"She's a child."
Jaime Lannister paced his father's study, his long red cape hanging to halfway down his calves. His eyes were ferocious; he's always been passionate in his beliefs, and he strongly believed that this was a terrible idea.
"She's a woman flowered," said Lord Tywin firmly, straightening the papers on his desk without a glance at his eldest son. "A lovely girl, I might add. Many of the young men here are quite envious of you, Jaime." His son scoffed behind him.
"Young being the key word, father. Fledglings, green boys. I want no part of their Lady Stark, they can have her." Lord Tywin turned in his chair, his breath hard and angry.
"And her claim too? Jaime, give me a name. Tell me who could be the Lord Protector of Winterfell and I'll gladly hand them the Stark girl. Tyrion? That dwarf is no leader of men. The Northmen will take it for an insult should we send him there. Lancel? The fool can barely stand, let alone get her with child. I am the Hand of the King; my place will be here, and I cannot leave north. Martyn is held captive by Robb Stark, Tyrek is missing, Daven is marrying a Frey. Like it or not, Jaime, our line is running rather low on eligible sons."
"Just give her to Tyrion, he's as capable as any!" growled Jaime, running a hand through his short hair. "Or Tommon, for god's sake. Let her stay here for the time being with Tommen!"
"What we need isn't merely a husband, Jaime!" snapped Tywin, his expression bright and angry. "We need someone strong to control a realm! Tommen is too easily manipulated, and as I've said before, the Northmen will be insulted by the sight of Tyrion on their chair. If they believe that Sansa Stark willingly married a strong, generous man, then they might more easily bend to the will of the Lannisters, and just like that we have the North!"
"Fine, then let me take her north and wed her there," said Jaime in a low voice, but his father laughed.
"Jaime, you and that girl will not leave until she is carrying a child in her belly," he said firmly, and that was that.
She hadn't seen Jaime Lannister around in days.
Not that she'd minded; Sansa now spent most of her time hawking and riding with Margaery and her ladies, enjoying the pleasant company of women for once. Jaime spent most of his time with his father and siblings, and with the Kingsguard. He was most often seen with Cersei, walking with her and speaking quietly with her. Sansa knew them to be twins, and it was strange how alike they looked. If Ser Jaime had grown his curls out again, it would have been uncanny, but he seemed to prefer it short now. She'd heard from Margaery that they were crafting a golden hand for him to wear in place of his real one.
Now that was something for the singers...the traitor maid of Winterfell marrying her enemy, the golden-handed lion of Lannister. The thought of his golden hand gave her shivers.
But as far as singers went, Redrick seemed less inclined to write about her love story with the Kingslayer, and more inclined to write one for them. Every day he presented her with a dozen new songs and poems; he could no longer tell her how he loved her, but instead he furiously wrote songs for the court, and Sansa knew they were for her. 'Snow Princess,' 'Roses for his Wife,' 'A Widow's Love,' each song he wrote was filled with passion and longing. He was often chosen to sing for the court at supper, and Sansa couldn't help but be sad when she heard the sorrow in his voice. But she was seated next to Jaime for every supper, so she dared not even look at her singer then.
He rode with them still, singing and laughing with she and their companions, but it was different now. Her wedding was looming ever closer, and they could both feel it in the air.
They were all sitting in the Maidenvault when he noticed a deep purple bruise on her upper arm. Taking her arm gently in his hands, he touched it with his cool fingers. Sansa didn't flinch away, but she could not stop a slight wince when he rubbed it a little.
"Where did you get this?" he asked her quietly, much too soft for the Tyrells to hear. Sansa looked down and shrugged. She withdrew her arm from him.
"He...my Lord Lannister underestimated his strength," she murmured, touching the bruise tenderly. "He only grabbed my arm." Still, Redrick looked furious. His lustrous dark eyes were sad and outraged all at once, and he took her face gently in his hands.
"No one should harm a precious flower like yourself," he growled, his hands trembling on her skin. "By the gods, I would kill him..."
Sansa laughed and touched his hand affectionately. "Sweet Redrick, you are no fighter. And even if you did kill him, it would only mean death for you." His eyes met hers in defiance.
"Not if I challenged him for your hand," he argued, but she shushed him and touched his lips. Her expression was no longer playful, but deathly serious.
"My mother had a man challenge for her hand, for love," she said slowly, firmly. "He thought that his love for her would win out over the strength of his opponent. He lost, and was banished. Love doesn't always win. It's strength and cunning that will overpower everything else in the end."
He nodded sadly, his dark curls brushing his shoulders briefly. But, before she could stop him, he leaned forward and stole another kiss. "He might have your hand, but I'll always hold your heart, I know." She smiled.
"My heart belongs in Winterfell," she said softly, standing. He stood with her, half a head taller than her. His handsome face still took her breath away.
"Then to Winterfell we shall go, my love," and he leaned forward and kissed her hair. "You and I will be there together one day. I care not for worldly vows, my only vow is that of truth and love. Marry your Lannister if you want, but be the wife of my heart."
"Pretty words for a singer," she teased him, "but merely words."
"And what words!" burst a voice from behind them, and Sansa nearly jumped out of her skin. They both whipped around, and the Kingslayer himself was standing in the great doorway of the Maidenvault. Margaery and her cousins leapt to their feet, not particularly aware of the words exchanged between Sansa and the singer but quite aware that Jaime Lannister had entered their private rooms.
"Ser Jaime, we welcome your presence, but need I remind you that this is the Maidenvault?" said Margaery icily, drawing herself up. "We of course take no offense at the intrusion, but it is unseemly for an uninvited man to allow himself in here."
"Don't worry yourselves ladies, I am merely here to fetch my darling and ever-faithful betrothed. She won't belong to the Maidenvault for too much longer, I dare say," he said rather crudely, and Sansa couldn't believe how much this vile man made her blush. He held out his good hand. "To me, Sansa."
He was calling her again like a dog, but it wouldn't do to cause a scene here. She would endure him with a good temper until she was back safe and sound at Winterfell, like he'd promised. She drew herself up and walked to him, but she did not accept his hand. Rather, she walked up beside him and bid her companions a good day until her return.
"Your singer seems to have developed quite a liking for you," he commented as they walked through the vast halls. Sansa tried hard not to show any reaction to his words, and the coldness came to her quickly. She pretended she was with Joffrey again, enduring his poisonous words and trying not to get herself hurt.
"Singers are singularly passionate people, but their passions come and go," she said airily, not quite responding to his comment but not ignoring him either. "Not unlike most other men." He laughed at that, and let the subject go, for which she was grateful. "Where are you taking me?"
"Did you forget our wedding tomorrow? I'm so disappointed, I had hoped you at least marked the date," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. She stiffened at that, irritated by his endless japes, but continued walking beside him. She hadn't forgotten the fear she'd felt as his rage, and much preferred his teasing in its stead. "Anyhow, you're to be in your room for the fitting of the dress and other womanly things, I assume. I'm not allowed to see you again until we're standing on the altar, try your hardest to hold your tears. It's difficult, I know."
She might have laughed at his humor once, but she could not laugh now. Not when she was a mere day away from losing her maidenhood and becoming a Lannister all at once.
"And here we are. We part at these doors, my little wife, take care not to do anything silly between now and tomorrow, and I bid you goodnight." He swept a low bow, grasping her hand and kissing her fingertips. Sansa wasn't sure that anything he had just said was serious, especially when he called her that mocking nickname. But then he turned and was gone, and she was left standing outside of her own room.
The guards opened the door for her, and inside waited Cersei Lannister, Myrcella, Leonette, and a few serving ladies. Leonette and Myrcella looked absolutely ecstatic, but Cersei had an expression of patient suffering on her face.
"Alright Sansa, strip."
She slipped out of her soft yellow dress, the blue lacing sliding undone under her shaking fingers. Leonette began rummaging through a chest while Cersei helped to undo the laces in the back of Sansa's corset. To her embarrassment, Cersei continued to pull off even her smallclothes, until she stood as naked as the day she was born. The ladies did not seem to dwell on that, however, and rather ignored Sansa's flushed attempts to cover herself.
"How about this one?" called Leonette, apparently holding something up, but Sansa's back was to her and she couldn't see. The queen regent shook her head though, a small laugh bursting through her thin lips.
"There's no way. That color would be terrible with her hair. Besides, Jaime detests pink."
"Then how about the white one? Does Ser Jaime favor himself a virgin?"
"Jaime favors a woman grown with experience. There's no need to remind him how young she is." Sansa felt her heart drop for one terrified moment. Would she be a disappointment, then? Would he be disgusted or frustrated with her innocence? But the thoughts were cast from her mind. Why should she care how he felt about her? It wasn't her fault she was a maid, and were it her choice she would be one forever if it meant not marrying a Lannister.
"The sheer black?"
"Hm...it's sheer, so it shouldn't show through the white of the gown. Anyways, the gown is a thick material, I don't believe the color matters. Sure, do the sheer."
Margaery burst into the room suddenly, breathless and delighted. "I'm so sorry Sansa, I'd forgotten that this was today! I'd have taken you here myself if I'd remembered!" She looked over Sansa's shoulder, her eyes widened, and suddenly she giggled quite girlishly.
"What? I don't-" Leonette stepped into view and began to stuff something over Sansa's head. It was soft, delicate, and most very sheer. "No! No! Stop, I don't -take it off this instant!" She squealed in a very unladylike manner until the three women had successfully pulled the delicate garment over Sansa's bare body. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and gaped, unable to look for more than a moment without flushing a dark red.
The garment they had chosen was low and short, as best described, reaching from mid-breast to the very tops of her thighs, hardly hiding her most private area between her legs. It was laced with silvery blue at the top and the hem, and also running down the sides, the design alternately rising and falling and curling to accentuate her most feminine parts. It was so sheer that nothing was hidden. Sansa could see her entire body, from the dimple of her bellybutton to the curves of her abdomen, and not to mention her nipples, breasts, and mound.
"Do I have to wear this?" she squeaked, attempting to cover her body with her hands. The ladies laughed merrily, all but Cersei Lannister.
"Sansa, it's all in good fun!" giggled Margaery, tickling the back of Sansa's thigh playfully.
"Yes, you'll be in that or nothing anyways, or both!" laughed Lady Leonette, but Sansa somehow felt that nothing might be better than this absolutely scandalous garment.
"Am I allowed to look yet?" complained Myrcella, who had been ordered by all three not to look until they said so.
"It will be beneath your wedding gown, besides, so no one else will see it anyways," said Cersei shortly, grabbing the heavy white gown that was laid out on the bed. "Come now, Leonette, help me get this on her."
And so they spend nearly an hour putting Sansa's wedding dress on her.
It was quite a beautiful dress, she had to admit. The gown was gossamer, falling about her hips like a fairy's wings. The corset, of a stronger material, pushed up what breasts she had, and was decorated in scales of mother-of-pearl. Half-sleeves were tightened to her arms, falling in transparent folds to her hands, and she wore a lovely headdress over her forehead and hair, also of mother-of-pearl. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, traditional for maidens to be wed. Sansa took one look in the mirror and nearly burst into tears.
"Sansa," said Margaery breathlessly, "I hope I look half as lovely as you for my wedding day!"
"Yes, I'm sure Ser Jaime will be quite pleased," said the queen dryly. "Maid, take in the hem a little bit, and the sides of the corset too. Have it ready by tomorrow." The maid curtseyed and made note of the measurements to be taken in. They all began to unlace the lovely gown, and Margaery took the headdress and put it back into its velvet-lined box.
"Get some sleep tonight, Lady Sansa, you've got a long day tomorrow." Cersei left her before they had finished removing the gown, leaving Leonette and Margaery to put away the heavy dress. Sansa helped them as much as she could. Myrcella watched with large eyes, playing with a paper flower she had found on Sansa's desk.
"I'll stay with you tonight, Sansa," said Margaery secretly. "I know you must be terribly nervous alone in here!"
"Thank you," murmured Sansa in return, feeling closer to Margaery than ever. The Tyrell girl embraced her warmly as Lady Leonette bid them a cheerful goodnight and left.
"Can I stay too?" burst Myrcella, quite caught up in the excitement. Sansa smiled and held out her hand.
"Of course you may stay," she offered pleasantly. "We can tell stories until it gets dark, come Myrcella!" They leapt into bed to play Knights and Maidens and tell stories of dragons, wizards, goblins, and witches until they all three shivered with delightful horror.
Myrcella fell fast asleep first, leaving the two girls awake as she snored softly between them in the enormous bed.
"How do you feel, Sansa?" asked Margaery seriously, her expression concerned. "Will you be okay?" Sansa knew she shouldn't trust anyone, but Margaery made her feel so safe and protected, especially from Joffrey, that she had few qualms about sharing her thoughts with the girl.
"I don't know," confessed Sansa. "It doesn't even seem real. He's...he's no Joffrey. He hurt me once, but it was an accident, I don't...he loses his temper sometimes. I'm a little frightened of him. He gets so very angry with me. And he teases me so, all the time."
"Still, it could be worse," whispered Margaery, taking Sansa's hand across Myrcella. "If I didn't have Ser Loras, and Highgarden, to protect me, I wouldn't want to face Joff alone. I understand. But when I'm queen, I can send him away all the time to do bidding for the kingdom. Perhaps I can convince Joff to allow a separation between you two, should he desire it also. Or gift you with a personal guard from Highgarden, under the royal command."
"You're too kind," replied Sansa, squeezing Margaery's hand tightly. "But I'm a Stark of Winterfell. We've endured the cold before, and we always will. I shall suffer through this as did many before me, and if the gods are kind, some good may come of it after all."
"You're very brave," laughed Margaery quietly. "How I would have liked you for a sister."
"You can be my sister anyways," murmured Sansa, but Margaery was already asleep.