actually know who this girl is?" she asked flat out.

He toed the ground.

She knew when to press her advantage. "You do, don't you?"

"Ain't for me to say. I thought she were your mate. Ain't she told you anything?"

"No, she hasn't, not a word and I didn't push her."

"Look I'm only telling yer 'cause yer family, but..."

"What is it? Is it bad?"

What on earth had the lass done? Was she a criminal or a conwoman? Had they been taken in by a pretty face and engaging manner? Or worse was she some sort of spy sent to damn them?

The little lad drew closer, lowering his voice. "I dunno...yer know the day of the procession?"

How could anyone forget? Eponine didn't think there was a single person in King's Landing who would forget that shocking confrontation for a very long time. "You said she was in the procession, wern't she?"

Gavroche made a noise half amused, half scornful. "Aye, she was all right! In the procession, riding right next to Joffrey the bastard."

She turned to him in surprise. "Riding next to...why would Sansa be riding next to him?"

Gavroche rolled his eyes. "'Ponine, she's his girl, ain't she?"

"Seven Hells, you're japing aren't ye?"

"Nope!"

"Don't ye remember the day they chopped off the Northern Hand's head? All the town was there and she was there too, right on the dais. When Joffrey surprised everyone by demanding his head."

Eponine remembered it clearly, the heat and oppressive press of the crowd outside the Sept of Baelor, the young king's smug tone as he demanded the royal headsman take Lord Stark's head. The grey tormented face of the northern lord as he'd been forced to lie to save his daughter. The girl's raw screams of anguish as they took her father's head right in front of her. And she was still being forced to be Joffrey's bride despite that? No wonder the lass had taken her chance and ran for it. She couldn't really blame her for that.

"She don't want anyone to know who she really is, do she?" Eponine said rather wisely. "Can't say that I blame her."

"Do our friends know who they're hiding?" Gavroche said. "That's the question I want ter know."