Author's Note: This'll be interesting.

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Full disclosure, I don't know if the following twist is a good idea or not. But I like it and it helps to start getting things set up for where I intend for them to be in the latter stages, so by golly it's what we're gonna do. Buckle up kiddos, you're gonna love it or hate it entirely.

As always, I hope you enjoy and review this update.

For a man who had seen war and stared death in the face, he spooked easily. A witty courtier, especially if they were female, scared him in a way an enemy with a sword couldn't. If his choices were host a ball or storm a castle, hand him a ladder and point the way. Need a hill taken? He's your man. Need a diplomatic envoy? You'd better pray he's not your man.

But all of those fears seemed irrelevant compared to where he was now. You've killed men, Damon. You've drawn blood, you've shed blood, you've braved arrows. Grab onto this ridiculous fear and do what must be done.

He repeated the mantra in his head twice before he raised his fist and knocked on the door of his grandfather's chambers.

"Enter," called Tywin from inside, and Damon took one last steadying breath before he did so.

The Hand of the King's solar was surprisingly plain for the richest lord in the Seven Kingdoms. A desk, a table and pitcher of wine, a small sunroom with a square of potted greenery...and that was really about it. No golden lion statues, no signs of opulence, no skulls of Tarbecks or Reynes. Damon wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he found.

Damon only let himself glance over the chambers briefly before he stepped a few strides into the room. "You requested my presence, Lord Tywin?"

Tywin Lannister was seated at the aforementioned desk, peering down at the open ledger before him. "I did. Please, have a seat Your Grace."

It may have been phrased as a request but it wasn't one, just as the summons earlier that afternoon hadn't been. The Prince of the Iron Throne did as he was told, because one did as Tywin Lannister asked. Strictly speaking, his maternal grandfather should have been standing as Damon entered to show the proper respect of a lord to the son of a king. The Hand hadn't been, and Damon gave zero thought to the potential slight. Damon may be a Prince but Tywin was the true ruler of the realm, as well as his elder and a powerful lord in his own right.

The Lion of the Westerlands kept his attention on the ledger in front of him for another few moments after Damon took the upholstered chair across the desk from him, then casually set it aside. The full brunt of his pale green gaze, eyes a touch lighter than Damon's own bright emerald, peered across the table at him, and it took all of Damon's will to meet the gaze and keep himself from squirming. "Shall we do away with titles for this conversation?"

The statement took Damon by surprise. "Of course, Lo...of course."

His grandfather nodded once. "Good. Your wounds, have they healed?"

It took Damon a long moment to realize what he was talking about. He'd taken two notable injuries in battle, though neither had been life threatening; one slash to his arm taken beneath the walls of Riverrun, another blade across his back at the raid on Lord Harroway's Town. While both had hurt like the seven hells when he'd taken them and for days after, now they were no more than white scars and lessons. "Yes. They were healed well before we returned to the capitol."

"Good. You will need to be at full strength for your return to the front."

Damon's heart soared. "I am eager to go."

His grandfather nodded again, never having moved his stare. "I imagined you would feel that way. But first, there are several matters you and I need to discuss." The Hand of the King finally turned his gaze from Damon, who sunk a little into his seat at relief of being out from under it. Tywin began sorting through a stack of parchment, speaking as he did so. "Tell me, Damon, what are your thoughts on your recent lordship?"

Damon shifted in his seat. Truth be told Damon didn't feel much of anything about his appointment to the Lordship of Dragonstone; Stannis still held it and it's incomes, and the likelihood of that changing anytime soon seemed slim due to Robb Stark still waging a damaging war in the Westerlands. Damon had never been to the island or in it's castle, and part of him wondered if the first time he visited it would be with a sword in his hand and flaming arrow in the sky. Saying any of that to Tywin, however, didn't seem like a good idea. "I am honored by the King's gift."

Tywin never looked back from the parchments. "It was an insult."

"Lord...I mean, grandfather?"

"The lordship of Dragonstone is an important enough holding, I grant you, and one with a rich history, but it was not suitable for you. You, as Robert's second son, should have received Storm's End and the Paramountcy, not only due to your blood but due to your actions in the war." Tywin seemed to find the parchment he was after, for he returned his gaze to his grandson. "What's more, you know this. You are too smart to be honored by a insult."

Damon felt a rush of pride at the compliment, but also felt his apprehension grow. He didn't know what the point of this meeting was, but he doubted it was to stoke his own ego. That being said, he didn't like the criticism of Joffrey. Not for Joffrey's sake, because Damon knew in a reversed role the king would only join in on Damon's defamation, but because he didn't see how it could lead anywhere good, even if it was Tywin Lannister saying it.

"The Paramountcy of the Stormlands is a powerful position-"

"Historically held by a Baratheon since Aegon's Conquest, and the Durrandon's for thousands of years before that. You have the blood of both families in your veins, yet you were not granted the title made vacant by the death of the traitor Renly."

Damon squirmed. "I don't..."

"Your brother meant to hurt you. He doesn't need a reason, he is the king, but that doesn't mean you have to be happy about it. So come. Tell me your true thoughts on this." Damon stared for a moment, trying to decide if this was a trap of some sort or an honest inquiry, and Tywin shifted in his seat, tone changing a touch. "This is not a test, Damon. I merely want to know your opinion on it, out of earshot of the king."

The Prince still took several moments to answer. "I suppose I could have expected the Stormlands, but I have found it a poor idea to expect anything in the world. I don't covet power like most; I'm the first to admit I'd do a shit job with it."

Something changed in Tywin's face, though just what it was Damon didn't know. "A good policy, expecting nothing. If a man wants something in this world, he must take it. Glory, riches, power...it's all there for those who will seize it."

Damon shrugged, still very uncomfortable with this line of conversation. "I can't say I want much of any of that."

Tywin tilted his head down, peering at his grandson. The Hand of the King was only a couple of inches taller than Damon and marginally broader, but Tywin's sheer force of presence always made him seem infinitely larger. "And what is it you do want."

Damon opened his mouth to answer, then realized he didn't have an answer. Huh. What do I want? He had answers for the short term of course, and they were what most men his age wanted. The rush of battle, the feeling of a good meal in his belly, a naked woman in his bed. But long term, that was another issue. Damon had always assumed he would just serve his father and then his brother as a warrior, maybe getting a small keep of his own or maybe not, doing the will of the King until the day he died. He'd not put all that much thought into it; a great deal of it was out of his hands unless he went the way of Daemon Blackfyre, and Damon Baratheon would rather die.

He ran the question through his mind for a long while, his grandfather watching him intently but patiently. Finally Damon shrugged, both mentally and physically. "I don't know. But I know what I don't want."

Tywin held his gaze a moment longer, before finally nodding softly. "I suppose that is something." Damon didn't know if his grandfather meant that as a good thing, a bad thing or an indifferent one, and he didn't ask.

Tywin straightened back out, leaning back into his chair before continuing in a tone that told Damon whatever focus of the conversation beforehand was now settled in the Hand of the King's mind. "You are going to marry Sansa Stark."

Damon blinked thrice. "...what?"

"Your brother set aide the Stark girl when the Tyrells assisted us on the Blackwater. Their men, and more importantly their ability to keep our own men and the smallfolk of the city fed, can and will make the difference in this war. That made the price of the girl Margaery becoming queen worth it. But the northern girl is still of great value; she has a claim to the North, which may prove vital when her traitorous brother is brought to heel or dies."

The Prince's brain was having difficulty getting past the 'marry Sansa Stark' bit so his mouth spoke of its own accord. "There are other Stark boys, who didn't rebel."

"There were, though the guilt of one Stark is enough to cover the others. But the younger Stark, Brandon and Rickon, are dead."

That broke through his stupor. They were children, one having been crippled right before Damon and his family had left Winterfell. While Damon hadn't had all that much interaction with it, Brandon had seemed a smart, good lad, and Rickon's wildness was highly entertaining. And they were young, so young, too young to be dead. Brandon is the same age as Tommen, Rickon even younger. "How?"

"Balon Greyjoy has attacked the north. His son Theon took Winterfell and killed them both."

A deep, bitter anger took root in Damon in that moment for the Ironborn. "They were children, children he had been raised with."

Tywin shrugged. "He considered them enemies."

Damon was taken aback by his grandfather's indifference, and then remembered who he was talking to. Tywin Lannister had flooded the mines of Castamere, full of women and children, and sealed the exits. None had escaped.

For the first time, Damon felt something other than fear or respect for the Lord of the Westerlands.

Tywin went on, unaware of the Prince's inner thoughts. "As I was saying, you are to marry Sansa Stark. While not appointing you Lord of the Stormlands was an insult and a foolish move by your brother the king, you may well find yourself a Paramount without it."

Damon, still full of anger at the murder of the Stark boys-of my potential goodbrothers, it seems-met his grandfather's gaze much easier this time. "Do I have a say in the matter?"

Tywin arched an eyebrow, much as Cersei was fond of doing. "Do you object? Sansa is a pretty woman, and young. I didn't think a lad your age would be adverse to having her as a wife, even without the region attached."

He had a point there; Sansa was a pretty woman, even if she didn't make his body react as another, not-to-be-named lady did. Even Damon, with his many and exotic dishonorable experiences, would find no qualms retiring to a bed that held her for the rest of time.

But there was more than his physical desire or lack thereof at stack with this. His anger still fresh, Damon spoke more confidently to Tywin than he ever had before. "There is the fact that two of her brothers are dead, and a third is rebelling against my own. Does she even know?"

The Lord of the Westerlands was watching Damon as intently as ever, shaking his head slightly. "She knows nothing, either about this betrothal or her brothers."

"So am I to tell her? 'Lady Sansa, we are to be wed. Oh, by the way, the lad you were raised with murdered your younger brothers and I'm about to march to the warfront to try and kill your elder one.'"

Tywin's tone darkened, though his face remained impeccably calm. "Careful."

Damon reeled himself back in, though the fear had been blunted for now. "My apologies, Lord Tywin. But you must see my concerns; not only is she likely scarred from her time as Joffrey's betrothed, but our families are at war."

The Hand of the King didn't raise his voice, but Damon knew he was striding into his grandfather's disapproval. "If you think marriage is about the happiness of one or either of those involved, my daughter has made a mockery of your education."

Damon winced inwardly, the point striking true, but he continued on. "What of Jaime?"

"What of him?"

"Sansa is our last hope of bartering for his release. If she is married to me, the Starks will be less likely to come to the table."

"They haven't came to the table yet, now have they? Don't worry about my son; there are plans in motion to secure his release."

Damon didn't have to be overly intelligent to know just what sort of plans those likely were. He also didn't need to be overly intelligent to know there was always a chance they would fail miserably, potentially at the cost of his uncle's life. "But those are prone to failure by their nature, no matter the experience of the men behind them. I realize I have no right to ask this of you, but give me one last chance to at least bringing Robb to talks."

Tywin's stoic face was only betrayed by a clenched jaw; he clearly wasn't used to being argued with, particularly not by meek and nervous Damon. "You will do your duty, Prince Damon."

The Prince nodded feverishly. "Yes, I will. If that duty leads to me marrying Lady Sansa I will do so with gusto. But let me try to negotiate with Robb; he knows me, if only briefly, and he knows me and my brother aren't the closest of siblings. That will help, considering King Joffrey removed Eddard Stark's head from his shoulders."

There was a long pause. "What are your intentions?"

Well, that's better than a 'no'. "I will take a large number of the Tyrell host with me and go to the Westerlands, joining with Lord Marbrand. But I will also take a letter and memento from Lady Sansa, and send them with a trusted envoy under white flag to wherever I find Robb."

Tywin waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, this is all standard procedure. Standard procedures have done us no good."

"Standard procedure comes from faceless Lannister envoys. This will be coming from a face they know, and one who nearly died trying to save a knight fighting on their side."

Tywin raised a brow again. "That was a foolish move."

Damon blushed lightly, glancing down. He heard Jaime's reprimands from a lifetime ago in his mind, bringing with them a fresh wave of both concern and resolve. I'll free you, uncle, or die trying. "Yes, it was. But wise or foolish, it may yet come in handy. What's more, I'll bring Lord Edmure Tully along with me; not the other noble hostages, just Robb's uncle. Perhaps, with a letter and memento of Sansa as well as the physical presence of his uncle, I can make this work."

Tywin merely sat there for a long while. When he spoke, his tone was quiet. "Losing Edmure Tully to a plot or misfortune would do us no good."

Damon swallowed once. "He'll die before I let him return to Robb Stark for nothing."

His grandfather shook his head. "You don't have the stomach for that sort of slaughter, Damon."

How right you are. "I do when it comes to protecting my family."

That seemed to strike a chord in Tywin, whose face lost a touch of tension. Long moments pass, Tywin contemplating his grandson's idea while the grandson pleaded with his eyes for the request to be granted.

When Tywin finally spoke it held nothing but confidence and conviction. "You may try your plan. Take half of the Tyrell forces and half of my own guard; I will handle it with Lord Mace." Tywin's face almost showed a hint of wry humor. Almost. "And with your mother. I'll order your provisions and supplies to be made ready; you will leave first thing in the morning."

"May I request we leave an hour before dawn? Grandiose displays and ceremonies aren't my specialty, and I'd prefer to be out of the city before it begins to truly stir. Empty streets will hasten our departure anyway."

The Lord of the Westerlands pondered a moment before nodding. "Very well."

Damon shot out of his seat, excitement and a touch of fear for what was about to happen in his chest. He bowed, lower than was necessary but not low enough to truly show the depths of his appreciation. "Thank you, Lord Tywin."

His grandfather's voice stopped him mid-turn. "And Damon." When he glanced back, Tywin settled a meaningful, hard gaze upon him. "Do not fail."

Damon swallowed once, then bowed again. "I won't."

But I will disappoint you by my means. I hope you'll forgive me. More than that, I hope it works.

Chataya was always welcoming and always attractive despite being close to forty, and at other times in his many middle-of-the-night visits to her establishment he hadn't made it any farther than her luxurious personal office, but today Damon was all business.

"I need Bella."

The Summer Islander woman smiled. Tall with skin the color of obsidian and sandalwood eyes, her white teeth stood out startlingly when she smiled. Her accent, thick and heavy, was part of her appeal. "She is sleeping, but I will wake her."

Damon shook his head slightly. He'd imagined that was the case; while brothel's never closed and there were always at least a handful of clients sampling the wares, they almost grew still at the deadest hours of the night, those last few before dawn broke. It was in that timeframe that Damon normally made his trip, even though it coincided when most of the brothels workers tried to sleep. "Not in that sense, Chataya." Well, probably in that sense too, but I'll have to work the logistics of that out. "I mean I need to take her. I'm going back into the field."

She nodded, smile not wavering. "That was part of my agreement when you brought her to me." She reached a hand out and ran it down his arm. "Come now, Damon, you know I am a woman of my word."

Damon smirked at her lightly. "Yes, well." He tossed a pouch onto her desk behind her. "Shall we make the same arrangement this time around? Whenever she returns, she will have a place here if she wants it?"

Chataya placed a quick kiss to his cheek and laughed. "For you? Anything. Do you know where she is or shall I go get her?"

The Prince grinned again before turning. "I know where she is."

Where she was was in one of the personal sleeping chambers, very small rooms not meant for entertaining but available to prized workers or those who paid a fee to Chataya for their work. While Bella had no features that made her prized, her time with Damon had certainly made her wealthy, and she preferred to pay that premium than to sleep in the common rooms with the other

It took her until his third knock for her to open the door. Behind it she was dressed in only a shift, long hair a tangled mess and face confused.

"Damon?"

He shut her up with a kiss, then leaned against the side of her doorframe. "Get your things. We're back on campaign."

Bella blinked thrice. "We are?"

"We are. This time, though, I'll pay you double."

That woke her the rest of the way up. "Oh?"

"Yes. Because this time, you're going to help me piss off the most powerful man in Westeros."

He told himself it wasn't treason, and at the heart of it it certainly wasn't. Damon was merely doing as Tywin had bid him, just in a slightly different way than the Hand of the King might have thought he was going to.

It was inappropriate for the Prince to be knocking at Sansa Stark's door an hour before dawn, but Damon was past trying to be appropriate. He'd been appropriate in his first attempt to end the war, if a bit reckless and deceptive. Now Damon was beyond giving a fuck; he was going to get Jaime back, and with each move he made he felt this was the way to do so.

I'm technically not doing anything I wasn't authorized to do, and at least I feel bad about it. And terrified, because Tywin might well kill me. Also a lot of this could go wrong in a myriad of ways, all of which could result in a major setback of the war effort.

Or it could work, in which case a major detriment to our efforts can be removed. Perhaps even a peace on one front can be achieved.

Damon almost stopped then, fear and second-thoughts nearly making him abandon his plan at the end of it. Then, with a wave of resolve, he knocked lightly on the door.

It took Sansa a long time to answer, long enough that Damon had looked thrice to Tyrek and Bella standing at their respective bends of the dimly lit corridors in anxiety. Sneaking Bella in was simple; they don't ask questions of a Prince. Getting Lady Sansa out will be the true test.

When the lady in question finally opened the door, the worry on her face looked so at home, so much like it had a permanent place there, that is hardened his resolve. He bowed, then spoke. "Quietly, my lady."

She took a hesitant step back. "Prince Damon..."

He held a finger to his lips. "A simple dress, and a cloak with a hood. Careful and quiet."

Her Tully blue eyes stared at him in confusion. "What is happening?"

"I am going to the war front to negotiate with your brother. I was told to bring a letter and memento of you." He shrugged. "I imagine you can pen the letter along the way. You're the memento."

Tyrek, who was supposed to be watching the corridor for early-morning servants, suddenly appeared at his shoulder. His tone was cheerful, a vastly different one than when Damon had first approached him about this plan. "In other words, Lady Sansa, we're kidnapping you."

Damon nodded. "So please, keep it quiet."

Before most of the city had even woken to meet their day, a hooded Sansa Stark rode out of King's Landing on a wagon, between a washerwoman and a whore.

A/N: Just to be clear, Damon is not giving Sansa back. This is not an 'unrealistic Stark love, typical fandom' situation. Wait and see you impatient, infuriating, beautiful people you.

Truth be told, by the end of this she might well wish he had left her in the King's Landing.