By the time Tywin Lannister received reports from Casterly Rock that it was being overrun by Northmen and a strange unit of soldiers bearing neither color nor sigil, he had gripped his quill so hard that it cut him. Then, when the next raven came in, bearing news that the Lannister army at Casterly Rock was utterly decimated, he had shown a rare glimpse of rage in the form of hurling said quill into the nearest beam. The third raven was the one that was the last straw. It was a relatively short message, and it was the cumulation of all of Tywin's greatest fears.
"You have nothing."
It was strange, how those three simple words could incite so much fear in the man that was known as the "most feared man in all of Westeros". Nothing. The Lannisters had nothing. Casterly Rock was three times higher than the Wall. It had granaries, dungeons, halls, stables, mines, hundreds of hallways, stairwells and gardens. The mine shafts on the Rock were hundreds of feet deep, and the Rock overlooked Lannisport, the harbor of Westerlands and the Sunset Sea. Yet, the Lannisters were said to have nothing.
Nevertheless, Tywin Lannister had already got past his rage once he scrunched up that last message into a ball and trampled on it with full force before picking it back up to shred it to pieces. He had already started calculating what he should do next to salvage the situation. A pack of Northern wolves were now in his family's ancestral seat. How Robb Stark could have done it without the Frey's help, he could not understand. If he had the help of sellswords, was the North so wealthy that they could have just bought the 10000 men that they had lost? If that was the case, where did he find 10000 sellswords in so short a time?
Question mounted upon question, until his thoughts were disturbed by both Tyrion and Cersei barging into his chambers in the Tower of the Hand, their voices in nigh unison for the first time in their very lives.
"Father, I've heard that the bloody Starks have..."
"Overrun the Rock..."
"We must do something!"
"... can't just stand here..."
"Will you two just shut up!" Tywin bellowed. Also, for the first time in his life, two of his most argumentative children fell silent immediately and slinked into the chairs nearest to them. "I know, Robb Stark and his men have taken the Rock. How he did it, I do not know, but if he is allowed to walk away and tell the tale that he did, we will have more problems than we've ever faced before."
Tyrion scrunched up his face in disbelief. "Wait... what did the Starks find at the Rock?" he asked. "We've nothing..."
A deadly silence came across the room, and there was no doubt that Cersei caught the emphasis of the silence. She just didn't believe it. "What do you mean... nothing?" she demanded of her father and brother. "We have manpower... gold, how could there be nothing?"
Tywin heaved an open, heavy sigh. As clever as his only daughter thought herself to be, she was only clever in her own mind. She never knew how to grasp the power that she had gained for herself, and only knew how to run amok like a headless chicken when true tests of her ability would arise. "Our mines have collapsed three years ago," he admitted to his daughter. "We've not produced a single ounce of gold ever since." Not that Lannister gold was useful in any way, given the current times. Even if they had the gold, the gold was given to the Crown to fund its current wars and tourneys that King Robert so dearly loved, as well as his drinking and whoring. Even if the Crown did not owe the Lannisters gold, there was no way to have earned money from said gold because using this much of the stuff to buy other materials like food, clothing and shelter would only drive the inflation in Westeros higher. It would have been counter-productive. He was less worried about the fact that they no longer produced physical gold, in fact. What he was worried about was that the Starks had unseated his family from their own ancestral seat so suddenly and he could not find a reason why.
In fact, he knew that he had to swallow his pride and call for a meeting of the Small Council to remedy the situation. "What do we know about the current situation at the Westerlands and the Riverlands?" Tywin asked the Small Council after he made sure that Cersei would not be there to disrupt matters. "Apart from the armies marching about, what else is happening?"
Varys shrugged. "My little birds tell me as always that the smallfolk are starving and their lands are burning, my Lord Hand," he said. "Even now, the merchants have nowhere to sell their wares and they are turning home in search of food and shelter."
Pycelle nodded. "Chaos... utter chaos," he added. "More flock to King's Landing for protection every day," he said. "With agriculture at almost a complete stop in those regions, and with winter coming, I believe that we have to expect a famine soon."
Famine, such a word did not sit well with any one on the Small Council at all. Although famine rarely hit the nobles and the rich, it was a great bane to the smallfolk, and every wise politician knew that at the end of the day, the happiness and welfare of the smallfolk was paramount to their survival. The riots in the capital that happened just after Princess Myrcella was sent to Dorne was the testimony to this truth.
"What about this year's harvests?" Tywin asked, trying to get a grasp of the situation. "How much food do we have left for those regions?"
"The numbers are appalling," Tyrion replied. "Thirty thousand bushels of wheat, forty thousand bushes of barley and twenty thousand bushels of oats. There are only three thousand tonnes of fish left and virtually enough livestock to feed half the adults in the current situation. It's not enough to last through the war, much less winter."
At the end of the day, the ones who would suffer the most from war would be the smallfolk. They were the ones who grew the food, and they were the ones who have had their fields burnt down because of war. When men who were supposed to work the fields are conscripted to become soldiers to fight one another, the product of food is lessened, and thus, their suffering increases.
"We can still rely on the Tyrells for our food supply," Pycelle offered. The Tyrell-Lannister alliance not only brought victory to the Battle of Blackwater Bay, but also great amounts of food with them.
"When winter comes, what will the Tyrells feed their own people in the Reach with?" Tyrion fired back cynically. "Most likely, they'll take back what is theirs and high-tail back to Highgarden."
Varys sided with Tyrion in this argument. "The Tyrells might have agreed to give us certain amounts, but I wouldn't put too much stock in them unless we see the actual stores that they claim to have brought with them."
"Agreed..." Tywin said, but before he could continue, the doors before them smashed open, revealing Joffrey, seething in anger as he walked towards the Small Council. "Ah, Your Grace, how nice of you to join us..."
It would seem that Joffrey was not willing to suffer any niceties with his own grandfather that morning. "How could you let that Stark bastard take Casterly Rock?" he burst out, as if the knowledge that the Lannisters had been unseated by the already-unseated Starks was not the subject on everyone's minds.
"Your Grace, we are now trying to find a solution to this matter," Tywin said coolly, as he always did with this particular grandson of his. "If you were so kind as to help us find the culprits that tipped the scales to Robb Stark's favor, we would be all ears to listen to what you have to say."
Joffrey closed his mouth and gulped. Obviously, he could not find a solution. So, he started guessing. "It must be the Vale!" he said. "They've been wanting revenge for Jon Arryn's death... and... and... they're blaming it on us!"
"Your Grace, the lords of the Vale have been neutral since the start of the war," Varys cautioned. "None of them has ever moved a hand in the current conflict and they never will."
"D... Dorne, then!" Joffrey spat.
Tyrion sighed. "Your sister is in Dorne and will soon wed their Prince Trystane," he told his nephew. "Besides, Sunspear is too far away to reach Robb Stark without having alerted those in the Reach and the Stormlands. They'd have to fight through whatever the Tyrells still have and Stannis as well to get to the Rock."
There was no way Dorne would have a hand in this. House Martell and House Baratheon were soon to be in-laws. They were promised a seat upon a Small Council upon Myrcella's betrothal to their youngest prince and they had yet to claim it. In any case, Dorne had isolated itself from the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms ever since Jon Arryn managed to stop them from rising up against King Robert following Princess Elia's death at the hands of Ser Gregor Clegane.
"Your Grace, I suggest you leave this Council if you don't have anything substantial to help us with," Tywin said, dismissing his grandson altogether. "When we reach a solution, we will call for you and report it to you."
Visibly angered, Joffrey stormed out of the chamber just as quickly as he had entered.
"I will make myself clear," Tywin stressed, "no one will leave these chambers until we have reached the solution for a counterattack on the Stark army."
If there was one thing that Joffrey had learned from his mother, it would be to lash out to those around him whenever he was angered. Now, he had the perfect subject and the perfect trigger. He would not let this opportunity pass at all. He had a cat o' nine tails in his hand, and he knew precisely how to use it.
Sansa Stark was brought before him in the throne room, her expression blank as always. "Your Grace," she barely murmured with a deep curtsy, ignoring the smug look on his face.
"Do you know why I've summoned you here?" Joffrey asked her.
"No, Your Grace," Sansa replied. Even if she did know, she feigned ignorance. She had learned this the hard way that it was her only way to survive. She had cried tears of joy in the safety of her own rooms when she heard of the news that her brother had taken Casterly Rock from under the Lannister's noses. Shae had been the one to tell her the news, and she was so happy that she even hugged her handmaiden.
"Kneel!" Joffrey commanded and Sansa dropped to her knees immediately, her movements almost like clockwork. "Since you're so stupid not to catch the news, I'll tell it to you, word by word." Sansa cast her eyes downwards, not wanting to see how falsely triumphant Joffrey had looked, twirling the cat o' nine tails in his hand is if it was a simple plaything. "Your traitor brother has had a brilliant victory," he said, whipping her arm, causing her to jump with a pained cry. "He dared to take Casterly Rock and steal everything there..."
Once again, the many ends of the cat o' nine tails came into contact with Sansa. This time, they grazed her neck. It was a sight that not many had the heart to watch, but even less dared to stop. Not when the King was in this state of rage, not when the Starks had such a clear victory. One false move or word would end their lives as they knew it, and they dared not risk a thing.
These days, Sansa no longer tried to defend her brother's actions openly. Joffrey would beat and abuse her anyways, even if she did. Instead of staring directly into Joffrey's eyes, she looked into those that belonged to the people around them. Those that stood and watched, those that did nothing to help her, even those that had the audacity to laugh with the King and praise him in his brutal treatment of her. Silently, she imparted all of those faces into memory and vowed that they would all have their just desserts if and when she had the chance.
"Your Grace!" a clear, almost musical voice interrupted them. "Your Grace, you must calm yourself!" It was none other than Margery Tyrell. "I believe that you will have the ability to recover from these great losses, but first, you must collect yourself and not lose hope!" Such sweet words from such a sweet lady. Margery held Sansa's blue eyes for the slightest moment and gave her a quick nod before reaching out to take Joffrey's arm in hers. "Your Grace must remember that your vengeance will be quick. Your wrath will be heard with the soldiers you will send in retaliation."
Joffrey smirked. "Yes, I will have Grandfather lead the counterattack himself!" he exclaimed, gradually forgetting about Sansa. As Margery pulled him further away from the poor girl, she finally looked back at Sansa and mouthed for her to escape the throne room. Sansa did not need to be told twice and quickly picked herself up and escaped the throne room before Joffrey even noticed that she had left.
Her arms and neck had stung from being whipped, but she did not mind. Her brother Robb had a great triumph and soon, he would gain enough momentum to advance nearer to King's Landing. Her days of darkness and torture in the capital would be coming to an end, she promised herself. When they ended, then the denizens of King's Landing would have to aware of the fact that the North always remembers.
She would have her handmaid Shae tend to her wounds as usual. She would be strong, although there was no one there to see her strength. Every day she survived meant that she was a day closer to having her family by her side. She would work towards that.
"Lady Sansa, I'd like to have a word with you."
Sansa's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar female voice. It was Margery Tyrell's grandmother, the Queen of Thornes.
When Olenna Redwyne discreetly led Sansa Stark away from the throne room, she noticed two things: the first was that although she sported fresh wounds from Joffrey's recent bout of abusive torment on her, there was steel in her blue Tully eyes, a confidence within her that she had never seen before. The second was that this young girl, who everyone thought was naive, provincial and stupid could one day be the death of all of them. She saw how Sansa cast her eyes downwards, wincing in pain with every sudden movement. She knew how the girl had actually looked at all those who stood around her and watched as Joffrey inflicted pain upon her, aiming to humiliate, but earning only bitterness in the facade of tears.
"There, there, my dear," Olenna comforted Sansa once they were in the safety of the gardens where the Tyrells made their makeshift home in King's Landing. "Here, you don't need to hide how you feel. You're safe with us." The Tyrell's girls were already scrambling to serve tea and lemon cakes, Olenna remembered that Sansa liked them best during the first few teas when they had hosted her when they just arrived in the capital.
Sansa remained emotionless, but she did take a bite out of a lemon cake. "Thank you," she replied softly.
"What your brother did out there, Sansa, was..."
"Utterly appalling," Sansa cut Olenna off. "I pray that my family see the error of their ways." Olenna rolled her eyes.
"Come now, sweet girl, there are no Lannister spies here," Olenna barked despite the kind nature of her words. It was an open challenge as well, to anyone who dared to challenge her and her family. "You can speak openly when you're here with me. You must know that the wheatfields in Highgarden grows so tall that they hide not only snakes, but wolves as well."
Sansa's eyes widened. She knew that Olenna's words held double meaning. They got even bigger when she handed her a sealed letter that bore no indication as to who sent it to her. Quickly, she opened the letter and read its contents. It contained only a mere few words, but she instantly recognized the handwriting. They were written by Robb and her mother. Just three words. She was so happy that she threw the letter aside on the table and broke down into tears.
"We are safe."
Olenna did not need to read the contents of the letter to know what message they carried. Sansa's reaction had been enough, but still the necessary precautions have to be taken. Even if there were spies around them, no one would suspect her comforting Sansa for being tortured by Joffrey. So, she very quietly took the letter and tore it to pieces before scattering it towards Blackwater Bay. "There is word that the unknown soldiers that came to aid your brother were from Dorne," she told Sansa in a very hushed voice as she gave the girl a hug. "Oberyn Martell is at their head. Listen very carefully, child, if you ever want to stay alive in these times, you must be on your toes."
"How do I know that I can trust you?" Sansa asked Olenna, using the same wisdom that she had just given her against her.
This time, Olenna gave her a grandmotherly smile. "You don't, dear," Olenna answered plainly. "However, it doesn't hurt us to be kind to one another once in a while. It must be really hard for you, being in a war, separated from your family." In all actuality, with the constant shifting of allegiances the Tyrells had done, Olenna was paving their exit route. If the Young Wolf really could turn the tide with Dorne's help, then everyone would be under his mercy.
HAN: Poor, poor Sansa. Right, I know that I'm putting Sansa into her "I will get my revenge if it's the last thing I do" stage quite early in, but it is rather important to the fic, so bear with me.
Is Olenna in with the Martells with this? Well, only Olenna knows for now.
And WHEW! Gosh, that was a bit close with Tyrion, don't cha think?
Enjoy!