Sansa was smiling as she happily munched on a lemon cake. She was with Princess Marcella at an overlook that afforded a nice view of the Narrow Sea.

"He spoils me."

Marcella, her mouth full of pastry, cocked her head. "Mmm?"

"Velander. He spoils me. He's off hunting, so he decided to keep me busy with lemon cakes." She sipped her Dornish red wine. "Lemon cakes are my favorite."

"So… you haven't consummated your marriage?"

"We will… but not now. I'm not quite ready, and…". She blushed. "And I don't know what to do."

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure. You're smart."

Sansa nodded. "True."

"Apparently, Lord Baelish wants His Grace dead."

"What?! W- where did you hear this?"

"I overheard him talking to Lancel."

"Gods…" Sansa breathed.

"Littlefinger wants chaos so that he can sweep in and take the throne."

"I never trusted him. My mother says he's been trying for her hand, but my aunt Lysa's been chasing him in turn."

"Sansa?" Arya swaggered into view, Needle on her hip.

"Gods…" Sansa groaned as Arya grabbed a lemon cake.

"Syrio says I'm getting good. You might want to know Velander's coming back with a huge deer."

"Venison for dinner?" asked Myrcella.

"That's right. Good lemon cakes, by the way. Can't believe he sent Joff to the Wall; I'd have just killed him."

"He's Velander's brother!" Sansa sighed. "Killing him would be kinslaying!"

"Joff's an ass… but even an ass can pull a cart." Velander walked in soon after. "Hello, sister, Sansa… Arya." He leaned towards Sansa. "Don't eat too many of those… you'll grow fat, and I'll have to put you aside."

Sansa playfully smacked her grinning husband's arm. "Oh, come off it," she laughed.

Velander stole a lemon cake and poured himself a cup of wine. "Shot a nice big stag… well… Renly did, anyway."

"Mmm… also… don't trust Lord Baelish."

"I never have… Baelish was always a sneak." He finished his wine and smiled. "Good stuff, this. I'm off to the Small Council Chamber. There's a meeting within the hour."

When Velander reached the chamber, he sat at the head of the table. A servant filled a cup with arbor gold, setting it on the table.

"Direct from the Arbor," said Tyrion.

"Thank you," Velander replied, taking a sip. "So… what news?"

"Flea Bottom is cleaning up… slowly." Tyrion sipped his wine. "These things take time."

"Understood… I hear we've put a great many smallfolk to work."

"Yes… old roads are being refurbished and even paved. We hope to start building new roads soon."

"We are currently…". Lord Baelish sipped his wine. "…six million gold dragons in debt. Half of that debt is owed to Casterly Rock."

"We must pay the debt and improve the economy… but I know it won't be simple."

"Agreed," Littlefinger replied. "But it will take time."

"Yes… let us start in half a year after the harvest. That way the smallfolk can eat, at least. What news of the Targaryens?"

Varys leaned back in his seat. "Daenerys Targaryen is to wed a Dothraki warlord."

"Let us invite them both to Westeros. That way we can keep an eye on them."

"Your late father would kill you… but yes." Ned nodded. "Better than murder, I think."

"Have our people in Pentos inform Their Highnesses. I'm sure they…"

That was when the bells rang.

"M-My lords! Your Grace!" A panicked servant burst into the room. "Murder! Treason!"

Velander stood, his fist clenched around Stormreaver's hilt. "What's happened, man?! Tell us!"

"I- I am sorry for the pain I must cause Your Grace…". He stammered.

"Seven hells, speak!"

"Queen Sansa is dead!"

Velander narrowed his eyes. "Make arrangements for the funeral, and issue a proclamation throughout the Realm. A thousand gold dragons to whomever brings the killer to Justice! Ten thousand to whomever brings the vermin back alive!" He stormed out of the room. "Women weep for the dead… but men avenge them!"