Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7168463.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Gen
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Joanna_Lannister/Tywin_Lannister, Cersei_Lannister/Jaime_Lannister,
      Tyrion_Lannister/Shae, Harrold_Harrdying/Sansa_Stark, Sandor_Clegane/
      Sansa_Stark, Sansa_Stark/Gendry_Waters
  Character:
      Cersei_Lannister, Jaime_Lannister, Joanna_Lannister, Tywin_Lannister,
      Sansa_Stark, Jeyne_Poole, Tyrion_Lannister, Harrold_Hardyng, Jaqen_H'gar,
      Ser_Amory_Lorch, Petyr_Baelish, Brienne, Podrick_Payne, Roose_Bolton,
      Ramsay_Bolton, Mychel_Redfort, Ser_Illyn_Payne, Gendry_Waters, Mya_Stone,
      Bella, Joffrey_Baratheon, Stannis_Baratheon
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-11 Updated: 2016-06-21 Chapters: 13/? Words: 20994
****** A Miscellany ******
by DK65
Summary
     Fills for prompts on LJ memes.
     These characters belong to GRRM.
***** The Future Unfolds *****
Sansa was to remember this incident many years after it took place—she often
wondered why she and Jeyne had not heeded the witch’s warnings. After all, the
girls had sought her out to learn their future—and when they were told what
would happen, they had gone away, refusing to believe her words.
They did not meet the witch at Winterfell or on the road south, but in King’s
Landing, of all places, and at the Hand’s Tourney. Septa Mordane, who had been
with them on the first day, was too ill to take them to the tourney on the
second, so the two girls, along with a very reluctant Arya, had to go with Lord
Stark. Sansa and Jeyne went to meet the witch after the tourney was over—the
Hound, who had rescued Ser Loras from the Mountain on the first day, had been
declared champion, as Sansa had hoped he would be.
She did not now recall where her father and Arya had gone—her father must have
gone to see the king, who was threatening to participate in the melee, and Arya
had probably decided to sit and talk to Jory and the other guardsmen who
accompanied them. One of them mentioned seeing a tent where a maegi was seated,
and spoke of how these women foretold the future after tasting your blood. Arya
had laughed at the man, telling him that no one sensible believed in prophecies
or witches, but Sansa and Jeyne took him aside while Arya spoke to someone else
to ask him where he had seen her. Hesitantly, he told them where to find her,
but he did advise them not to go to her, for blood magic was dangerous—everyone
said so.
They left soon afterwards—luckily, the woman was camped not too far from the
tourney grounds. Sansa felt no need to consult the witch—she knew she would wed
Joffrey and become queen, but that would come about years later, by the grace
of the gods. However, Jeyne did want to know whom she would marry and how many
babes she would bring forth. And she did advise Sansa to ask the witch if she
would bear sons or daughters.
They found the old woman (for she was a wrinkled old woman, her skin as mottled
with warts as that of a toad) fast asleep in the chair in her tent when they
arrived. Sansa cleared her throat loudly and rapped thrice on the table in
front of her to awaken her. The old woman opened her eyes, which were large,
bulbous and yellow in colour, and looked at the girls, who curtsied to her, for
they had both decided to be as polite as possible—if she was a powerful witch,
she could curse them, which would do them more harm than good.
“Be seated, ladies,” she said, in the wheezing voice of an old woman. “No
doubt, you two northern lasses would want to know who you will wed and how many
sons you will bring forth.”
Sansa looked at her, surprised. “My lady,” she asked timidly, “how can you tell
we are from the north?”
“Why, my pretty one, everyone knows that Lord Stark, the King’s friend and now
his Hand, has brought his daughters to court. The older and prettier one is
betrothed to the Crown Prince—and you must be she. This child,” indicating
Jeyne, “must be your friend—your sister is much younger than you, is she not?”
Sansa nodded her head dumbly as she and Jeyne seated themselves on chairs
across the table from the old witch. They then silently proffered her their
hands—she took a shiny needle, soaking in a glass filled with wine, heated it
using the lit candle on her table and pricked their ring fingers. When a drop
of blood, as red as a ruby, appeared on each finger, she put the finger in her
mouth and sucked at it greedily. When she had done this, she looked at them
both and spoke:
“Neither one of you will have joy of this—your sojourn in the south. You will
lose all you hold dear here and will suffer greatly, living apart, even as you
both long to go home. You, my lady,” she looked at Sansa as she spoke, “will be
very happy when the king breaks his betrothal to you. But you will not be free
to leave, for then you will wed a kind man whom his own lord father treats as a
bastard, even though he was born of his wedded wife. And it will be many weary
years yet before you fly home to gather your flock together and rebuild your
nest. And you, my girl,” she said, looking at Jeyne, “will dress in false
colours to wed a cruel man who is bastard born, but whom his lord father will
legitimize for want of heirs. You will return home before your friend, but only
to a broken nest, which you will flee with a broken man, when war is brewing
and the world is white with snow. Now, girls, your future is told—leave an old
woman to sleep, why don’t you?”
Chastened, the girls left her tent, not knowing what to make of these
prophecies. They both regretted their visit to her—Sansa could not help
remembering how Maester Luwin used to pooh-pooh all talk of magic and
prophecies, even though he had earned a link in magic at the Citadel. They both
decided they would try and forget what the old woman had said, and they
did—until the day that Sansa arrived at the Wall, to find Jeyne and Theon
guarding Jon’s body against the red woman.
***** Manners Maketh the Man *****
Chapter Summary
     Sansa Stark tries to teach Podrick Payne his courtesies and
     dancing...
     These characters belong to GRRM.
She hates and fears his relative, Ser Ilyn, who beheaded her father on the
steps of Baelor's Sept, but she cannot hate or fear Podrick Payne, her lord
husband's squire. Not when she learns from Ser Bronn of the Blackwater how
Podrick saved the life of his master, who would have been killed by Ser Mandon
Moore of the Kingsguard. Not when she notices how shy Podrick is around her—he
seldom lifts up his eyes when he speaks to her. He is only a little boy, she
thinks, perhaps the same age as Arya, no more. And, just as Tyrion gives him
books of sigils to memorize, she asks him to attend her in the afternoons, when
she is at leisure. She does not want to spend more time than she has to with
the other ladies at court--so she stitches or reads and speaks sweet nothings
with the Queen Regent, Margaery and their ladies in the mornings and pretends
to rest in the afternoons, attended by her maid, Shae, and her housekeeper,
Brella, who sits there, doing whatever mending or counting of linen is to be
done. That is when she sends for Podrick, and teaches him how to behave
courteously with ladies. Sometimes, her lord husband strolls in to see how they
progress and adds his sardonic comments to the lessons. She wishes he would not
do so, for it is then that Podrick begins to fumble and mumble and retreat into
his shell of shyness. But she says nothing to him—it is not her place, she
knows, to teach her husband manners. He is a man of the world and should know
better.
She begins by getting Shae to play the part of a lady and Podrick to play the
part of a knight. She presents them, one to the other, much to Tyrion’s and
Bronn’s amusement, which she finds inexplicable. Then she gets the two of them
to talk to each other, suggesting suitable topics for conversation, such as the
weather, the result of the latest tournament, the best singers in town (“Symon
the Silver-Tongued!” cries out Shae, much to Tyrion’s displeasure) and the
king’s impending marriage. Podrick gradually begins to lose his shyness and to
actually look up and speak clearly when he speaks to her or to Shae or Brella.
He still blushes as red as fire when he does so, but she thinks it is sweet.
Finally, she decides that he is ready to learn to dance and enlists Ser Bronn’s
aid in hiring an elderly but not decrepit musician to play for them—she will
not get any of the court musicians to play for her, because it would become a
subject of gossip. She would have played herself and asked Shae to dance, but
Shae says she cannot dance the way court ladies do to save her life and if
m’lady pleases, she will watch. M’lady has no objection—and when she begins to
dance with Podrick, she cannot help but recall the dancing lessons she and
Jeyne Poole used to have with Jon and Robb when they were children in
Winterfell. Robb could talk courteously and politely with the daughters of
their lord father’s bannermen or with Jeyne, but Jon would be tongue-tied and
sullen with both.
“I don’t know what to say to a girl,” he would complain to Sansa, who would
tell him patiently, “Jon, it is very likely that she is just as frightened of
you as you are of her.”
“I’m not frightened—I don’t know what to talk about to her!”
“Well, when you meet her, you tell her who you are, don’t you? And she does the
same, am I right?”
“Yes,” he growled irritably.
“When she tells you her name, you must tell her how pretty it is. Girls need to
be told that there is something pretty about them just as you need to be told
how clever or brave you are. She might not be pretty herself, or wear pretty
clothes—everyone dresses in wool and fur in the north—but you can tell her how
pretty her name is. That should be enough to begin a conversation. She will
thank you and likely say something nice in return. That is how you begin
talking to girls, Jon.”
She says the same thing to Podrick, who nods his head solemnly. And then he
carefully twirls her around the solar of Tyrion’s apartment in the Red Keep,
taking care not to knock into the furniture, as Shae watches greedily and
Brella looks up from counting the linen. Somehow, these lessons with Podrick
ease the pain of losing her brothers, her parents and her home for a time,
however brief.
***** Betwixt Love and Friendship *****
Chapter Summary
     Joanna lives after Tyrion's birth...
When she reached King’s Landing, it was too late. Tywin had entered the city,
not as its saviour from Aerys’ madness and Rhaegar’s folly, as she had wanted
him to do, but as its conqueror—he had ordered his soldiers to sack it. She
heard this from Sandor Clegane, a twelve-year-old squire who had spent the last
six years at the Rock, and now boasted of killing his first man. He spoke of it
almost calmly, she thought, hoping against hope that Elia and the children were
safe. She had Tyrion and Cersei with her—Tyrion was quiet; perhaps he had
sensed how worried she was but Cersei? She was almost glowing with triumph. It
seemed to Joanna, as she looked at her daughter, that it was Cersei and not
Robert who had won the Iron Throne at the Trident.
She recalled how Tywin had plotted and schemed to wed his daughter to the Crown
Prince, much to her own disquiet. She knew Rhaella was not against the
scheme—Cersei was a young and healthy girl, who would likely give any man
several fine children—but she also knew that Aerys would never listen to his
wife. He had not done so in the past and he would never do so now, for he had
become jealous of Tywin’s abilities as a soldier and an administrator. Why else
had he torn out poor Illyn Payne’s tongue for something said when the knight
was drinking with his so-called “friends”? She had abased herself so far as to
go to Aerys personally and offer him anything to spare the man, but Aerys had
merely laughed in her face. She had never spoken of it to Tywin, but she could
not help but pity poor Rhaella, married to this madman when she could have had
Bonifer Hasty instead, who would have loved her and heeded her advice. She left
for the Rock immediately afterwards—she was big with Tyrion—and once there, she
had written to her old friend, the Lady of Dorne, inviting her to Casterly to
pay her a visit with her children. She knew the princess was visiting the
Stormlands and the Reach, searching for a match for her two youngest--Doran was
already married to Mellario of Norvos, whom he had met on his travels on Essos.
She hoped to send Cersei to Dorne as lady in waiting to Elia—this would, she
hoped, bring about a match for Cersei with Oberyn Martell, who was a sharp-
witted young man, much better suited to her clever young lioness than a dragon
lost in prophecies and dreams. And Elia, although reputed to be sickly, had
survived thus far and was known to be gentle, kind and ladylike—just the sort
of girl to appeal to Jaime, who wanted to be a knight from the songs and
stories. Moreover, she felt Cersei needed to go away from the Rock as much as
her brother did—she could not forget the sight of the twins, locked in each
other’s arms, kissing open-mouthed and touching each other under their clothes.
She had immediately had the two shifted to different parts of the castle and
appointed guards to watch over both of them, after scolding them harshly, which
she had never done before.
However, when the Lady of Dorne reached Casterly, and Joanna presented her plan
to her lord husband, his displeasure, some of which he had expressed at
Tyrion’s birth, had reared its ugly head. He had scoffed at her plans to wed
her daughter to a second son from such a backwater as Dorne. He had no good
opinion of the Dornish, who did not fight face-to-face as men, but preferred to
attack their enemies by stealth, using poisons, scorpions, snakes and knives in
the dark when the rest of Westeros used good, honest steel.
“It is true that Dorne is not as rich as the Westerlands or the Reach,” she
said, “but the Dornish listen to their womenfolk. And they teach both their
sons and daughters to govern their lands. The eldest-born, whether boy or girl,
has the right to the title. They might have burned their ships, but they trade
with Essos and Sothyros—they are well-travelled, well-educated...indeed, Oberyn
has studied at Oldtown, although he did not forge a chain. He is learned and a
fine fighter—he would be a good match for Cersei. Rhaegar, on the other
hand...you have heard the saying, have you not, my lord, that Targaryens are
equally likely to be mad or great? I do not recall the exact words...”
“I do, my lady, and I have no wish to repeat them. You talk great folly, do you
know that? Aerys cannot but accept my plan to wed his son to my daughter—do you
know how much gold the Iron Throne owes Casterly Rock? I can transform him from
a king to a beggar—he knows that...”
“Perhaps that is why he cut off Ser Illyn’s tongue? To teach your bannermen not
to boast of your abilities, which he envies? Instead of allying yourself to the
Targaryens, why not look elsewhere for a husband for Cersei? She herself will
never open a book; she thinks being a Lannister of the Rock is enough to
protect her throughout her life—she needs a man who is intelligent and wily
enough to guard her against danger. And Oberyn is such a man.”
“Oberyn has a bad reputation. Have you not heard about his duel with Yronwood?
It is said he is a man to every woman and a woman to every man. Will you, a
Lannister of the Rock, wed your daughter to such a degenerate?”
Perhaps she still felt weak after Tyrion’s birth—yes, that must have been
it—otherwise she would have prevailed in the argument with her husband. As it
was, he refused to hear a word more about the Dornish alliance—he would wed
Cersei to the Crown Prince and for Jaime, he had his eye on Hoster Tully’s
younger daughter, who was as yet unattached. The elder, who was given to
managing her father’s keep, would never bow to the superior wisdom of a good
father or good mother—she was to wed the heir to Winterfell. Joanna had thus to
plead her inability to pursue an alliance between their two houses to the
Dornish princess. When she spoke of this, she allowed a tear or two to escape
her eyes—she had wanted to scream and shout and smash glassware, but such
behaviour was unbefitting the lady of a great house and the wife of the King’s
Hand. The Lady of Dorne patted her hand and was sympathetic—she spoke of her
own problems in getting Elia settled because Oberyn made it his business to
make fun of all her suitors, including the future Lord of Oldtown, whom the two
irreverent teenagers had dubbed Baelor Breakwind.
Knowing Aerys, Joanna was not surprised when he refused Tywin’s offer of
Cersei’s hand in marriage at the tournament her husband had held on the twins’
tenth nameday. Nor was she surprised when her husband decided to take Cersei
with him to King’s Landing, leaving her at the Rock with Tyrion. Somehow, his
coldness to his youngest child had affected their marriage for the worse—Joanna
could not help loving the little boy, who would never be as tall as his father
but was a clever and engaging little fellow nonetheless. Cersei seemed to share
her father’s disdain for her younger brother, which made her relationship with
her mother very difficult. Only Jaime, Gerion, Tygett and Genna showed any
affection for the little one—Kevan was merely distant and kind.
Tywin kept Cersei at King’s Landing even after Rhaegar married Elia. Although
her husband was enraged by the marriage, Joanna was not surprised—perhaps the
Lady of Dorne had sensed the way the wind blew when she visited Casterly all
those years ago and made her plans accordingly. Kevan told her that her husband
thought the Dornish girl was too frail to survive the court—and he had placed
Cersei with Rhaella, who had just given birth to her second child, Viserys. Of
course, Rhaella treated the girl kindly for her mother’s sake—she encouraged
Cersei to write home often and sent many affectionate messages to her childhood
friend. Both Cersei and her father were taken aback when Elia managed to give
birth to a daughter and live through it all. Joanna was not—the girl might
appear frail, but not for nothing were the Martell words “Unbowed, Unbent,
Unbroken”. When she said this to Tyrion, he asked her if the Martells had taken
the words before or after their alliance with the Iron Throne. When she asked
him what that had to do with it, he went into a long disquisition on Valyrian
steel and dragonbone, both known to be hard. She kissed him on his bulging brow
and told him to go and ask the maester—she had to see some smallfolk who had
come with a complaint against one of his father’s knights.
Tywin’s decision to break with Aerys came at the tourney of Harrenhal, when
Jaime became a knight of the Kingsguard. He was enraged that this had happened
at all and even more enraged that he had not learnt of it soon enough to
prevent it from happening. Joanna and Tyrion were present at the tourney—and
Tyrion was very disappointed when they left for the Rock immediately after
Jaime’s investiture with the white cloak and his departure for King’s Landing,
to guard Rhaella and little Viserys. He had wanted to see the jousting, he told
her with a pout and a sob; he was certain that, had Jaime been permitted to
compete, his brother would have unseated them all, including the Crown Prince,
the young lords Stark and Baratheon, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Arthur Dayne.
He was not the only Lannister to sulk all the way to the Rock; Tywin sent Kevan
to King’s Landing, to bring Cersei home, saying that her mother required her
presence. When Kevan came back with Cersei, Joanna could see that her daughter
had been weeping and raging all the way. She was prepared to give her all the
love and understanding in the world—after all, Cersei had been taken from a
court where she had (Joanna hoped) made several friends of her own station and
had several admirers. But Joanna was surprised to realise, after talking to her
daughter, that Cersei had almost no women friends—she thought every woman at
court, other than the queen, was of too low a station to claim friendship with
the Hand’s daughter. Joanna had noticed Cersei’s disdainful attitude towards
her bedmaids even when she was a little girl of ten (she could not help but
remember now how unconcerned Cersei had been when Melara Heatherspoon had been
found dead, her neck broken, down a dry well, just after the nameday tourney).
She had hoped that meeting and mingling with the daughters of other great lords
would force her daughter to accept others as her equals. Cersei’s behaviour,
when she first returned home, was that of a woman forlorn—Joanna was often
surprised to walk into her daughter’s room and find her lying in bed weeping.
When she asked the reason why, Cersei refused to talk about it, and then said
that she had learnt to think of King’s Landing, not the Rock, as her true home,
that was all. Joanna wondered if her daughter had met someone unsuitable with
whom she had fallen in love—perhaps that was the reason for her despair. But
Cersei refused to confide in her—she almost treated her mother with the same
coldness she reserved for her youngest brother, which enraged Joanna.
A year later, when Rhaegar ran off with the Stark girl, whom he had crowned
Queen of Love and Beauty, Joanna was shocked. He was a married man; his wife,
despite her ill-health, had given him two fine children, so why did he feel the
need to run off with his cousin’s betrothed? Recalling what she had seen of
Robert Baratheon and what she knew of the family, Joanna was certain he would
not sit still and endure the slight to his honour. Neither would the Starks,
who might have once bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror—why should they kneel
to his successor, who had no means of exacting vengeance upon them? Brandon
Stark was known to be hot-headed, almost as bad as Jaime, although Rickard
Stark was a calmer, colder man.
When both Starks were killed so horribly by Aerys (Joanna learnt, with a
shudder of horror, that her son had been in the throne room when this atrocity
took place), who also demanded the heads of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon from
their foster father, Jon Arryn, the Rock began to prepare for war. Jon Arryn
had no children of his own, although he had been married twice before, so these
two boys were dear to him. Joanna recalled meeting him often when she had been
at court—he had always been a kindly, gentle, good-hearted man. He was quick to
make an alliance with the Riverlands to fight Aerys, and all Westeros waited
breathlessly for the outcome.
It was then that Tywin unbent sufficiently (so many years after Tyrion’s
birth!) to ask her advice, which she gave gladly.
“I think, my lord, that Aerys should be removed from the throne—he never should
have been king or married Rhaella. It was his killing of the Starks and his
demand for the boys’ heads that led to this war. About Rhaegar—he has behaved
very badly, indeed selfishly, and does not deserve the throne either. He
kidnapped a great lord’s daughter, his cousin’s betrothed, and his whereabouts
are unknown at present while rebellion rages around us. He should at least be
man enough to face Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark in the field, and not leave
his father’s vassals to fight his wars for him. For now, my lord, I would do
nothing if I were you—Jaime is with Aerys, who could easily treat him the way
he treated the Stark boy. I think we should wait and pray for a rebel victory
and Rhaegar’s death. When King’s Landing is about to fall to the rebels, we
should enter as its saviours, kill or force Aerys to abdicate and put Elia’s
son on the throne. If you do that, my lord, you can name her regent for her son
and ask to serve the boy king as his Hand. As for Princess Rhaenys, she can
either wed Renly Baratheon, who is a boy of six, or our own Tyrion. We can ask
Elia to remove Jaime from the Kingsguard—you could let him stay in King’s
Landing with you, as captain of your guard. I am sure Elia, as a young widow,
will turn to him for comfort after the way Rhaegar treated her—they can marry
after a year or two. Cersei—I can never be more thankful to the Gods that she
did not wed Rhaegar. I could not have borne it if my daughter had suffered as
Elia is suffering. We can wed her to a man who will love and honour her, not
someone so lost to all propriety...”
“You would not have me support Robert Baratheon’s bid for the throne? His
grandmother was a Targaryen—if Aerys and Rhaegar fall, he will ascend the
throne. I could offer him Cersei as his wife—it is not likely that he will want
to take back the Stark girl, who must surely have succumbed to Rhaegar’s
advances.”
“No, I would not, my lord—because Robert has not been trained to be a king.
I’ve heard much about him, even at the Rock—he is a good fighter and easily
wins melees. However, he cannot apply himself to work of any kind—Ned Stark is
the steadier of the two men. And he is known to have fathered at least one
bastard. He has said that he is fighting this war to free the Stark girl, his
betrothed—he will have to wed her, soiled or no. I have also heard it said that
he does not lack for comfort from women after his battles. I will be surprised
if he makes a passable Lord of a great house—they say his younger brother
Stannis is the more serious and responsible. If he does become king, he will
most likely name either Stark or Arryn as his Hand, not you, my lord. We must
keep the balance, my lord, between the loyalists—Dorne, Tyrell, Darry—and the
rebels—Tully, Arryn, Stark and Baratheon.”
Tywin listened to her, but did he really hear what she had said, Joanna
wondered, as she swept through the Red Keep, followed by her children. She was
making for the Throne Room—she could hear raised voices as she walked in. Two
men were having a heated argument—they were both bearded, long-haired and clad
in armour, and both stopped speaking when they saw her. She had no difficulty
in recognizing Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark, both of whom had been pointed
out to her at the Harrenhal tourney.
“Lady Joanna,” said Robert Baratheon, surprised, “You must have ridden on the
heels of your husband’s army.”
“I was anxious for news of my son, Jaime, my lord—I could not wait for news.
Have you seen or heard from him?”
“I have seen him, my lady,” Ned Stark answered, in a hard voice. “I saw him on
the Iron Throne, when I rode in some time ago—he had killed King Aerys, the man
he had sworn to protect with his own life.”
“I see,” she said slowly, feeling a small sense of relief. She could feel
Cersei and Tyrion stiffening, as they turned their cold eyes on Stark. She
looked around. “Has the king’s body...?”
“It was removed,” Stark answered gruffly.
“Then what is this? Oh!” She lifted the red and gold cloaks, to reveal the
bodies of two small children, a fair-haired boy a few months old and a three-
year-old, dark-haired girl. Their mother, small-boned, slender and dark, lay
alongside—the skirts of her orange gown were soaked in blood.
“Elia and her children,” Ned said, coldly. “Your husband presented His Grace
with their bodies as soon as he rode in.” And he glared at his childhood
friend. “When I raised my banners, Robert, I did so to avenge myself upon those
who had kidnapped my sister, killed my father and brother and demanded our
heads—I do not make war on women and little babes.”
“Those little babes, Ned, would have grown up, Ned, and they would have come
after us, Ned, just as you and I came after their father and grandfather, for
vengeance, Ned. By the Gods, you stubborn Northern fool, can’t you see that
Lord Tywin has done us a favour? We would have had to kill them both in another
twenty years or less.” Robert roared, so that Joanna and her children took a
step back, shocked.
“You don’t see it, Robert, do you? By killing Elia and her children, Tywin has
made enemies of the Dornish. No doubt they fought for Aerys—but they did so
because their princess and her children were in the Keep. Do you think they
would have supported her husband after he kidnapped Lyanna, unless Elia and her
children were held hostage here? And by accepting what Tywin has done—and by
not putting to death the two men responsible for this foul deed—you make
yourself a part of this murder.”
“Who killed them?” Joanna asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch—Ser Amory killed the girl in Rhaegar’s
bed chamber, where she had gone to hide herself under his bed and Ser Gregor
raped Elia and smashed her son’s head in her solar.” Ned Stark spoke in a dead
voice. He turned to Robert. “I will go to Storm’s End and get the Tyrells to
raise the siege. I will go to the Dornish marches after that—I have heard that
Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower are at the Tower of
Joy...”
“What are three knights of the Kingsguard doing there?” Joanna wondered, but
forbore to speak aloud. She turned to Lord Stark. “My lord, forgive my
discourtesy—I am so sorry for your losses. I hope you find your sister alive,
well and unharmed. Your Grace,” she turned to Robert Baratheon, whom she
noticed exchanging glances with Cersei, “I must find my lord husband and my
son.”
Robert was good enough to send one of the Northern knights with her, a man
called Jorah Mormont, who took her to the Lannister camp in the Red Keep. When
she arrived, she was brought to her husband’s presence. He looked up at her
coolly, from his maps—Jaime jumped up from a chair, where he had been lounging,
drinking a goblet of wine.
While Cersei and Tyrion hurried to hug Jaime, Joanna ran to embrace her
husband. She was glad to find both her husband and son safe, although still
shocked by the death of Elia and her children. She thought of Rhaella and
Viserys, both on Dragonstone, protected by the Targaryen navy. She hoped they
would not fall into Lannister or Baratheon hands—she could not bear to see
another woman ravished to death, nor a child butchered. As she talked to Tywin,
she wondered when he had decided to follow his own plan; if he had asked for
her advice only as a blind while he planned to kill the daughter of one
childhood friend and the grandchildren of both. She could not regret Aerys’
death at Jaime’s hand—he had earned it, she thought vengefully. But she agreed
with Ned Stark that the murder of Elia and her children would besmirch the
kingship of Robert Baratheon and make it impossible for Dorne to ever make
peace with him. She waited till after they had all eaten and the children were
put to bed—Tyrion refused to leave Jaime and would share his bed with him, much
to Cersei’s chagrin. Joanna watched this byplay impatiently—she had to speak to
her husband tonight.
She nearly screamed with frustration when, just as the children were leaving,
Kevan walked in. Now she would have to be polite to her brother-in-law, who
always acted as Tywin’s right hand. He closed the door as he walked in; she
poured three glasses of wine, for each of them, before she asked Tywin bluntly
but in the gentlest tone of voice:
“My lord, did you always plan to have Elia and her children murdered when you
decided to sack King’s Landing?”
She could hear Kevan sucking in his breath, shocked, as Tywin threw back his
head, laughing.
“My dear wife,” he said affectionately, his eyes gleaming, a smile on his lips.
“You do know how to knock a man off his horse with your words, doesn’t she,
Kevan? No, I did not plan for Elia or the children to get killed—I told Lorch
and Clegane that all three were to be treated gently. However, both men lost
their heads—there was murder and mayhem all around and the battle rage must
have got to them. You know, Gregor’s younger brother killed a man and got
wounded in the sack? Did he tell you? A mere boy of twelve, a squire? You can
just imagine how Lorch and Clegane must have reacted...”
“Yes, my lord,” Joanna said, trying to sound sweet and submissive, “but surely,
as anointed knights, they must have learned to control these impulses to kill
when told to protect? These were important hostages—Robert could have got a
peace with Dorne if he had them in his hand. Now, do you think the Dornish will
make peace?”
“It does not matter whether or not Dorne makes peace,” Kevan said, suddenly,
looking at her with a steady gaze. “Dorne, on its own, is no threat—they have
never ranged beyond the marches when waging war. It is true that Oberyn is a
hothead—but if Stark raises the siege of Storm’s End and brings the Tyrells and
their vassals within the king’s peace, the war is almost over. Of course,” he
said, looking at his brother, “the king will need to send a fleet of ships to
take Dragonstone and capture the lady Rhaella, young Viserys and the babe not
yet born. Jaime said she was with child; that is why Aerys had her sent away
after the Battle of the Trident. Doran, however, is a man of sense—he will not
fight without allies to back him. And he might not fight for the Targaryens,
not when they held his sister hostage.”
“And as for Robert—he did not object to the killings,” her husband said calmly.
“He was very pleased—something about getting rid of dragonspawn, was that not
what he said, Kevan? Stark was the trouble-maker—he wants to send Jaime to the
Night’s Watch, for breaking his oath to Aerys.”
“By the gods,” she breathed, “Does he not know how his father and brother
died?”
“I think he does, but he says Jaime broke his oath to the king by killing him.
I hope Robert decides to pardon Jaime and take away his white cloak—perhaps I
can then arrange his marriage to someone suitable. And yes, you were
right—Robert will name Jon Arryn his Hand. But I’m equally certain he will make
Cersei, not the Stark girl, his queen.”
Joanna had no answer to that—she’d seen the way the king had looked at her
daughter. “What then?” she asked quietly.
“Stark has shown himself to be less than malleable when it comes to matters of
politics—it’s that damned Northern honour of his. I doubt if he will find his
sister well or unharmed—she has been away from home a long while and had
already flowered before Harrenhal, hence the betrothal to Baratheon. Three of
the finest knights of the Kingsguard are missing—they have been seen at the
Tower of Joy. Stark will be told where to find them—I’m sure the girl is there.
They are fine swordsmen, all of them, Jaime says—any one of them will do for
him and his men when he gets there. If they do—the eldest Tully girl will be a
widow and Jaime can wed her and act as regent for her son. She piqued his
interest when he went courting to Riverrun, he tells me now—the youngest girl
is already married to Arryn. If they do not—if Stark comes back to King’s
Landing alive with the girl, who has most likely lived as Rhaegar’s paramour
for the past year or more, and with a babe in tow, do you think a king who is
as new made as Robert will accept a soiled woman as his queen? One who is
reputed to be a scrawny little thing, almost as plain as Elia? Or would he not
prefer Cersei, who looks like the Maiden reborn and is as untouched? I have
guarded her well, you know, while she lived with me here, and you, I am sure,
guarded her just as strictly at the Rock.”
“Arryn is a man of sense,” said Kevan calmly, as he sipped at his wine. “He
sees the advantages to a wedding with the Rock—he has seen the treasury
accounts.” And he laughed sharply.
“When Cersei is wed to Robert,” Tywin continued inexorably, “I am certain that
she will wean him from all his childhood attachments—to Stark and his foster
father. After all, blood is thicker than water—a man should stand by his own
family and take their advice, not that of those with whom he was fostered. I’m
sure that when she gives Robert an heir, he will forget Stark and Arryn, and
cleave to us as his bulwark.”
Joanna listened to all this, feeling shocked and sickened, although she tried
not to show it. She reminded herself yet again that she had made vows to love
and honour her husband when they were wedded in the sept; she could not now
turn against him, even though she knew he was in the wrong. She had stood by
him when he had destroyed the Reynes and the Tarbecks—but then, the little
voice in her head said, the Reynes and the Tarbecks were enemies of your house,
not the daughter and grandchildren of your childhood friends. She had watched
unmoved as he had his father’s mistress stripped, humiliated and forced to walk
naked about Lannisport, confessing her sins. But then this woman had seriously
harmed the prestige of House Lannister, the voice in her head said.
She wondered if Robert would indeed set aside his foster father and his foster
brother—she did not think it would happen. Robert was not a woman—he was made
of sterner stuff, as he had proved during the rebellion. She wondered if Cersei
had the skills to wean a man away from his friends who had fought at his
side—she doubted it. Cersei knew what she wanted out of life—she cared little
for the other’s feelings.
She watched as her husband and brother-in-law made their plans; when she got up
to leave, claiming tiredness, Kevan got up to open the door for her. He
instructed one of the Lannister guards outside the room to show her to her
quarters. When they arrived at her room, she sent the man away and went in to
check on the children. She found Tyrion asleep on his bed, a look of peace on
his face—Joanna could not forget how Tyrion had watched over her and shared her
worries about Jaime. She tucked in the covers he had thrown off—King’s Landing
was warmer than the Rock, but spring had not yet arrived. She pushed the door
open and walked into Jaime’s room, and stood, rooted to the spot....
Afterwards, she could not recall how she had got back to her room. She did not
know from whence she had the composure to give orders to her maid, even as her
mind grappled with the sight of Cersei and Jaime, naked as the day they were
born, wrapped in each other’s arms. After the maid had left, carrying away her
travel-stained gown, she tried to think through what she had seen. She could no
longer doubt that her two eldest children, Tywin’s golden twins, were involved
in an incestuous affair. She had tried to prevent it when they were
children—they had been separated when Jaime went to squire at the Crakehalls’;
how could she and Tywin both have been so blind? She now fervently hoped the
Stark girl was alive and that Robert could be compelled to wed her. As for
Jaime and Cersei, she would have to find some way for the twins to leave
Westeros—she was surprised the two had not been discovered or exposed so far.
After all, there were few secrets at court—she had known that even as a young
girl. She realised that it had been Cersei who had found a way of instigating
Aerys to give Jaime the white cloak and her mind filled with dread at the
thought of what Tywin would do to the twins if he ever got to know. No, she
would have to make the twins leave Westeros—perhaps send them anonymous letters
threatening to tell all—and ensure they had enough money to reach Essos. She
was certain Jaime would find employment with one of the mercenary companies
there—he and Cersei would be able to live as they liked, so far away from home,
their parents and family. And Tywin would finally have to accept Tyrion as his
heir... She drifted off to an uneasy sleep, as she made these plans.
***** Returned Empty *****
Chapter Summary
     Cersei's feelings on going back to Casterly Rock after the Tourney at
     Harrenhal.
     These characters belong to GRRM.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
She was furious when her father rode into the Red Keep, ordered her to pack her
belongings and commanded all members of his household to prepare for a return
to the Rock at the earliest. Of course, Father being the man he was meant that
he never explained himself to anyone, least of all to his daughter, however
dearly beloved she might be. It was only when she walked past the solar that
she overheard a conversation between Maester Pycelle and her father:
“But Lord Tywin...what will become of the realm if you leave? The King...his
condition is well-known at court. If only he would rely more on the Queen and
the Crown Prince, who are still popular...but he will not do so, because
Varys...surely, my lord, you cannot resign your post as Hand in this manner?”
“My dear Pycelle,” her father responded, in the calm, easy and controlled
manner she admired so much and wished to emulate so eagerly, “the realm has
lasted some thousands of years, so your colleagues in the Citadel say. I, alas,
have only lived for the last forty-odd years and have served the realm as Hand
only for the last twenty. I am sure the realm will bear a little royal
misgovernance, shall we say? Perhaps the Crown Prince will finally take it into
his head that something has to be done about his father? When he has the time
and inclination to get away from tourneys and his harp? You say he went off to
Summerhall after the tourney?”
“Yes, my lord, he did—he angered many when he crowned Lyanna Stark Queen of
Love and Beauty, instead of crowning his wife, the Crown Princess, as was
expected. The Starks were furious; Lord Baratheon suspicious; the Princess
stoic and silent...”
“What of Lady Lyanna?”
“I think she was pleased and surprised...the crown was of blue roses, her
favourite flower. She is very young and unsophisticated—unused to the ways of
the court. Perhaps that’s why the prince liked her. There is a certain
something about her, but she is not beautiful, not like...”
She swiftly walked by the door—she had dawdled there quite enough and had no
desire to be caught eavesdropping by her father or his guardsmen. She knew
Jaime had joined the Kingsguard; her maid had told her how surprised they had
all been to see him ride in a few days ago to guard the Queen and Prince
Viserys. Her maid had told her how the women of the palace had been enraptured
by his good looks. She was glad—she had longed for his company so much. It
would be a great consolation to have him nearby; it would even help her forget
Rhaegar and what they should have been to each other, had his father not been
such a great fool as to refuse a lioness of the Rock as a bride for his son.
She hoped Aerys would suffer for this—for forcing her father to give up his
position as Hand. She was certain Aerys was the one at fault, the one who was
to blame.
When she sat with her father after supper that evening, as he sipped at his
wine, she asked:
“Father, is it true what they say in the Red Keep? Have you handed over your
chain of office?”
“Whence came that tale, Cersei?”
“The washerwomen at the wells, my lord.”
“Yes, it is true—I gave the realm my best, and would have given more, but Aerys
rebuffed me. And now, this—to have him take my son and heir for his Kingsguard!
How have I offended the gods that they should make me suffer so? Was it not
enough that your mother died after birthing Tyrion?”
She did not respond to this—she hoped he would never find out how she had
ensured that Aerys learnt that Jaime was anxious to serve in the Kingsguard. If
he was so enraged with the King for taking his son away, she could well imagine
how angry he would be at her involvement in the plot. What angered her, the
more she learnt of it, was Rhaegar’s fascination with Lyanna Stark. She, Cersei
Lannister, whom everyone praised as the most beautiful woman in the Seven
Kingdoms, had been so many years at court without eliciting a glance from the
Crown Prince, who had eyes only for his drab Dornish princess, and now this
slender Northern girl had caught his fancy. And her father was taking her away
from the court—her prince and her brother—to rusticate in Casterly; to her dull
aunts—fat aunt Genna, drinking and bandying jests with visiting knights; pious
aunt Dorna and dutiful aunt Darlessa; her uncles—Gerion and his japes; Tygett
and his sulks; Stafford and his stupidity; Kevan and his watchfulness and her
awful dwarf of a brother. What had she ever done, she asked the gods, how had
she offended them, to deserve this fate? At least she had been spared Tyrion’s
odious company whilst at court; now, she would have to share the same castle
with him, day in and day out, for gods knew how long. She wished he were dead
and rotting in his grave, as he should have been.
Chapter End Notes
     [During the British Raj, young girls were sent from the British Isles
     to India and parts further east, to find suitable husbands. They were
     called the Fishing Fleet, for obvious reasons. Those who returned
     home unmarried were known as the Returned Empties.]
***** Three Can Keep a Secret *****
Chapter Summary
     How Genna, Gerion and Tygett respond when they learn of Tysha's rape
     by Tywin's guardsmen...
     These characters belong to GRRM.
The three of them were the last to know of the disaster. Gerion had been
visiting the Spicers, arranging for yet another boat to take him on a voyage;
Tygett had just come back after leaving his wife at Ashemark, with little
Tyrek, to visit her family and Genna had come away from the Twins, having had
enough of Lord Walder and the rest of the Freys. They came back to learn, in
hushed whispers, of what had already transpired—Jaime and Tyrion’s ride to
Lannisport on a horse the Kingsguard had bought for his little brother; their
rescue of a young girl from brigands; Ser Jaime chasing the brigands, who
managed to disappear; Tyrion and the girl vanishing for the next two weeks; a
drunk septon telling Lord Tywin of his younger son’s marriage to a peasant
girl; the discovery and capture of the lovebirds; their return to the paternal
roof to face the patriarch’s wrath and then… the horrible shape the wrath had
taken.
The steward and his wife had hidden the girl with relatives; she was badly
hurt. The maester had slipped away from the Rock to tend to her. She was badly
bruised in mind and spirit; they said she flinched from sunlight and new faces.
Tygett did not stop swearing under his breath when he heard the news; Gerion’s
eyes widened and blazed forth, like those of a lion, although he said nothing…
so it was Genna who told Tywin what she thought of him, when she found her
nephew feverish and ill. They did not speak to each other for the next six
months.
In the meantime, the three of them joined forces, as they often had as
children, and conveyed the girl to the Spicers, those friends of Gerion’s, who
would hold their tongues, for they were of little account as nobles, although
quite wealthy as merchants. The girl seemed to revive a little, the farther
away they got from the Rock. The men could not bear to speak to her—they were
soldiers and knew that rape was used as a weapon in wartime, yet they had never
seen rape used as a weapon of terror in a realm at peace. It was Genna who
explained to the peasant girl that her brothers were wroth at what had
happened. The girl spoke, in whispers, of how she and Tyrion had met and
married; that she had only planned to come to Lannisport to work as a maid or
serving-girl at an inn; that she had been followed by brigands, who would have
harmed her, if the two lordlings had not rescued her; that Tyrion had been kind
and gentle to her, before…
It was a few months after this, when Gerion and Tygett went to check on the
girl, in the course of their duties in and around Lannisport, that Maggy, old
Lady Spicer, informed them that she was with child. Both men were horrified; it
could not be certain whose child it was—that of some guardsman who had raped
the poor girl or of Tyrion, who had been forced to watch and participate by his
father. It was too late, the old woman said, to rid the girl of the child. Of
course, she would care for the girl, but they would have to arrange for the
fostering of the child.
Gerion, as the younger, unmarried brother, immediately said that he would claim
the child as his bastard and have it brought up at the Rock; Tygett, he
informed his fuming elder brother, being a married man, had to show some
respect for his wife’s feelings. Tygett merely grunted and then said, in his
gruff voice, that the child, if a boy of normal build, would be trained
alongside his own son as a page and squire. They both hoped it would be a boy;
it would only be correct to bring him up at the Rock. After all, Tywin was, in
one way or another, responsible for his conception.
All this while, Genna sat beside her nephew, nursing him through his fever. He
was weak in body when he recovered, although his mind was as alert as ever. She
thanked the gods that Tywin had gone to the capital, to visit Cersei and Jaime
and his grandchildren. She did not speak of the girl to him; he had suffered
enough for his misdeeds. Any other lord would have sent the woman away to one
of his holdfasts, as far away from the common gaze; only Tywin…
The three of them were at the Spicers’ when the girl gave birth. She had a hard
time of it; she was only a girl of five-and-ten. She laboured hard and brought
forth two children—a boy and a girl. She did not thrive after the birth, Lady
Spicer said—she was ill with fever, unable to feed either child and unlikely to
live. It was fortunate that Genna knew of a wet nurse who had cared for her own
children; she was prepared to feed the twins. But what was to become of the two
little mites after that? Both Gerion and Tygett were in a quandary, and
explained their predicament to Genna.
“I offered to bring up Tyrion’s child as my own bastard, Genna,” Gerion said,
somewhat sheepishly. “But what should I do now—there are two babes…”
“Take the girl,” Genna said firmly. “Dorna and I will care for her as best we
can. As for the boy…”
Tygett recalled a distant relative of Ser Illyn Payne, who had married several
years ago; he and his wife had not yet been blessed with children. “They will
welcome the boy,” Tygett said, gruffly.
It was done as the three of them had planned—when Joy was three years of age,
Gerion introduced her as his bastard by a merchant’s widowed daughter, who had
remarried and obliged him to bring up their daughter. Tygett, in the meanwhile,
took the three-year-old boy to the Paynes, who named him Podrick, after the
man’s father. They would of course, never speak of this to Tywin or Tyrion—it
would not please the former and it would cause the latter much pain. The poor
girl, as Lady Spicer had predicted, died a few days after giving birth--in her
case, Genna thought, it was perhaps a blessed release. It was left to Genna to
keep the secret, when Tygett died and Gerion disappeared in a voyage to
Valyria, in search of Brightroar. She often wondered what would become of the
children, especially after Tywin was killed and Tyrion disappeared. She would
be there, of course, to protect the girl; and the boy seemed to have survived
and gone off to become a squire. She would tell none of her surviving children,
or her husband, this secret--she could not confide it to Cersei, Jaime, Dorna,
Darlessa or Kevan. It was hers alone, to take to her grave.
***** The Crimson Petal and the White (AU) *****
Chapter Summary
     Tyrion has smuggled Shae into the Red House, home to Cersei and
     Joffrey, supposedly mourning the death of Robert Baratheon, husband
     to the first and supposed father to the second, in a hunting
     accident. Joffrey's betrothed, Sansa Stark, is living with them, and
     Shae is her maid...
     These characters belong to GRRM--the title, and parts of the
     storyline are taken from Miche l Faber's book, which is an eye-
     opener.
Shae always came at night to his bed, as they had agreed when she moved to his
sister’s mansion (the Red House) in Belgravia from the cottage he’d got her in
St John’s Wood. She hadn’t wanted to leave her cosy little establishment, but
he had insisted—he was worried about being followed and he didn’t want to lose
her. Even with his valet-cum-bodyguard, Bronn, guarding his back, he could not
be certain that he was not being followed…
His sister, whom he suspected of having murdered her husband, had become more
suspicious by the day. Policemen had come to the Belgravia mansion, to make
enquiries—Robert Baratheon was known to frequent the haunts of ladies of easy
virtue. There were rumours afoot in society that he had more than one bastard
living; many of these children, it was whispered, were farmed out, either to
his brothers (dour Commander Stannis Baratheon of Her Majesty’s Navy; charming
Renly Baratheon, nature’s bachelor and MP for Storm’s End), his tutor (the Rev.
Jon Arryn of the Eyrie in Norfolk) or the friend of his schooldays, the Rev.
Eddard Stark, vicar of Winterfell in Yorkshire.
After all, there did exist a betrothal between the Rev. Stark’s eldest
daughter, Sansa, and Robert Baratheon’s eldest son, Joffrey. The girl had been
seen about at dances and parties before Baratheon died so tragically while
hunting. She had gone into mourning with the rest of the family upon his death.
When her mother had written, suggesting that she should come home, Cersei had
made the girl write back; to tell her she would stay in London, till the family
was out of mourning. Of course, when she wrote the letter, the girl was still
infatuated with Joffrey; but now, when both Stannis and Renly were coming up
with reasons why their sister-in-law would have wanted to kill their brother
and were insinuating that his children were born of Cersei’s incestuous
relations with her twin, Jaime, Joffrey had begun to show his true colours.
These rumours of incest were the stuff of newspaper stories; journalists, it
appeared, no longer feared the wrath of his father, who rarely left his country
estate, Casterly, in Cornwall. Joffrey had, on more than one occasion, ordered
the footmen to beat Sansa—when the stories about his alleged illegitimacy made
it to the papers; when her brother Robb was commended in despatches for his
bravery in the Crimea; when Jaime was said to be wounded and near death at
Scutari… Tyrion had intervened on each occasion, forcing Joffrey to stop the
beatings, sending the girl to her room, calling in Dr. Pycelle to see to her
wounds… he could not think of leaving the Red House for a moment.
Cersei would do nothing to stop the boy, saying that he had a right to ensure
that his future wife obeyed him in every circumstance. He often feared that
Joffrey, given such free rein by his mother, would do more than have the
footmen beat the girl if he was not about, keeping an eye on his nephew. And
the girl, who had arrived unaccompanied by a lady’s maid (Cersei had promised
to let her use the services of her own maids) or governess (her governess now
managed her younger sister and youngest brother, so Sansa said) was totally at
Cersei’s mercy. So he had insinuated Shae into the house, telling Cersei that
it was a disgrace that Sansa had no personal maid. He told Shae not to leave
the girl’s side for a moment, especially if she was with Joffrey. If asked to
leave, she should say that Mr. Lannister had given orders that she was to
chaperone the young couple. Shae had laughed at this, but he had insisted.
Luckily, the boy’s valet, Sandor Clegane, seldom left his side.
It was apparent when Shae tiptoed into his room that she wanted to talk, not
make love.
“We can’t stay here any longer,” she told Tyrion firmly. “Sansa’s afraid of
your nephew; she’s homesick and wants to go back to Yorkshire. Your sister
refused—told her she showed lack of spirit and a lack of affection for Joffrey,
whom she had professed to love so much. She was really unkind to the girl. And
then Joffrey went after her, saying that she was just like his uncles, ready to
tear into his mother, now that his father was dead. They told her she would
marry Joffrey, as soon as the period of mourning for Robert Baratheon was over.
They told her she could no longer go back home. She came back to her room—I
could see she was trying not to cry. Clegane brought her back; he was
scowling.”
Tyrion sighed with exasperation. “What do you want me to do, Shae? How do you
expect me to get the girl away from London and back to Yorkshire? Don’t you
think they will look for her there? And with her father and older brothers at
war in the Crimea… what protection will they have? Her uncle, Lord Stark,
spends most of his time at Newmarket; Lord Edmure Tully has to be dragged out
of Riverrun every time Parliament opens and the House of Lords goes into
session. And what do you think they will do to us—to you and me—when she
leaves?”
That is when Shae said something astonishing—astonishing to Tyrion, that is. He
had always seen her as a whore, more in love with his gold and the fine things
it bought her than as a thinking, feeling woman.
“Why do you stay?” she asked him. “Why should we not all leave? You are a
clever man; even I can see that. Sansa says you went to university—she says you
worked hard to get a degree; she says her father told her that. You could make
something of yourself; there is little you can do for your sister or your
nephew. She’s been meeting that limp-wristed cousin of yours, the one who
tinkles away at the piano and is so rude to Sansa. I can pack her things, and
yours, and mine—we can go and live abroad. Please… let’s do that.”
He could have said no to her; he could have told her that he hoped… if he was
able to manage this situation with Cersei and Joffrey, perhaps his father would
give him greater responsibilities, at the bank, in Australia, wherever… But
perhaps his father had no such intentions. In all these years, his father had
never truly appreciated all that he had done or become. So he agreed to Shae’s
plan and he spoke to Bronn about it.
Joffrey or Cersei seldom left the house if they could help it; Sansa liked to
go out for walks or a ride, but she was not permitted to walk outside the
grounds of the Red House. However, she needed new clothes; Shae complained that
she had grown taller and her bosom and hips had grown rounder. “She needs to
visit a dressmaker—I’m sure your sister knows someone.”
Of course, the girl could not be sent to anyone else but Cersei’s dressmaker,
wither she went, accompanied by Tyrion, Shae and Bronn (who drove the
carriage). Of course, she was not permitted colours—her dresses were to be
black or dark grey, not a single pastel or white. Of course, she had to be
outfitted for everything from the skin outwards—Shae insisted, saying that even
her night rails were a disgrace. The girl stood quietly while she was measured
and poked and prodded with pins; the dressmaker promised her girls would work
on the clothes all day and night, and have them ready within a fortnight.
So the plan was made—they’d have the girl’s clothes packed from the dressmaker;
they would have their own bags packed and in the carriage. Tyrion would arrange
their passage from London Dockyard itself, for the Continent. He had friends in
Paris; they would hide there, or in Brussels, where he also knew people. Shae
was his go-between with Sansa; the girl was longing to leave London, but she
knew she could not go back to Yorkshire just yet. She had experienced Joffrey’s
spite first-hand; she would not have it visited upon her family.
So they left the house that day—at the last minute, Cersei wanted to know why
Sansa had to go to the dressmaker. “Why not bring the clothes here and let dear
Sansa stay at home?” she purred. But Sansa explained that she wanted to make
certain the dresses fitted well; she did not want to go back and forth to the
dressmaker, just because a dress did not fit. She said quite firmly that she
would be at least three hours at the dressmaker’s, for she wanted to try all
her clothes before she brought them home. Cersei would have argued… but then
Lancel arrived to spend the afternoon with her. They left the house, feeling as
if they had escaped a prison.
That evening, when they did not return, Cersei sent the footmen out, first to
the dressmaker’s, who said they had left a long time since, and then to the
railway stations and dockyards, for she could not forget that the girl had
wanted to go home. There was no trace of them at the stations, but at the
dockyards, they spoke of four people, taking berths on a ship to the Continent;
of a carriage and horses being sold hastily.
They looked for the runaways (for the Lannisters had contacts) in Paris and
Brussels and Rome, where the English travelled frequently. They did not look
for them in Kaiserswerth-am-Rhein in Germany, where a Miss Alayne Stone,
accompanied by her older sister, her brother-in-law (a strange dwarfish fellow)
and his raffish valet stayed, while Miss Stone completed her medical training.
Sansa told them, when they were on board the boat, that she had always wanted
to follow in Miss Nightingale's footsteps; only the fear of upsetting social
norms had prevented her voicing these thoughts aloud to her parents.
***** The End of the War of Five Kings *****
Chapter Summary
     Arya asks Jaquen to kill three very important people...
     These characters belong to GRRM.
Jaqen H'ghar first killed Lord Tywin in Harrenhal, by taking the form of his
cupbearer, whose throat he slit and whose body he deposited in a spot where the
dogs and wolves and crows would feast on it. A few drops of the tears of Lys in
my lord's wine, administered as often as the lord called for his goblet to be
refreshed, and my lord lay in his armor, a fresh-made corpse to be taken to the
Rock for burial in the crypt.
It was then necessary to send a knight, known for his loyalty and years of
allegiance to House Lannister, to the court, to bear the news of the great
lion's death to his daughter and grandson. It was a contest between Ser Amory
Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane. Eventually, Ser Amory was selected. He would have
gone to King's Landing to convey the sad news, if he had not been waylaid,
killed and laid to rest in a ditch, for the animals to feast upon.
Thus it was that Jaqen arrived in King's Landing, which he had left a few short
moons ago. He was first received privately by the Queen in her apartments--news
of this kind did not bear repetition in court lest it be bruited about and
reach the ears of her enemies. So it was no great matter for Jaqen to throttle
her, as soon as her maids were out of hearing, steal her face and form and
delicately make his way to the king's room, on the pretext of sharing news from
his grandfather at Harrenhal. The big man with half his face burned, who was
guarding the door, let him in without a demur; the king welcomed him warmly,
and did not expect the dagger that slit his throat open, leaving him to bleed
into his sheets. Jaqen tiptoed out, telling the scar-faced Kingsguard at the
door to let his Grace sleep; the poor boy needed his rest. He then went to the
Queen's apartment, resumed Ser Amory's face and form and returned to Harrenhal.
He left confusion behind him in King's Landing. The dead King's acting Hand,
and uncle, Tyrion Lannister, was at a loss for what should be done. He swiftly
resolved to end the war with Robb Stark and King Stannis; he would return the
Stark greatsword, Ice, along with the eldest Stark girl, Sansa, and sue for
peace and the return of his brother Jaime. He would even agree to recognize
Robb Stark as King in the North--he would let Stannis fight to unite the realm.
He would make preparations to leave Westeros with his nephew, niece and
brother, for Essos. He would take Shae and Bronn with him. Jaime would surely
find employment there--any company of sellswords would be delighted to have him
on its books. Tommen could act as his squire while Tyrion arranged for his
niece to be fostered with a noble house in the Free Cities--she would be
certain to make a fine marriage there. As for himself--he would wander Essos
and view all the wonders he had read of so long ago in Lomas Longstrider's
books. But for his plan to work out, he had to prevent the news of the deaths
of his father, sister and nephew leaking out to their enemies. He was able to
claim that Lord Tywin was preparing an assault upon Riverrun, even while he
spoke sadly of the illness plaguing his nephew and sister. He was even able to
threaten Lord Baelish with the black cells to get him to restore Jeyne Poole to
Sansa Stark's care--Lady Sansa refused to leave King's Landing without her
friend.
Robb Stark was delighted to learn that almost all the outrageous terms he had
asked of the Iron Throne were acceptable; of course, it was Tyrion Lannister
who had agreed to them, not his sister or nephew. However, he was surprised to
learn from Sansa, when she arrived at Riverrun, that Arya had never been with
her. He was then forced to offer a ransom for the return of his sister, which
he paid to the Brotherhood without Banners.
The end of the War in the Riverlands meant that Robb Stark returned to
Winterfell with his Frey bride--Roslin--before the Ironborn attacked. He was
able to beat them back and even taught Lord Bolton's bastard a sharp lesson for
his ill-treatment of Lady Hornwood. As for Tyrion Lannister--he was able to
leave Westeros, with his brother, nephew, niece, friend and lover, and make a
comfortable home for all of them in Pentos, for a time. His departure made it
possible for Stannis Baratheon to easily take King's Landing, although Renly
Baratheon was less than pleased for his attempt at the crown to fail so
dismally.
***** The Wedding Night *****
Chapter Summary
     Petyr spying on Harry and Sansa...
     These characters belong to GRRM.
He should not be doing this; he knows that, somewhere in the sane part of his
mind. But he cannot help himself...so when the bride and bridegroom were
stripped for the bedding, he slipped away to conceal himself in the bridal
chamber. He was compelled to do so; he could not stop himself even if he had
wanted to. And now he has none but himself to blame, if he lies there, hiding
behind the tapestries, nearly weeping with jealousy. She looked so much like
Cat...his Cat. Why did he allow her to wed the boy? That hadn't been part of
his plan. He'd hoped to hide her in the Vale; he knew Lysa wanted to marry him
and would insist the girl wed sickly little Robin. He was certain a young
healthy maiden like Sansa would soon tire of her sickly little husband and fall
into his waiting arms. As for Lysa and the boy...much could be done with the
tears of Lys and sweetsleep.
 
But then he had to kill Lysa, just as he'd had to kiss Sansa in the snow. Lysa
was a drunk, middle-aged maniac now, of no more use to him. He'd wedded her and
bedded her; the Lannisters had made him Lord Paramount of the Riverland and the
Vale. He'd keep her little boy alive, though; Robert Arryn would make a useful
puppet.
 
It was Corbray or Templeton, he did not know which, who had suggested the
Harrdying alliance for his daughter. And like a fool, he had agreed. Robert was
a tiresome boy, almost as tiresome as his mother. He'd instructed Sansa...no,
Alayne, to give him sweetsleep. She swore she did so, yet the boy seemed to be
getting better. And in the meantime, Harry had met her and she, as a doting
stepsister to Robert, had won his boyish heart. And hence the speedy marriage.
 
He'd expected the boy to be clumsy; to push her on her back and thrust himself
into her, recklessly, as if he were shoving a lance into a quintain. Instead,
the boy, who seemed to be very comfortable in his nakedness, had invited Sansa
to sit beside him and she had done so. He had poured them both a goblet of wine
and chatted about everything and nothing, even making her laugh. They had
sipped at their wine as they talked. And then, when they had finished the wine,
he had taken the goblet from her hand, put it on the stand near the bedside,
turned to her and kissed her.
He'd watched Harry as the boy kissed Sansa, at first slowly and gently, and
then harder. She seemed to enjoy his kisses, drawing closer to him, so that
their arms were wrapped around each other. And then, he'd gently kissed her
face, her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, returning to her mouth, again and
again.
They were both flushed, with the kissing more than the wine. They'd been
sitting on the bed while they kissed, as their bodies drew closer. He gently
drew her down to the bed, so that she lay on it, and he lay down beside her.
And then he began to touch and kiss her body--her neck, her breasts, her belly,
her thighs, returning to her mouth again and again, telling her, in a husky,
hoarse voice how he delighted in her. She moaned as he kissed her, touching
him, his back, his arms, his shoulders, even his buttocks. So that when he
gently pries her legs apart, to get to her sex, she lets him; her legs fall
apart and the portcullis to her castle is down.
And then Petyr sees this green boy, this mere knight, kneel down between her
thighs and kiss her lower lips. He not only kisses them, he seems to be licking
and sucking at them. And she throws back her head when he does so, clenching
the bed sheet in her hands. He is certain she would howl like a wolf, if she
was not such a lady.
She pulls him to her, when he sits up, and pulls his body down on hers,
wrapping him in her arms and rubbing herself against him like a harlot, even as
she kisses him deeply, tasting herself in his mouth. He groans deeply and
begins to gently squeeze and knead her breasts, rubbing her nipples with his
fingers, suckling at each in turn, causing her to writhe in pleasure. His eyes
are gleaming; his mouth is swollen; his face is red. And she is lifting her
hips up to him, offering herself, moaning softly.
That is when he slides himself into her, and she cries out in pleasure as they
thrust at each other. She wraps her legs around his waist, urging him on with
her moans and cries. It carries on for a long time, Petyr thinks, until they’re
both sated and tired. And then, they wrap their arms around each other and go
to sleep.
They do it two or three times before cock-crow—they have the energy of youth,
he thinks sourly. He even gets her to ride him, her breasts bobbing into his
face, all the better for him to touch and squeeze and knead and roll the
nipples between his callused fingers. She enjoys that; she even enjoys kissing
his “man staff,” as she gigglingly calls it. He loves it, Petyr can tell. He
likes her touching him and he lets her know it. He likes her hair tickling him.
It is well past cock-crow when someone comes knocking on their door, and they
both wake up startled and giggling. They look at each other and they kiss, as
though sealing a pact. And he watches the two of them, feeling jealous,
impotent and angry. He could have prevented this, he thinks; he could have sent
her north, instead of the steward’s daughter. She has played him false…she is
not his Cat. But his Cat too…hadn’t she married a Stark, borne five children,
been happy in that northern wilderness?
***** Lord Bronze Yohn Royce's Stratagem *****
Chapter Summary
     Bronze Yohn Royce is not fooled by Petyr's lies--an alternative to
     Season 5's storyline for Sansa.
     These characters belong to GRRM.
Lord Bronze Yohn Royce was no fool—he was a knight seasoned by war, politics
and diplomacy. He had brought up a large and thriving family, and knew much of
men and matters. So he listened carefully when Lady Sansa described how her
aunt had died—how Lord Baelish was forced to kill his lady wife to save her
niece’s life. He saw how Lord Robert wept on being parted from his cousin—she
was the only family he now had left, after the deaths of his parents, his
cousins and his aunt and uncle.
So he sent the boy back to Runestone with his men. Lord Baelish had spoken of
going to the Riverlands with Lady Sansa; Lord Royce had sent his men to follow
the Lord Protector’s wheelhouse from the Vale. Some had taken service with
Petyr as sellswords, on his orders; they would find a way to communicate his
destination to the scouts that followed them, screened by rocks and trees. He
knew the kind of man Baelish was—he was as likely to hand the girl over to the
Queen Regent as the murderer of the late and unlamented King Joffrey, the First
of his Name, as he was to take her to safety. Had Lord Bronze Yohn been a
betting man (which he was occasionally, on tourney days) he would have put
money on the first option.
The next day, he was woken early, by Sam Stone, his master-at-arms. It appeared
that Ser Mychel Redfort, who had followed the wheelhouse as part of the
scouting party, had ridden hard to reach Runestone with his message. “They make
for Winterfell,” said Ser Mychel as soon as Lord Bronze Yohn walked into his
solar. “The Boltons hold it for the Lannisters. What hellish plan has this
Baelish made?”
It was fortunate that Mychel Redfort had insisted on joining Lord Bronze Yohn’s
scouts. He knew something of the Boltons—Domeric, Lord Roose Bolton’s son, had
been fostered with the Redforts. Mychel told Lord Bronze Yohn all that he
recalled Domeric telling him of his father, his family and their rivalry with
the Starks for the rule of the north. And then he spoke.
“Do you think, Mychel, that Baelish plans to hand Lady Sansa over to the
Boltons?”
Mychel stared at him, wide-eyed. “But why would he do that?” he asked. “They
killed her brother. Will they not harm her?”
“Did Lord Roose have only that one son?” Lord Bronze Yohn asked him, almost at
a tangent.
Mychel shook his head. “No; there was a bastard younger brother, so Domeric
said. He was determined to meet him. His mother had no other children, but he
was determined to treat Ramsay Snow as the true-born brother he never had.”
“What became of Domeric?” Lord Bronze Yohn asked almost idly.
Mychel frowned. “He died very suddenly. My father wrote to him, a month or so
after he went back to the north. Lord Roose replied curtly, informing us of his
son’s death and its cause. Later, his aunt Barbrey came to visit; she was his
mother’s sister. Domeric had written to her often, telling her much and more of
his life with us at Redfort. She was angry at his death; she said Domeric had
met his bastard half-brother, returned home to the Dreadfort and died in
terrible pain from a stomach ailment. His mother died soon after, of a broken
heart.”
“Does Lady Barbrey write often to your father, Mychel?”
“She did send a raven some days ago, telling us of the changes in the north. It
appears all the northern lords have bent the knee to the Iron Throne. Many of
their sons and grandsons, who were held as prisoners in King’s Landing and
Harrenhal, will now return home. She also spoke of Ramsay’s marriage—he will be
given Winterfell, while Lady Walda’s child, if a boy, will hold the Dreadfort.”
“Oh? And did she say who will wed him or what manner of man he is?”
“She did not say who would wed him, but she did describe the manner of man he
is. He forced Lady Donella Hornwood, Lord Manderly’s cousin, to wed him at the
point of a sword. He forced her to bed him and name him her heir in her will.
And then he starved her to death. Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Stark’s master-at-
arms, killed someone he believed to be Ramsay, but who turned out to be his
creature, Reek. Ramsay disguised himself as Reek, was taken as a prisoner to
Winterfell and was involved (she does not say how) in the deaths of the two
young sons of Lord Stark.”
“So it was not the ward who killed them?” Lord Bronze Yohn enquired, as he
paced about the solar.
“Lady Barbrey says not—Ramsay boasted in her hearing that he had thought of
it.”
“Dear gods! You don’t think even Petyr Baelish would think of wedding Sansa
Stark to that ….?” Lord Bronze Yohn turned around and looked Ser Mychel in the
eye.
“Would he be capable of such villainy?” Mychel asked, horrified.
“Yes, he would—Lady Sansa stated that he had spirited her out of the Red Keep
when the King died, poisoned at his own wedding. How do you think he knew the
King would die, Ser Mychel, unless he had a hand in the deed? And if he had a
hand in it, Lady Sansa may have seen something or found out something by now.
So why not hand her over to a beast, who is likely to kill her for her claim to
Winterfell?”
It did not take long for Lord Bronze Yohn to gather a group of knights, who
would follow the road to the north, in disguise, following the trail left by
Lord Baelish’s wheelhouse. He ensured that Lord Robert was safe and kept secure
by his cousin at the Gates of the Moon, Lord Nestor Royce. It would not do to
leave Lord Robert unguarded. Then he set off with his men, in the steps of Lord
Petyr Baelish and his sellswords.
It appeared that Lord Baelish had taken the road to Moat Cailin—evidently, this
was now in Bolton hands. He did not have a hard time travelling through the
Mountains of the Moon; his wheelhouse flew the Lannisters’ lion standard. Lord
Bronze Yohn Royce and his men, who had travelled disguised as sellswords,
merchants and peasants, hiding their weapons in bundles, followed in their
wake. Many of the sellswords made it to Winterfell, to offer their services to
the Warden of the North, who was facing the threat of an attack from the rebel
Stannis Baratheon. They made it a point to meet their comrades in the
whorehouse outside Winterfell’s gates, to give news of what went on in the
castle.
Yes, Lord Baelish had come here with Lady Sansa; she was to marry Lord Ramsay
Bolton in a day or two. Lord Roose had ordered the other Lords of the North,
who had bent the knee to the Iron Throne, to present themselves here for the
wedding, which would take place in the godswood at night. No, there was no
problem with Lady Sansa’s marriage to the Imp, since it had never been
consummated. And since he was a traitor to the crown… What did surprise Lord
Bronze Yohn and his men was the sight of Lord Petyr Baelish leaving Winterfell
along with his sellswords. Those of the Royce men who had followed him
disguised continued with him as far as White Harbour, where he took the Merling
King for King’s Landing.
Lord Bronze Yohn began to wonder what Lord Petyr’s game might be. He’d handed
the Stark girl to her enemies; was he going to King’s Landing to report the
success of his mission to the Queen Regent? He gathered his men together and
prepared a plan of attack for the day of the wedding.
Lord Royce’s men slipped in alongside the Lords of the North, who had come to
the wedding, to offer their services as ostlers or smiths or squires. The Lords
had lost many men in King Robb’s rebellion, and many more in the Red Wedding;
most had come poorly attended. They welcomed help from all quarters. Some of
Lord Royce’s captains were able to meet the Lords and tell them of Lord Bronze
Yohn’s plans. Almost all agreed to help, even Lord Wyman Manderly, who was
reputed to be too fat to sit a horse.
On the night of the wedding, as Lady Sansa Stark, clad in a white dress, was
led into the Godswood by her foster-brother, Theon Greyjoy, whose arm she
refused to take, the men of the north stood waiting, having worn their armour
under their finery. They would pull out their swords, draw her and the Greyjoy
away from the heart tree and fall on Bolton and his men. Lord Bronze Yohn and
his knights stood hidden behind the trees in the Godswood, waiting for the
attack.
So many things could have gone wrong with the attack—the Boltons could have
killed Lady Sansa or held a knife to her throat to thwart it. But they were not
expecting their enemies to trickle into Winterfell in ones and twos, or to hide
in the Wolfswood and the Godswood. They were preparing for an attack from
Stannis; they did not expect an attack during a wedding. And the candles they
had lit to illuminate the path to the heart tree helped Lord Royce’s archers
pick out and kill Roose, Ramsay and the Bolton men easily.
Later, after the killing was over, Lord Bronze Yohn spoke to Lady Sansa. She
had stood aside quietly, not crying out or making a sound as his men and the
northern lords turned upon Lord Roose, his newly legitimized bastard son and
his men. But she refused to countenance any attempt to hurt Lady Walda, who was
pregnant. “Take her to the Vale, to Lady Waynwood. Let her stay there till the
child is delivered. And when that is done, you may send her to her mother… I
believe she is living at Darry; so Lord Petyr said. The child, girl or boy,
will be raised in the Vale.” She spoke quietly and firmly, her eyes dry and
tearless, as she looked Lord Bronze Yohn in the face. Lord Royce nodded
silently, impressed by her calm at such a time.
“What about the Greyjoy, my lady? Do you want him executed for the death of
your brothers?” Ser Mychel Redfort enquired. Theon Greyjoy stood nearby,
shaking and weeping with relief. She shook her head.
“His death will not bring my brothers back to life,” she said quietly.
“Your brothers are not dead, my lady—they are alive,” blurted Lord Wyman
Manderly, quivering all over like a summer blancmange. Then he told her about
the ironborn page his men had captured, and how the boy had told them, in sign
language, that little Rickon Stark, his direwolf and his wildling caretaker had
gone to Skagos. Another lord, a Liddle from the mountain clans, came forward
and spoke of a member of his clan meeting a crippled boy and a direwolf,
attended by a young girl and boy from Greywater Watch (“they looked like
crannogmen, my lady!”) and a hulking, silent man, who carried the boy on his
shoulders. “He shared his oatcakes with them,” the Liddle said, reminiscently.
Lady Sansa looked at Theon Greyjoy, who still stood there, shaking in his
finery, tears streaking his face. She walked up to him and held him in her
arms. “You foolish boy, Theon,” Lord Royce heard her whisper as he sobbed in
her arms like a child.
There was yet more excitement to come that night, as the lords sat quietly in
Winterfell’s great hall, to eat the feast the Boltons had prepared. A great
banging was heard at the door of the hall; when it was opened, the sentry found
a person, tall and broad, clad head to toe in blue armour, holding a Valyrian
steel sword, followed by a stuttering squire clad in Lannister red and gold. It
appeared one of the older women had slipped off to the Old Tower with a candle,
which she had lit as soon as she saw Lady Sansa go to the Godswood for her
wedding. She’d summoned Brienne of Tarth, along with her page, Podrick Payne.
Lady Sansa, who had rejected Brienne’s offer of fealty at Moat Cailin, welcomed
her now; the night had grown colder and it was snowing. She sat her close to
Lord Bronze Yohn, and asked them why they had decided to intervene. Of course,
Lady Brienne spoke of her oath to Lady Catelyn, and Bronze Yohn spoke of what
he had learned of Lord Baelish’s movements after he had left Winterfell so
abruptly. “He has gone to King’s Landing,” confirmed Lord Wyman, who walked up
to them, his voice muffled by a large slice of pie, which he ate greedily.
“I wonder,” said Lady Sansa, “if he was planning to betray me to Cersei all
along. He told me,” she looked at Lady Brienne as she spoke, “that he had
plotted with the Tyrells to poison King Joffrey. He sent Dontos to me to plan
my escape from the court, where I was a prisoner. Ser Dontos Hollard and I used
to meet in the godswood. And then, at the Eyrie… I think he made sure Lysa saw
him kissing me. So when she sent for me, she was enraged and unreasonable and
tried to push me out of the Moon Door. She spoke of many things… of how Lord
Petyr had given her tears of Lys, to put into Lord Jon’s wine, every night. And
then Lord Jon fell ill and died, and she wrote to my mother to tell her the
Lannisters had done it. When I told him what she had said before he came to my
rescue, he said she was mad and telling lies. And then he insisted I marry
Ramsay, to be avenged for the deaths of my family. He said he was certain I
could win over that monster.” She shuddered as she spoke.
“And then, when we met at Moat Cailin, he talked of Renly’s death and blamed
you, Lady Brienne. And you said my mother was there—she saw what happened and
took you into her service. You said both she and you believed Stannis was
behind it—he was responsible. And he told me to wait for Stannis to attack—he
was certain to take Winterfell; I would not have to endure Ramsay or his father
for long. And then he left the day before the wedding—he said he was needed in
King’s Landing; Cersei must not suspect that he knew where I was.”
“What will you do, my lady?” Brienne enquired, wiping her fingers on a napkin.
“Lord Stannis, so I learnt from some of the mountain clansmen here, helped the
Night’s Watch fight off the wildlings. For now, Lady Brienne, we must
acknowledge him as king; it is winter and we will need a warrior to fight for
us. When I was at court, a brother of the Night’s Watch, one Alliser Thorne,
came to see Lord Tyrion. He spoke of the wights and the Others attacking the
Wall and asked the Iron Throne for help. Lord Tyrion sent him Janos Slynt and
the dregs from the Black Cells; my father had already sent several prisoners
north with one Yoren, who was recruiting for the Watch. Did they come north? We
must find out. We cannot move against Stannis until this threat—of the winter
and the wights and the others—is over. After that…he shall have justice. And
you shall give it to him, my lady.”
Lord Bronze Yohn then told them the stories he had heard, when he visited Lord
Jon Arryn in King’s Landing; strange tales of Lord Stannis’ involvement in the
cult of R’hllor, worshipped as fire, the presence of a priestess of R’hllor on
Dragonstone and the rumours of burning the images in the sept of Dragonstone
and the godswood at Storm’s End. He also spoke of what he had heard of the
death of Lord Alliser Florent. “I am certain, my lady, that this priestess
would know if Stannis had anything to do with Lord Renly’s death. But let us
wait—let us use him for our purpose. Lady Sansa is right—we need him at this
time. After that, we shall see.”
***** From Ser Illyn Payne's Memoirs *****
Chapter Summary
     Ser Illyn Payne's recollections of Lady Sansa Stark...
     These characters belong to GRRM
When I was a young lad, we were taught to use swords and bows and spears, maces
and war hammers and morningstars. Reading and writing and counting coppers was
fit work for maesters and women and merchants, they said; a real man fought
with his arms and his fists, not with a quill. Nowadays, all has changed. When
I came to Tarth with my lord and lady, Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, the three of
us were in disgrace and exile, or near enough to make no matter. We would spend
our days in peace and quiet, till we were taken by the Stranger to lands
unknown. Or so I thought.
I think it was my lady (who was still a young woman then, being no more than
four-and-twenty) who taught me to read and write. Ser Jaime was not very keen I
learn; he had never been too good at his books (I recall his father scolding
him in my hearing!) and he did not think it made much difference if or whether
I learned. However, my lady has a will of iron--very like his lady mother! So I
learned from young Podrick Payne, who is distantly related to my family (so I
believe).
I was relieved to learn, from what my lady let fall in my hearing when she
spoke to Ser Jaime, that she was not unaccquainted with the truth of his
relations with his sister. I had no desire to talk to anyone of that matter--
those are his secrets, should he choose to reveal them or not. But... Podrick
often speaks of Lady Sansa, the wife of his former lord, Lord Tyrion Lannister.
Of course, she is nowadays very well-known and well-spoken of, but both Pod and
I recall the days when she was known only as a traitor's daughter, the blood of
Winterfell, the king's betrothed or the Imp's bride. I shall write of those
days, because Pod tells me that many men, who have lived through these troubled
times have gained much fame for writing of what they have seen and done. I
doubt if the recollections of an old and broken down knight (for so I am) would
count for much, but I shall write what I can and let Pod's grandchildren or
great-grandchildren judge the results.
We met at Darry, as I recall, in the last glow of the autumn season, in the
last months of the reign of Robert Baratheon, the First of his name. He was
like a warrior king of old; he fought for and won his crown on the Trident. He
was kind enough to make me King's Justice and Executioner, when Lord Tywin
asked it of him. I went, as was customary, with Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord
Commander of the Kingsguard, and Lord Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws on
the King's Small Council, to welcome the king back to his capital. And to
extend a welcome to his Hand, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.
There was much talk in the Council that the King might well ask his Hand to
betroth his daughter to Prince Joffrey, his heir. I heard some , such as Lord
Tyrion, say that it seemed a good match--the girl's mother was a Tully; her
aunt was married to an Arryn; her foster-brother was a Greyjoy and her father
was a Stark. Thus the future king of Westeros would be related, in some degree,
to four great houses. There were others who sneered, saying that a girl brought
up so far from the refining influence of the south and the light of the Seven,
in the barbarous north, would make but a poor wife for a king. So...
Of course, our first meeting was not propitious--I am not a pretty sight to
behold. She was shocked when she saw me--Sandor Clegane, as was his wont, tried
to brush the matter off with a crude jest. But she begged my pardon prettily
and spoke in a most composed manner to both Ser Barristan and Lord Renly. And
then Prince Joffrey took her for a ride along the river.
They returned in much disarray a few hours later. I recollect that Prince
Joffrey was hurt--he claimed that he had been savaged by one of the direwolves.
Lady Sansa returned to get help for him and spent much time in her father's
tent. It appeared that her sister, Lady Arya, had attacked the prince, and had
disappeared.
She was found by Lannister guardsmen, who brought her before the king and
queen. She claimed that the prince had attacked a butcher's boy with whom she
had been playing at knights with sticks for swords; the prince said that she
had turned on him, thrown his sword into the river and her wolf had savaged
him. Lady Sansa said she could not say which of them spoke the truth, for it
all happened so fast. And then the queen wanted the direwolves punished...but
Lord Stark took care of that matter. The Lannisters and Starks had never got
along after the king took his throne; my Lord Stark had wanted Ser Jaime to
join the Night's Watch for killing King Aerys! And now, the death of his
daughter's pet (NOT the beast that savaged the prince!) meant that the King and
his Hand and their households were almost not on speaking terms.
It was ironic that Lord Stark refused to let me kill his daughter's pet; he
killed her himself, with his greatsword. So when he tried to unseat His Grace
King Joffrey (the First of his Name) and was arrested, imprisoned and then
executed before the Great Sept, on Baelor's Stairs, I was told to use that very
sword to kill him, by the king. None knew of the change in plan, save the king,
Janos Slynt, myself and Lord Petyr Baelish, who had whispered his plan in the
king's ear. Even Sandor Clegane, who was the king's sworn shield, knew nothing
of it, for all he guarded the king night and day.
Both the Queen Regent and Lady Sansa wanted Lord Stark to go north, to the
Night's Watch, but Lord Baelish feared that Lord Stark, who was well known for
his prowess in war and his popularity in the north, would use the Watch and the
northmen to seek revenge for his disgrace on the Lannisters in the Westerlands
and on the king on his throne. Hence the execution. It was said in my hearing
that the Lady Sansa fell into a swoon on her father's death; it was also said
by the servants, with many a snigger, that the king treated her ill, even
though she was his betrothed. But she bore her burdens bravely, as bravely as
she had pleaded, all alone, for her father's life before the throne.
Of course, they did not take the greatsword from me, not until Lord Tywin
himself came to the capital after defeating Lord Stannis at the Battle of the
Blackwater. Nowadays, they say the Imp (or Lord Tyrion, as I should call him)
did much to halt Stannis, with his iron chain across the river, the burning of
shanties near the walls of the city, the use of wildfire, the charge that led
to his wound...but it was the coming of Lord Tywin's army, with that of the
Tyrells, which turned the tide.
The night of the battle, I was stationed in the grand ballroom of Maegor's
Holdfast; Her Grace the Queen Regent had invited all the ladies of noble birth
in the capital and the surrounding country to attend her, for their own safety
and that of their children. She had asked me to be there; in case Stannis won,
she wanted me to give her and the other women the gift of mercy. I could not
refuse her; I knew her lady mother of old.
So I stood there, watching all that happened--the Queen Regent, drinking and
talking to her son's betrothed, who had just flowered (the serving women spoke
of how she had tried to burn her mattress and sheets); the women talking
quietly amongst themselves, asking about the fighting; Ser Lancel coming in,
wounded, to give the Queen news, and then Her Grace rushing to the ramparts, to
drag the king inside, to the safety of the Holdfast, as if he were a child. I
saw the Stark girl calm the women, get them to sing hymns, get a maester to Ser
Lancel (who was sore wounded, poor fellow) even as she avoided looking my way.
There is little to say concerning the girl after that--the king broke his
betrothal to her, contracting a marriage with his uncle's widow, Margaery
Tyrell, who claimed to be a maiden still. Lady Sansa was married off to Lord
Tyrion--I think Lord Tywin hoped to claim the north and the Riverlands through
her for his heirs. The maids who used to serve her (the Queen Regent had them
spy on her and changed them frequently) all spoke well of her. She did not
confide in them; they knew little of what she thought, other than what she said
in court, castigating her family for their treason. She claimed to be loyal to
the king. She behaved as courteously to one and all as though her father still
lived unharmed; as though her mother and brothers and uncle and grandfather
were still loyal to the king...it was strange, I often thought, that she did
not utter an unkind word to the king or the queen regent, for what had been
done to her family.
Of course, she was known to be pious; she went to the sept, as did all of us at
court. She also prayed to her northern gods, in the godswood at night.
So it came as a surprise to all of us when King Joffrey was poisoned at his own
wedding, and his uncle and aunt by marriage were blamed for the crime. Lord
Tyrion, I will admit, was always a suspect, in his sister's eyes and those of
his father--they could not forgive him the death of his mother. However...even
though Lady Joanna had died birthing him, I could not help but see her clever
mind and sharp tongue, as well as his own ugly face and twisted body. Yes, he
had his father's ferocity and cruelty and competence. But it was Lady Joanna
who had wanted an alliance with the Dornish princess's daughter for her son...
if my lord had only heeded her last wishes, the history of the realm would have
changed entirely.
But I had observed how Lady Sansa behaved after the deaths of almost all her
family (her bastard brother on the Wall was all that remained) and she did not
strike me as a killer. Lord Tyrion, for all his rage at the king and the slaps
he administered liberally to His Grace, was merely trying to make him a better
ruler--again, not a killer. I have seen many such in my long life as the King's
Justice. The one by kindness and good example; the other with a sharp tongue
and a hard hand, wanted to make a better man of him. But His Grace was never
the one to learn a lesson easily or quickly. He was never an apt pupil; no, not
even in the practice yard, let alone the maester's chamber. And Grand Maester
Pycelle was willing to let him be as he was, as was his mother, who saw no
fault in him...
When I look back on those days and I think of all that I hear of her now, I
recall how she survived those days, which must have been difficult for her,
with her father's death, her brother's rebellion and death and her forced
marriage to Lord Tyrion, and I am amazed at the strength of that child of one-
and-ten. There she sits, honoured and beloved of one and all, who speak of her
kindness and generosity (even Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne and young Pod), while
those who harmed her (King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Lord Petyr, Lord Tywin...)
are all as dust, as the septon would say. I am one of the few who recalls the
old days and yet lives.
***** At the Vale and After *****
Chapter Summary
     What happens when the gravedigger meets Alayne Stone?
     These characters belong to GRRM.
He’d been on his way to the Vale, with a message from the brothers at the Quiet
Isle for the Lord Protector of the Riverlands and the Vale. And there he saw
her and recognized her—Littlefinger was passing her off as his bastard
daughter, no less! It did not take him long to catch her eye and whisk her
away, after he delivered his letter to Littlefinger. In fact, she helped him,
convincing him not to say a word and to keep his face covered, telling His
Lordship (“father,” she called him!) that the good brother had taken a vow not
to speak or show his face for half a year. “And the time is not yet up,” she
said, “which is why he must keep his face covered and remain silent, or suffer
a greater penance. That’s what the good septas in Gulltown told me,” she said,
her voice quiet, her eyes guileless, not even a suggestion of telling a lie!
Well, the former Master of Coin was far too busy to question her; he was
surrounded by the nobility of the Vale, all of them talking of the tourney, of
who had lost and who had won; of the knights who would now form Lord Arryn’s
Winged Knights. Lord Arryn himself had gone to bed; the little bird told him he
had been quite tired out with all the excitement. She herself had danced with
almost every knight, lordling and squire on the preceding days; now, it seemed
all the knights of the Vale wished to drink and make merry—those of whom that
had not been wounded in the tourney—while those who had won a place in Lord
Robert’s Winged Knights were assigned their duties by the Lord Protector. She
was able to slip away and talk to him again, and to convince him to take her
away from the Vale, to the north preferably, by way of Runestone.
When he asked her why she wished to visit Runestone, she spoke of leaving a
message for Lord Bronze Yohn Royce, for she did not trust Lord Baelish at all
with little Lord Robert. And so they slipped away from the Gates of the Moon,
she riding pillion behind him on Stranger.
It was after they had left the message at Runestone and were on the way to the
north that the accident took place. He did not know why she did it; she
claimed, with tears in her eyes, that she only wanted to help. He’d managed to
kill a mountain goat with a bow and arrows that she’d stolen for him from some
knight. He’d gone to fetch some wood; he’d start a fire, roast the goat, cut it
up and pack as much as possible, so that they could eat some tonight and the
rest on their journey. They were lucky enough to find a deserted hut, where
they would rest for some time. He should never have left the dagger lying
about, he told himself later; it was that which gave her ideas.
When he returned after gathering an armful of wood, it was to find her standing
there, blood flowing from her finger. She told him what had happened, trying
not to cry. She tried to cut up the goat with his dagger and ended up cutting
her finger instead. He wanted to scream at her in frustration, but he must have
learned something at the Quiet Isle, for he did no such thing. He tore a strip
off his tunic and tied it just below the cut, so that the blood stopped
flowing. And then he made her suck the finger, telling her the spittle would
help it heal. He made a fire with some of the wood, tied the goat’s hooves to
the branch of a tree that he then tied to two stout pieces of wood that he was
able to drive into the almost frozen ground.
“There; that’s our dinner cooking,” he said quietly to her, as she sat there,
trying not to cry out because her hand was aching. “It will get better, little
bird; your finger has almost stopped bleeding, hasn’t it?” She stared at him,
surprised; she had seldom seen him show her a gentler side to his nature.
***** An Unlikely Alliance *****
Chapter Summary
     Robert Baratheon's court is very similar to that of Charles II and
     Louis XIV--his bastards are brought up alongside his true-born heirs.
     What happens when Sansa arrives, hoping to marry the crown prince?
     These characters belong to GRRM.
She'd been sent to court to make the right sort of marriage, to the king's
heir, not his bastard. But she'd soon realized that neither the queen nor the
crown prince were as good as they were beautiful. Cersei loathed her husband
and his numerous bastards, some fostered with his brothers, at Dragonstone and
Storm's End, and some with his foster father, Jon Arryn, in the Vale.
They were often made welcome at court by the king and his family, although the
queen looked at them as though they were filth beneath her feet. Sansa could
have sympathized; after all, her mother endured Jon's presence at Winterfell
ever since she had come north as its Lady. Although Catelyn avoided speaking to
Jon, he studied along with Robb and Theon and learnt to wield the sword and
arrow with them under Ser Rodrick Cassel's watchful eye. She was prepared to be
even more sympathetic when she realised that the king had not stopped taking
mistresses all throughout his marriage. He ate and drank as he pleased and
treated the queen with complete disregard.
And she could understand that Joffrey would share his mother's dislike of his
father's behaviour. But she did not approve of a group of well-armed Lannister
men-at-arms jointly attacking a lone boy, even if he was muscled like a
maiden's fantasy, had spent his youth in a blacksmith's forge (much to the envy
of Edric and Tommen and Devan) and had beaten the lot of them off, leaving many
with bones that needed to be set. And when she overheard Joffrey berating the
men for being beaten by a blacksmith's brat, and being told, in his turn, that
the boy might have been raised in a smithy but was Robert Baratheon's son,
true-born or not, her mind was made up. Robb would never have behaved like
this. Of course, her father had never (to her knowledge) flaunted his
mistresses the way the king did, but Robb would never have had men from
Winterfell or Riverrun attack Jon the way that Joffrey, as it soon became
evident, had got the Lannister men to attack Gendry.
Sansa often spent time with the girls--Mya and Bella--practicing embroidery,
music, the composition of poetry and other lady-like pursuits. The girls were
to wed soon; Mya to a knight and Bella to a prosperous Gulltown merchant of
noble antecedents. The girls knew much of running a household and doing house-
work, and Sansa did not hesitate to ask questions. Edric and Gendry often
visited, and Gendry (who had arrived only recently at court) often spoke with
affection of his master, Tobho Mott.
Sansa could not help but notice how much Gendry reminded her of Robb and Jon.
He took care of the girls and Edric; he was the first to stop Edric from
getting into fights with Sandor Clegane. He was always around when the girls
were presented in court; both were somewhat shy, because their mothers, as
everyone knew, had not been ladies. Mya's mother had been a housemaid at the
Royces' while Bella's had been a prostitute who hid Robert Baratheon during the
Battle of the Bells. Both had grown up in the Vale. So Gendry's presence at
their side, when they met their lord father and stepmother did much to stiffen
their spines and give them courage.
It was after the girls left for their homes that the troubles (with Cersei and
Joffrey) began. The queen could not forget or forgive the fact that Sansa had
obeyed the king and his hand and given aid and comfort to those friendless,
lonely young women, whom the septas had refused to educate. And Joffrey did not
hesitate to throw Jon's birth in her face. Sansa did not know what to do and
where to turn. She stopped visiting the queen and the crown prince, since both
made it plain that she was no longer welcome in their apartments.
However, Lord Stannis soon sought her out, on behalf of one of his nephews, he
said. "Gendry," he explained, "is a wonder in the practice yard; he's almost as
good as his father used to be with the war hammer. He is also an excellent
swordsman and has a wonderful aim with the bow and arrow. He's good with his
numbers too; old Mott taught him well, I'll grant him that. However," and here
he stroked his chin and looked at her thoughtfully, "his reading and writing
leaves much to be desired. He also requires polish. I would be very grateful,
my lady, if you would assist us. We have plans to wed him to the Maid of Tarth.
As you know, she will inherit Evenfall Hall. And Lord Arryn suggested I should
ask you for assistance."
Sansa was quite annoyed with Lord Stannis; couldn't Lord Renly assist his
nephew in this matter? And what about the beautiful Margaery Tyrell, who had
taken Sansa's place as the queen's principal lady-in-waiting? It was expected
by all and sundry that she would soon wed Lord Renly. There were others,
unkinder still, who said that she would soon catch his eldest brother's eye.
Sansa agreed with some reluctance. Stannis, who assumed that she might want an
older woman to stay with her while she sat with Gendry, reading, offered the
services of his brother's elderly housekeeper, Brella, who would sit and do her
mending while her ladyship read with the young man. So there was nothing she
could use as an excuse for an objection.
Gendry, a serious young man who reminded Sansa more and more of her older
brothers, was a hard-working and diligent pupil. Although the king chaffed both
of them with his need to acquire book-learning, Sansa could tell that he was
quite proud of this boy. His mother, whom the king had bedded in the ecstasy of
his coronation, had died when the boy was three; all the boy recalled was
golden hair and a sweet singing voice. The king spoke of how she had sung when
he was crowned--she had been an orphan brought up in the sept, who was to have
taken her vows. Ah, well!
Sansa could not help noticing, as she helped Gendry with his reading and
writing and courtesies (and dancing, much like she'd helped Jon), that he was
very different from Joffrey and Edric. Joffrey had an over-inflated sense of
his own importance, which was fostered by his mother; Edric knew both his
parents and accepted the fact that they were married to others. But he still
had his mother's noble birth and his father's reputation as a warrior to fall
back upon. It took some time for Gendry to lean, as it were, on his father's
reputation; his mother, it soon emerged, had belonged to a minor noble house,
which had lacked the means to wed her off.
It soon became apparent to Sansa that, as she had not made the splendid match
with Joffrey that her family had hoped for, they had other matches planned for
her. Lady Lysa and Lord Jon spoke often about his nephew, Harry; Sansa soon
learned, from a reliable source at court, that Harry Harrdying was known to
have fathered more than one child out of wedlock in the Vale. Then there was
talk of marrying her off to the heir of Highgarden, Lord Willas, whom she had
never met; to Lord Tyrion Lannister, who might just inherit Casterly Rock if
and when his father died; Sandor Clegane, Joffrey's sworn shield; Lord Petyr
Baelish, who had grown up alongside her mother, aunt and uncle.... and so on.
There were also offers from the North, from the Dreadfort and Karhold and Last
Hearth...
Sansa was heartily sick of it all. Perhaps nothing would have come of it, but
she did not know that. Robb had written to her of a proposal from the Freys,
from Lord Walder, for his fifteenth son! That was when she began to think of
escape, from court and society. She had no wish to return to the North, or to
stay with her grandfather in Riverrun (he thought she might like Ser Patrek
Mallister, who was a much blonder version of Theon) or to return home, to her
mother's reproaches. And then she began to notice how Gendry looked at her when
she was not looking at him.
She would not have known this if she had not been looking into a mirror to tidy
away a wisp of hair that kept getting in her eyes as she sat reading with
Gendry. She was not looking at him; she was braiding and binding her hair,
while he sat spelling his way through the tale of Florian and Jonquil. And then
she noticed that he was looking at her, not at his book, as she knotted her
braided hair into a chignon. His eyes looked wistful and dreamy, as if he
wanted something he did not think he could ever possess.
It was then that she began to see him as a man, not just as the king's bastard
son and her pupil. He was not at all like his father; with his sense of purpose
and quiet rectitude, he reminded her strongly of her own. She wondered how the
family would react if she were to marry Gendry and return north. Yes, they
would be shocked, but they would understand, she thought. And then, she began
to think of going to Essos with him.
It was not long after this that the king died, in a hunting accident. The lord
hand, who had been appointed Joffrey's regent, died a day or two later of
fever. Lady Lysa left hurriedly in the night, the day after Lord Jon's funeral,
without a word to her niece. Edric had already left with Lord Renly and Ser
Loras. Lord Stannis had also departed for Dragonstone, leaving Sansa to
Gendry's care, or so she assumed.
She had never felt so afraid at court as she did then, otherwise she would not
have done what she did. She persuaded Gendry to flee with her, to sneak out of
the Red Keep and onto a ship, making its way to Essos or the North. He told her
he did not feel safe with Joffrey as king and his uncles away. And he agreed to
run away with her. He knew of a path that would take them through the dungeons,
where the skulls of dragons lay, to a steep path that led out of the keep.
So she took her plainest dresses, after sneaking in all the jewels her mother
had given her to wear at court into her bundle, and joined him. He was dressed
as plainly as a tradesman; he had booked two places on a ship for the two of
them. It would take them to Pentos in Essos and later, to the north. They were
able to get away from the Red Keep safely and onto their ship; she could not
breathe freely until she felt the ship move out of the Blackwater River.
***** Keeping up Appearances *****
Chapter Summary
     In 1950s Westeros, Renly is a promising politician hiding his
     homosexuality with the help of his glamorous trophy wife Sansa. The
     only problem is that after a few years of marriage people are
     starting to ask them when they'll have children. When another one of
     his older brother's mistresses turns up pregnant they come up with a
     plan. Sansa fakes a pregnancy and they pass off the bastard as their
     own child.
     These characters belong to GRRM.
When twenty-five-year-old socialite Sansa Stark Baratheon discovered that her
handsome, charming husband Renly was cheating on her with his equally handsome
and charming personal assistant, Loras Tyrell, she could have done one of two
things. She could have run back home to Winterfell, the home of her ancestors,
and demanded an annulment, since her marriage had not been consummated. She
could have avenged her wounded honour by having an affair; after all, there
were many good-looking and charming men in King’s Landing who would have been
only too glad to get between her sheets. However, she chose to do neither—she
spoke frankly to her husband, reminding him that, as the President’s brother
and attorney-general, he had a certain position to uphold and should be more
discreet when entertaining Loras. Renly was most surprised at her attitude—when
he asked her why she had advised him to be more discreet, instead of
complaining to her parents or getting her own back on him, she responded by
saying:
“Renly, my parents gave me the opportunity to look around Westeros and meet
many men before I married you. I didn’t like the men I met—they were all after
what they could get out of marrying me. They expected me to flatter them and
pander to their vanity—they thought of themselves as world conquerors. You were
kind to me; you could laugh at yourself and make me laugh as well. You don’t
see yourself as the Warrior reborn or as the Father, calling all men to be
judged, as your brothers do, but as an ordinary mortal. I can live without
passion in my life; I can live without someone making love to me—but I cannot
live without kindness and a degree of fellow-feeling. And what would I gain if
I were to demand an annulment? I would end up causing a scandal, making it
impossible for Arya or Shireen or my brothers to marry—not to speak of ruining
your political career. As for having an affair…one always gets caught. I could
never bear the disgrace of that.”
So their pact was made—they would be the glamorous young face of the Baratheon
administration, entertaining and being entertained all over the country. This
carried on for several more years, whilst Arya and Shireen, Bran and Rickon and
Robb and even Jon and Theon, married and had children. And with each marriage
and subsequent baby, everyone began to wonder aloud why Sansa and Renly had no
children. Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish, chairman of the Fed, who was married to
Sansa’s Aunt Lysa, spoke fondly of his certainty that she would, of all his
nieces and nephews, have the most beautiful children of all. Sansa smiled when
she heard him speak; and then she began to make enquiries.
Before Robert Baratheon began his ascent to political power, he’d had an
extremely colourful life. He’d had several mistresses, many of whom had borne
him children. As he became increasingly politically powerful, his
associates—Sansa’s father, Ned Stark, Governor of the North; Secretary of the
Navy Stannis Baratheon, Robert and Renly’s brother; Jon Arryn, their mentor and
Renly himself—made it a point to take the children under their wing and keep
them out of the public limelight. So, Ned Stark took over the upbringing of
Gendry, Robert’s child by a barmaid; Jon Arryn took care of Mya, Robert’s
daughter by a housemaid, and Bella, his daughter by a prostitute, while Stannis
brought up Edric, Robert’s child by his wife Selyse’s cousin, Delena. Renly was
a good uncle to all of them, giving them suitable nameday gifts when called for
and offering advice when asked. Robert had eventually married Cersei Lannister,
daughter of Tywin Lannister, the financial and media magnate who was also
Governor of the West. He’d made the mistake of seducing a maid at Casterly
Rock, the Lannisters’ family mansion, when he visited there after his marriage;
Cersei had responded by ensuring that the young woman concerned nearly died
after a painful abortion. Robert had been more discreet since that
episode—there were no more tales of black-haired, blue-eyed children born to
actresses, barmaids and waitresses in and around King’s Landing, as far as
Sansa and Renly could tell. However, fidelity was not a part of Robert’s
nature; and, true to type, he’d met and had an affair with a young and pretty
red-haired girl, the inmate of a brothel, who was now pregnant and whose madam
had brought the case to Renly’s attention, along with a threat to go to the
papers.
This was just the opportunity Sansa was looking for. She convinced the madam
not to go to the papers, by paying all that the girl would have earned, and
more, for at least the next two years. She then convinced the girl, who hated
city life and longed to return to the country, to stay with her at Storm’s End.
And she convinced Renly to inform their families that she was pregnant, but had
been advised complete bed rest and seclusion at the Baratheon family mansion by
Dr Cressen, the family’s physician. Storm’s End was sufficiently distant, and
located in a sufficiently dismal part of Westeros, to deter curious visitors,
including members of Sansa’s family.
She stayed at Storm’s End for the next two years, till little Barra Baratheon
was at least a year old and her mother safely married off to elderly Selwyn
Tarth of the Island of Tarth, before she made an appearance in King’s Landing,
alongside her husband, with her little girl in her arms. They did make a pretty
picture, as Uncle Petyr had said they would.
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