"The lion cannot protect himself from traps,
and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves.
One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps,
and a lion to frighten wolves."
— Niccolò Machiavelli (The Prince)
Lady Sansa sat quietly at her vanity. The morning sun filtered in through the window as her handmaiden, Brenna, carefully brushed out her long fiery locks. Brenna had accompanied her father back from Winterfell. She had been with her since they had both been little girls, and Sansa trusted her with some of her most intimate secrets. Today was the prince's nameday tourney. Sansa was to attend a great feast hosted by the King, and the Queen. She was to accompany the prince, Joffrey on the dais.
She took great care to look both beautiful and also to show her maturity. She was now a woman flowered. She was also growing tired of pretending. She was close to being free from her betrothal. This thought was enough to make her smile. With gentle adept fingers Brenna began to braid Lady Sansa's hair, working in an intricate pattern of delicate twists and turns. Sansa had been attempting to perfect this particular style for weeks. It was reminiscent of some of the intricate braids that she had seen among the ladies at Highgarden. She was to take a stroll through the gardens with Margaery Tyrell after the luncheon today.
Brenna took great pains to make sure that her lady's hair looked flawless. As she worked, Sansa's mind wandered. She thought back to her conversation with her father. They were still awaiting the Raven from Casterly Rock. Finally, Brenna finished the braid and began to weave small delicate flowers into Lady Sansa's hair. The flowers had been picked from the gardens earlier that morning. Her handmaidens had made sure to choose only the most beautiful, fragrant and colorful blooms. As Brenna worked, Sansa marveled in the mirror at the way that the flowers seemed to almost glow against her fiery hair.
When Brenna finished, she stepped back to admire her work. "You look very elegant M'lady."
Sansa smiled up at her. And now it was time for her dress. She had chosen a dress that was also fashionable in The Reach. The dress was of a rich, pale blue silk. Brenna draped the silk dress over Lady Sansa's shoulders, adjusting it here and there until it hung perfectly. The dress was intricately embroidered with a silvery thread depicting the sigils of Baratheon and Stark. The light seemed to shimmer on the stags and wolves as she turned to admire her figure. Sansa stood, gazing at her reflection. She admired the way that the dress accentuated her waist, and her curves. The neckline plunged daringly low, leaving little to the imagination, and the corset pulled her in tight, creating an hourglass figure that would probably steal the attention of every man in the room. Joffrey would not be pleased.
Brenna stood behind her, adjusting the dress here and there until it was fitted to her satisfaction. Sansa's heart pounded with excitement. One part of her could not wait to see the look on Joffrey's face when he saw her dress. The other part of her could not wait to see Tyrion's. She could, however, wait to see her father's. This was probably the most womanly her figure had ever looked in any garment. Sansa stood in front of the mirror and admired herself from various angles. With a final smile, Brenna left her to it.
Sansa smoothed out the silk of her dress, and made her way to the heavy wooden door. She paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath, and stilling her nerves, before stepping out into the hall. She was ready to face the world. With a final glance into the mirror as she closed the door, she set off towards the feast, her heart pounding hard in anticipation.
The sun was just rising over the rolling green hills as the lords and ladies of the realm made their way to the tournament grounds in all of their finery. The field was a sea of colors and banners. Pennants flew high in the breeze and the sound of trumpets filled the air. It was a grand spectacle. The smallfolks had been allowed into the gates and they gathered to watch the knights compete in their elaborate armor. They watched with anticipation as a cavalcade of knights in glittering armor made their way to the lists.
As the crowds settled into their seats and the heralds stepped forward to call out the names of the competitors, knights emerged from the pavilions with the thundering sound of hooves. Mounted knights adorned with the colors and sigils of their houses readied themselves for the first challenge of the day, the joust. The crowds roared as knights charged at each other with astonishing speed. The sound of splintering wood filled the air as lances shattered upon shields.
As Sansa made her way to the raised dais, all eyes at the table turned to her. Cersei's eyes in particular narrowed in a familiar way, betraying her thoughts. Sansa was to be seated between her betrothed, and his mother. The Queen called out to Sansa, beckoning her over towards them. She leaned over to whisper something to Joffrey, which caused him to smirk sadistically.
"Sansa sweetling, you look—refreshed," she said with a cool smile. There was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.
"Thank you, your Grace." Sansa replied with cool composure.
Joffrey turned to her then, his face filled with contempt, "You must be desperate to catch the eye of some unsuspecting lord," he snarled,"—you're practically bursting out of your bodice."
This stung, but, it was expected from him. Sansa only smiled. "These are the latest fashions from Highgarden, Your Grace."
He snorted, "Well, you look like a common whore. I should make you go back to your rooms and have the servants dress you in something more ladylike."
Sansa stood up then. She was tired of pretending to care about Joffrey's whims. His mother was smiling at his cruelty. His father was sitting right there, and he was too busy slapping the rumps of servant girls to discipline his own son. Her father was still alive, and he was not yet king. She smiled prettily at him before saying, "I will take your concerns into consideration—your grace." With finality she stood and walked away from the dais.
As Sansa walked away, she could hear Cersei speaking loudly to her handmaidens.
"I suppose she thinks that the embroidery will distract from the fact that she is spilling out of that dress." She laughed loudly.
But Sansa continued to walk away, and towards the gardens. Her father was in the Tower of the Hand. She could go to him, but she wanted to be alone. For Cersei, Sansa knew, it was all a game, and she was tired of playing.
The sun set over Casterly Rock. Tywin Lannister the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, sat in his solar, surrounded by flickering candlelight discussing family finances with his brother, Kevan. The room was decorated with rich tapestries, gilded suits of armor and other relics of the family's long history. Above the large hearth was a large tapestry bearing the Lannister family crest, a lion rampant on a field of gold stood proudly. The Old Lion sat surrounded by piles of parchment and scrolls, and his brother, Kevan sat across from him. They were discussing the trouble with the mines. Littlefinger had plunged the realm into debt. The coffers were nearly dried out. They were both startled by a knock at the door. It was a servant girl. Tywin was happy for the interruption.
"Forgive me, my lord," the servant said, holding out a sealed scroll. "This arrived for you. Just now, by Raven. It bears the seal of House Stark."
The atmosphere of the room shifted, becoming more tense as Tywin read the letter. The warmth from the fireplace seemed to fade, and the shadows deepened, casting a darker hue across the room. Even the lions on the tapestries appeared to be snarling, their ferocity matching the mounting tension in the room. His brother was having his yearly conversation with him about his selfish little monster of a son. He motioned the servant forward, taking the scroll from her hands.
Kevan leaned forward expectantly, "Brother, I must ask you—again—why do you refuse to give Tyrion his birthright as heir to Casterly Rock?"
Tywin sighed heavily, his gaze steely and his eyes far away.
"Because he is unworthy. He is a drunk. He is lecherous. He frequents whorehouses and he has brought shame upon our family name with his actions. How can I entrust the future, the legacy of House Lannister to such a man who cannot control his own vices?" He said with finality.
Kevan protested. "But Jaime has taken a vow of celibacy. He can hold no lands. He can have no wife. He can no longer inherit. Tyrion is next in line. It is his birthright. You cannot deny him that."
"I can, and I will. I can do as I damn well please." He said with a knowing glance at his brother. He continued, "The Lannister legacy is far too important to me to entrust to someone as unstable as Tyrion. He is a liability. He will only bring us down with him."
Kevan's face fell in disappointment. "But what of Jaime? He is the one that you have groomed to inherit, but he will not give up his vows and take his place as Lord of Casterly Rock?"
Tywin's expression grew colder. He leaned forward, his hands folded on the heavy wooden desk."Jaime made a choice. A stupid choice."
Kevan pressed on, "Tyrion is next in line. It is his birthright."
Tywin felt his temper rising. His brother had always been somewhat soft hearted when it came to family matters, and when it came to Tyrion. Tywin unsealed the wax and unfurled the scroll, reading it with a furrowed brow. He quickly scanned the contents of the scroll, his expression growing grimmer by the moment. It was a marriage proposal from Ned Stark, offering his daughter Sansa's hand in marriage to Tyrion Lannister, with the presumption that he was heir to Casterly Rock. Tywin smiled.
"An unexpectedly cunning move by Ned Stark," he said, almost to himself, his lips curling into a sneer. "He knows that we would be enriched by the support of the Tyrell's, but stopped short of making insinuations towards the stability of the mines," He thought to himself. As he read the scroll over again, he snorted in derision. It was presumptuous of Ned Stark to think that he would ever allow such a match to take place. Sansa Stark may be a valuable prize for some other Lord's son, but what could Ned Stark mean by offering up his eldest daughter to a deformed freak.
"Fetch me a quill and parchment," Tywin ordered the girl. She hurriedly filled the request. Tywin leaned back in his chair, considering the offer with more scrutiny. He knew that he could not refuse outright. That would anger Ned Stark, and potentially damage relations between their houses. After a few moments of consideration, he conferred with his brother.
"Your prayers have been answered Brother," he said.
"The scroll—?" Kevan began.
"Ned Stark has proposed an offer of marriage between his eldest daughter Sansa and Tyrion-" He stated simply.
"Your reply?" Kevan looked on expectantly.
"I will accept, but on one condition. The betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey will end, he is not suitable. They have proposed a match between him and this young maiden of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell, hoping to stave off any—disappointment regarding the broken betrothal."
"What do you know of Margaery Tyrell?" Kevan said.
"She is the daughter of Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden. She is said to be beautiful and clever. Her brother, Willas is the heir to Highgarden." Tywin said, before leaning back in his chair, his face a mask of calculation.
"What is your decision?" Kevan asked expectantly.
"We will accept his proposal. Joffrey has no true attachment to the girl. Maybe this Margaery Tyrell can bring him to heel. His mother surely cannot."
"And what of Jaime?" Kevan asked, "Will you have him renounce his vows and take his place as rightful heir of Casterly Rock?"
"Jaime has made his decision." Tywin sighed heavily.
"And Tyrion's claim?"
"His behavior has been despicable, but he is still a Lannister, and he is still my son. We cannot risk losing our hold on the Westerlands. Jaime has made his decision. A House without heirs is not a House. If he must marry, then let it be to this Stark girl. She may prove useful in the future."
"Joffrey hates to lose his playthings," Kevan said, "what if he objects?"
At this, Tywin's lip curled in contempt. "Joffrey will do as he is told," he spat,"he is not yet king. Until he is, he will obey his elders. A match with House Tyrell will prove far more advantageous."
"Very well," Kevan said, "Shall we send a raven to King's Landing and accept the proposal?"
"Sansa is a valuable prize. More than my disappointment of a son deserves. If we can secure her loyalty to House Lannister, it may be worth the sacrifice of naming Tyrion as my heir. Send a raven to the King as well, impress upon him the importance of shoring up our finances."
"You have always hated Tyrion, how can you make him the heir now? I have had this conversation with you several times a year, every year since Jaime joined the Kingsguard."
"It's simple. Right now it is politically expedient and can benefit House Lannister. We can always find ways to deal with Tyrion if he becomes too much of a problem. Do not mistake my acceptance of this proposal as a sign of affection for Tyrion. He is still an impudent, selfish little fool and I will not suffer the shame of watching him waddle around impudently paying for whores while he has a highborn wife. He will not be frequenting whorehouses. He will bring no more shame to this house. We will agree to the marriage between Sansa and Tyrion but we will also demand that the Stark's assist us in brokering Joffrey's marriage to Margaery Tyrell. Joffrey is a difficult boy."
"What of the shortfall at the gold mines?" Kevan returned to their previous topic of conversation.
"If Ned Stark knows enough of our financial troubles to suggest this match with leverage, then others will too. We cannot afford to show weakness."
"I will send the ravens at once." Kevan rose to leave.
"We will make sure that Tyrion understands the gravity of his new position," Tywin said.
"As you wish my lord," Kevan said, bowing his head in acquiescence.
Tywin responded with a curt nod. "Good," he said with some finality, "Now we must focus on our finances. We cannot let anyone know about our dwindling coffers. We must replenish, and the maid from Highgarden may be a step in that direction." He paused for reflection, "But first, I must send a letter to my son to congratulate him on his betrothal."
The sky up above was clear and blue. The air felt cool, but not too cool. Sansa walked through the lush gardens. The gardens were enclosed by a high stone wall which kept out some of the noise and rabble from the tournament. Sansa admired the flowers, shrubs, trees, creating a vibrant display of color and texture. The pathways through the gardens were lined with aromatic herbs that were used in the kitchens such as rosemary and thyme. They filled the air with a fragrant scent that distracted from the breeze that blew in from the city below. Sansa walked along the path that led to a small fountain that stood at the center of the garden.
In the center of the garden, there was a large green area surrounded by low hedges. This is one of the places that Sansa liked to lay out in the sun and read. Beyond the grassy area, there were several smaller gardens. Each one had it's own particular use. One was filled with fragrant roses. Another a collection of medicinal herbs for the Maesters.
She continued her walk until she reached a small reflection pond, surrounded by water lilies and rushes. The water was so clear that you could see the reflection of the sky overhead. She wanted to find her quiet bench, sit down and enjoy the peaceful surroundings. When she reached her secluded spot, she found someone else there.
Tyrion Lannister eased down off of the bench where he sat in stunned silence. He was reading a scroll that had come for him from Casterly Rock. His legs were stiff from sitting in stunned silence for the better part of the afternoon. He turned around to see a tall maiden in a silvery blue silk dress walk through the gardens. She had not seen him. He had never seen this maiden before. He figured she must be here for the tourney. She was dressed in the style of the reach. She had a pleasing figure. Her hair was adorned in colorful flowers. He watched as she walked through the gardens, sniffing the flowers. He could not tear his eyes away from her.