Every chapter I write will be a little longer than the last, I hope! That's how they usually go anyways. Here's chapter two! Please R&R!

Sansa sat in front of her mirror, brushing her long auburn hair. She couldn't help the small leaps of joy her heart was beating as she imagined her new life in Highgarden, living amongst the flowers and hawking with her new husband Willas. And when Robb won the war and came to get her, she would be waiting safely for him in the arms of her kind and handsome lord.

She knew that she shouldn't get her hopes up about Willas, but it was the only thing keeping her sane in this place, surrounded by Lannisters. Her big, blue, empty eyes stared back at her from the mirror, mocking her with the girlish dreams that had been crushed that day on the stone steps, when Prince Joffrey had chopped off her father's head and broken his promises. She had hoped then that Joffrey would be good and gentle; she hoped now the same about her betrothed.

She rested the brush in her hand and stared into the mirror, at the wan and frightened girl sitting there. The girl was lovely enough; Sansa had always been proud of her rich red-brown hair, her long eyelashes, her shell-pink mouth. But her expression was one of desperation, despite how she tried to hope. All of the color had drained from her face until she had been left pale and drained. She reached for the skin powders when suddenly her door opened.

Sansa leapt to her feet, her heart choking her. She knew for one awful second that it was Joffrey, come to her at last to force himself on her before he wed his queen Margaery. She was hardly dressed; a simple cream slip embroidered with seed pearls was all that protected her.

But then the queen walked into her room, beautiful, proud, and terrible. Sanse rose to her feet and curtseyed perfectly, as she'd been taught.

"Your Grace," she murmured, her eyes low. She couldn't bear to look at this woman who had taken her family from her and fooled her into captivity. But today the queen smiled, her beauty radiating across the room. She was cloaked in light green, her sleeves long and sweeping and her golden hair piled intricately on top of her head. It brought out the rich green of her Lannister eyes.

"Sansa, dear Sansa, rise," she said in a musical voice. Sansa stood, self-conscious in her plain slip. But the queen moved swiftly to her and put her hands on her shoulders. Sansa was surprised to find that she was nearly as tall as her; they were a mere three or so inches apart in height. "I have the most wonderful news for you, sweet girl."

"I...I am eager to hear, your Grace," said Sansa meekly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Had Cersei heard of her betrothal to Willas? Did she think she was breaking it to her now, that Sansa didn't already know? She could not imagine what the queen meant to tell her that she did not already know. Margaery's grandmother had quite indulged Sansa in the going-ons of court, things she should never have known.

"My dear, you are to be wed," said Cersei triumphantly, her green eyes joyful and angry at the same time. Sansa made herself smile and laugh, though she hated to do so for this wicked woman.

"Oh, I had thought it to be such!" she giggled despite herself. Catching her slip, she blushed and curtseyed again. It would not do to reveal that she was getting information from Margaery. "After my flowering, that is, my queen. I knew that I was soon to be wed." The queen gave her an odd look, but seemed to dismiss any suspicions. Cersei smiled easily, but Sansa wasn't fooled by the queen's shows anymore. She knew better than that.

"Then, dear Sansa, I welcome you into my family!" she exclaimed, drawing the young girl into her richly clad arms. Sansa stiffened in Cersei's grasp, a motion that didn't go unnoticed to the queen. "You'll be the loveliest little sister, I'm sure, so beautiful and courtly..."

"Sister?" gasped Sansa, wrenching herself back and from the queen's arms. "Your-your family?" It would have been bad enough to have some lion cousin thrust upon her, but to be queen Cersei's sister meant that it was one of two men she knew; either Jaime Lannister, the hot-tempered oathbreaker who warred with her brother, or Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf. Sansa wasn't sure which one was worse. "Oh, please, don't, please-"

"Now stop that, it's quite unseemly," said Queen Regent Cersei harshly. "You should be honored, to be wed to the heir to Casterly Rock. It's something many a girl has dreamed of, to be sure. You're going to be announced tonight at supper, by King Joffrey himself no less. It's more than the daughter of a traitor can ask for, so you had better be gracious about it."

"He's...he's so much older than me!" she squeaked, trying not to cry. Cersei scoffed and waved her hand, all formalities and courtesies gone from her manner.

"He's much younger than Jon Arryn was when he wed your aunt Lysa Tully. She had to have been your age, and he near his deathbed. Greater distances in age have been breached, yours will be no worse than theirs. Ser Jaime is still young, stop being naive."

Sansa bowed her head, her long hair hiding her tears as she grieved for the escape she had so hoped for through Willas. She had to be brave, though. As a captive, and as a Stark of Winterfell, she would be brave no matter what they threw at her. When she raised her head, the tears were gone and she was as cold and hard as the stones of her ice castle. Cersei had waited patiently for her reply, and she too seemed to resonate a chill from deep in her heart. Sansa felt that, for the first time, she and Cersei shared the bitterness of the same cup.

"What shall I wear for supper, then?"

Everything flew through Sansa's head as she dressed herself. Jaime Lannister wasn't even here, the last she had heard was of his escape from her mother and brother, Lady Catelyn Stark and Robb. On top of that, he wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard, which meant that he wasn't to wed or hold lands.

Also, she couldn't be sure that Joffrey would even listen to his mother. He certainly had defied her before, and his perverse grasp on Sansa was one that he cherished dearly.

Every thought that stumbled through her shocked brain was one that she welcomed with another burst of hope that glimmered weakly from deep inside her. But, regardless of what happened, she would be a Stark of Winterfell. Though she might marry one, she would never be a Lannister.

The thought strengthened her, made her cold. The dress she chose was charcoal grey of body, laced with dazzling silver from the Myrish isles. It bared her shoulders and the tops of her breasts, and long, delicate grey gloves covered her hands. Buttons of mother-of-pearl lined the sides of the dress, and matched her necklace. Cloaked in white and grey, the colors of Winterfell, she looked all the more a princess of the North, very fitting for her announcement.

Seeing herself in the mirror reminded her of her mother, who she hadn't seen in what seemed like years. Her eyes would have burned, but the strength of the wolf ran through her. She pinned back her hair with a mother-of-pearl pin shaped like the snarling face of a direwolf.

"I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell," she told her reflection in the long glass. "I can be brave."

Her reflection did not respond to that. It showed a scared girl in an enormous, lavishly decorated room. But she felt better saying the words out loud.

A knock came on the door, and it was Loras Tyrell of the Kingsguard who waited to escort her to the supper. Sansa blushed and took the arm that he offered.

"Ser Loras, you look so handsome," she burst, unable to help it when she saw how his white cloak fell gracefully over his silver armor. He smiled graciously, taking her breath away. His eyes were so deep and lovely, she could not look away.

"You're too kind, Lady Sansa," he said quietly, gently. "But I fear all eyes will be on you tonight. Your loveliness surpasses all."

If, somehow, the Lannisters were freeing Ser Jaime from the Kingsguard to wed her, why then couldn't they do them same for Loras? Sansa wished with all of her heart that it was Ser Loras who was being released from his vows, who would wed her in the fragrant castle of Highgarden with an adoring crowd and her brother to hand over his protection. For the few minutes of her walk with him, she pretended that it was.

But then it was over and they were in the courtyard, with the Tyrells and the Redwynes and the Lannisters and all their wards all around. The air was cool, but great burning pits roasted all manner of birds and game, and bursts of laugher serenaded through the castle. It was a beautiful, courtly scene, but one that Sansa regarded with dread. Ser Loras patted her hand before releasing her to the announcer.

"The Lady Sansa of House Stark," called the announcer loudly, and she was welcomed by a smattering of calls and greetings. She saw Margaery gesture to her, and despite the fact that the young betrothed was seated next to Joffrey, Sansa approached her and curtseyed. She felt that Joffrey would behave himself in front of his bride to be.

"Sansa, it's tonight," whispered Margaery in her ear so softly that Sansa hardly heard her. "Father will announce your offer tonight!" Sansa felt her heart drop.

"Margaery, I-"

"It's good to see my ladies conversing as such," said Joffrey loudly, and Sansa quickly shut her mouth. "I am glad to see the two of you friends." Margaery laughed and said something witty, but Sansa was just relieved that he was playing gallant. At the same time, her nerves tingled unpleasantly. Now it was simply a matter of who would speak first.

The first course was served, a creamy soup of crab legs and soft leeks. Sansa sipped at it, her appetite all but gone, while Margaery, Joffrey, and her cousins all chatted about the fine weather.

"Oh, Lady Sansa, your dress is so beautiful!" exclaimed Margaery lovingly, touching the mother-of-pearl buttons. "Megga has one sort of like this, but in red, you should see it! And the buttons are all bright green, oh when she wears it at the tourneys it's so lovely, you really need to see!"

Sansa could only nod and chew at a leek as she waited to hear her fate.

Lord Tywin Lannister was there, seated with Lord Tyrell. Cersei sat between her father and Margaery's grandmother, but she seemed sullen and reserved, preferring the company of her spiced wine to that of those around her.

But, suddenly, she rose and walked towards them from behind the guests. Few noticed her movement, and she stopped to whisper something into Joff's ear. Sansa's skin prickled all over. Here, it was here where her claim to Winterfell would be lost. But Cersei straightened and walked away, exiting the courtyard as silently as a snake. And still Joffrey said nothing, instead feeding Margaery a bite of sliced peach with the tip of his knife.

The mumbling of the guests were white noise to her, she couldn't make sense of their words. Her breath was heavy in her mouth, and she realized that she had been holding it.

"Sansa, is something wrong?" whispered Margaery's cousin, Megga, at Sansa's left. The cool breeze ruffled at their hair, and the smoky smell of the roasted boar drifted across the table. Sansa took a deep breath and managed a smile. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly somebody stood. Sansa looked up to see Lord Tyrell rising from his chair.

Her heart stopped, and her breath returned for a brief moment of disbelief and hope.

"My Lord Tyrell, I'm sure they'll bring the boar to you. Please, don't bother yourself for it," said Joffrey suddenly and loudly. He smiled at the lord brightly until Lord Tyrell had no choice but to seat himself again. Joffrey stood, throwing out his arms in a grand gesture. Gods, no...

"Lord and ladies of the court!" he burst, as pleased as ever to hold the entire court's attention. "I have a grand announcement to make! I am so very glad to tell you all that my lovely Sansa won't be alone for very much longer!"

Margaery looked at Sansa in alarm, but Sansa couldn't meet her eyes. She couldn't do anything but breathe and focus on not running away at this moment.

"For when my dearest uncle Ser Jaime returns, because of his undying devotion to the throne and his valor in battle, he is to be allowed hearth and home, releasing him from his vows as a member of the Kingsguard! And our sweet lady Sansa has offered him her own!"

Sansa blushed harder than ever as every member of the Tyrell family froze for half a second before clapping politely. Margaery stared at her in open shock, but Sansa couldn't bring herself to meet her eyes. Did Joffrey have to phrase it that way? She felt ashamed, felt that everyone must think her wanton, to offer herself to a knight in that way. But Cersei had threatened her with certain punishment if she humiliated her son or brother in any way, and so it was all she could do to smile and look pleased.

"I am glad to welcome her into my family, perhaps not as a wife, but a Lannister nonetheless!" And as he finished, as was proper, Sansa stood to allow him to embrace her. He did so chastely enough, but she could not help the words that slithered from his mouth. "And when my uncle is busy with other things, I'll make sure you have some Lannister kittens."

Sansa could have cried, but she stayed frozen until he withdrew and she could take her seat again. The court picked up the talk again at once, this time congratulating both Sansa and the Lannisters on the worthy pairing.

"Oh, I wonder what color the babies will be?" gushed a lady of one of the lower houses, perhaps a bannerman line. "Red hair or gold? Blue eyes or green?"

"They'll be lovely, no doubt!"

"Oh an autumn wedding, how wonderful!"

"Sansa Lannister...that's a pretty name, there! Better than Sansa Baratheon, if you ask me!"

"I had wondered when Ser Jaime would settle down with a wife, I always knew the Kingsguard wasn't enough for him."

"Will they live at Winterfell, then?"

"They can stay in the Palace for a while, at least."

Sansa endured the comments of the court for as long as she could. It was something she might have enjoyed, if she were in Winterfell and marrying a handsome, young, high-bred knight that her father had chosen for her. Someone good and kind, someone who would treat her well...someone that she loved. But Lannisters were all the same; never had she been treated well by any of them. And she could not love a Lannister.