As the Tyrells had predicted, Joffrey was giving rewards to the people who helped during the battle. Tywin Lannister was the first one to receive his reward. He rode in on a white horse. "I, Joffrey of the house Baratheon, first of my name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my grandfather Tywin Lannister the savior of the city and the Hand of the King," Joffrey said.

A steward lowered, allowing Joffrey to place the pin on a cushion before it was delivered to Tywin.

Dyana couldn't help but think about the last time Tywin Lannister was Hand. He'd been Hand to Aerys Targaryen. The Mad King.

Tywin bowed when he received the pin. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said, and he rode out of the throne room.

Joffrey waved his hand toward the people. "Lord Petyr Baelish," he stated, "step forward."

Petyr did as told, kneeling before Joffrey. "For your good service and ingenuity in uniting the houses of Lannister and Tyrell, I declare that you shall be granted the castle of Harrenhal... With all it's attendant lands and incomes to be held by your sons and grandsons from this day until the end of time," Joffrey said.

"You honor me beyond words, Your Grace," Petyr replied, rising to his feet. "I shall have to acquire some sons and grandsons."

This brought forth laughter, and Petyr grinned, relishing in it as he returned to his place.

Up on the balconies, Dyana saw familiar red hair. Sansa was watching. Dyana raised her hand slowly, starting to wave when Joffrey suddenly spoke. "Ser Loras Tyrell."

Loras stepped away from Margaery and Dyana, kneeling before the king. "Your house has come to our aid," Joffrey said. "The whole realm is in your debt, none more so than I. If your family would ask anything of me, ask it and it shall be yours."

Loras hesitated before he answered. "Your Grace, my sisters, Margaery and Dyana, Dyana's husband was taken from us before... she remains innocent. As does Margaery. I would ask you to find it in your heart to do us the great honor of joining our houses. You may have your choice of my sisters."

Joffrey straightened in his seat on the throne as murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. "Well," he said, his eyes darting between the two girls. "I couldn't marry Lady Dyana, she was wed to a traitor. Would you want to marry me, Lady Margaery?"

Margaery smiled. "With all my heart, Your Grace," she said, stepping to Loras's side. "I have come to love you afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears. And those tales have taken root deep inside of me."

"Well, I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but the tales do not do you justice, my lady. It would be an honor to return your love, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."

Cersei looked over at her son. "Your Grace, in the judgement of your small council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne as we speak. For the good of the realm, your councilors beg you... to set Sansa Stark aside," she said.

The murmurs broke out again. Dyana caught Sansa's gaze, and she offered the girl a smile. "Margaery!" the crowd cheered. "We want Margaery!"

Joffrey got to his feet, raising a hand for silence. "I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but I took a holy vow."

Maester Pycelle spoke up next. "Your Grace," he said, "the Gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn, but your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the Starks revealed their falseness. I have consulted with the High Septon and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them in the sight of the Gods."

Joffrey let out a sigh, smiling. "The Gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister, Lady Margaery."

He looked at Margaery, who was smiling brightly. "You will be my queen and I will love you from this day until my last day."

Applause broke out from the crowd. Dyana joined, smiling a smile that did not meet her eyes. She looked up at Sansa, who's face held an expression of pure shock. The Stark girl stepped away from the balcony's edge, walking away.

Petyr moved toward the stairs, and Dyana quickly followed him. "My lady," he said, and Sansa spun around, gasping. "My sincerest condolences."

Sansa nodded slowly. "They're right- - I'm not good enough for him."

"You shouldn't say that. You'll be good enough for many things. He'll still enjoy beating you. And now that you're a woman, he'll be able to enjoy you in other ways as well."

"But if he's not marrying me- -" Sansa began.

"He'll let you go home?" Petyr interrupted, shaking his head. "Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys. You have a tender heart, just like your mother did at your age. I can see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me. For your sake, I'll help get you home."

Sansa hesitated a long time before she answered. "King's Landing is my home now."

Petyr looked back. Then he spoke again. "Look around you," he said. "We're all liars here. And every one of us is better than you."

He took a few steps away, turning around fully and catching Dyana's gaze. "Lady Dyana," he greeted.

"Littlefinger," she said coolly.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping around her and returning to the crowd of people.

Dyana stepped toward Sansa, smiling. "It's been a year since I last saw you," she noted.

"That was at my father's tourney," Sansa replied.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Lady Sansa."

"If I can call you Ana, then you can call me Sansa."

Dyana chuckled, bowing her head. "All right," she said. "Sansa."