Loren Lannister (299 A.C. Fifth Moon)
Hand's mainhall.
"So, any more news that Janos Slynt revealed?" Tyrion asked.
"No, nothing more than the fool revealed when he put a knife through his own hand. Still, he keeps his tongue and lives until he no longer needs to sing. Littlefinger, combined with these facts, has partly caused this war with the Starks," Loren replied.
"Yes, damn man. I wonder what else he has been up to. What I always found curious is where he got the money to pay for all the businesses he owned. I visited more than one of his brothels," Tyrion noted as he cut into a sausage.
"Either he embezzled money, or he saved it somewhere and was able to buy the first before acquiring more. Yet the fact remains that he is Master of Coin, and it is more than likely Robert did not pay attention to the man. Jon Arryn, by all accounts, trusted him and even appointed him Master of the Port at Gulltown because of his wife," Loren said.
"Indeed. You know, the man has been boasting about taking both Tully girls' maidenheads," Tyrion said with a smirk.
Loren raised his brow. "Truly? You spent more time with Lysa than I did. Tell me, how did she act around Littlefinger?"
Tyrion frowned. "Oh, you think she has some bond to him?" Then he nodded.
"It's a possibility. Why else would a minor house from the Fingers be made the port master of a town like Gulltown? Littlefinger was warded with the Tullys until the incident with Brandon Stark. I would not be surprised if, unable to have one sister, he went for the other."
"Well, the woman was quite mad in the Vale, clinging to her child like a lifeline. Also, it was Lysa who accused me, or at least the Lannisters, of the murder of Jon Arryn. Before that, we all thought he died of illness. So how did she come to that conclusion? It has made me wonder ever since," Tyrion mused.
Loren's eyes widened. "She wouldn't have, would she? Did she kill her husband? Otherwise, why accuse us of the murder unless she wanted war? But then again, she has kept the knights of the Vale back. If she truly believes us responsible, why not join the war effort against us?"
"What benefit does she gain from it? It doesn't make sense unless she is doing this all for someone else. You know, I saw Littlefinger's eyes for a split second when we proposed to make him Lord of Harrenhal. He wanted it because, as he stated, it would make him great quite quickly. Who do you know who is currently a widow and has been acting strangely ever since her husband's death?"
Tyrion choked on his wine. "You are not suggesting that whoremonger arranged it all, are you? The poison and the pinning of the attempt on Brandon Stark on me, without it, we would perhaps have avoided war with the Starks. If he marries Lysa, it would make Littlefinger Lord Protector of the Vale. And if the Tullys fall, he would have a claim on the Riverlands thanks to his marriage to Lysa. Or perhaps he kills her and believes he can marry Catelyn Tully and claim the Riverlands that way, as she is the heir after Edmure, who, for some reason, has not married yet. If that happens, he becomes one of the most powerful lords in the realm."
"If that is true, we cannot act without proof, although we have some because of Janos Slynt. And with Lysa in the Vale, we cannot do too much. I do have a plan that might work, but before I enact it, I need to know who on the small council is Cersei's informant," Loren noted.
"Mmm, plans are quite curious things. I wonder what you have planned. Knowing you, I suspect it will be something special," Tyrion said with a smile.
"Ah, brother, do not forget the current scheme is all yours."
Tyrion raised his glass, and Loren did the same. As they drained their cups, a knock on the door broke through their drink.
"My Lord Hand, the Queen is here to see you," his sworn shield, Marton, stated.
"Let her in," he commanded. To be honest, he had expected this visit. Now let us see who told her.
"You two!" Cersei began as she closed the door behind her, pointing an angry finger at him.
"Me," he said with a small smile.
"You monsters. Myrcella is my only daughter," she shouted as she looked at them both and crossed the room toward them.
"That she is," he stated calmly.
"Do you really think I will let you sell her like a common whore?" she raged.
"Cersei, Myrcella is a princess. What do you think would have happened when she came of age? Did you think she wouldn't be wed or be betrothed?" Tyrion asked.
Cersei turned to Tyrion. "Of course, you knew. You are always together, the last two Lannister brothers. Taking Mother away," Cersei paused, looking at him with hate, as if I wanted Mother to die. Loren thought. "And now you are shipping her off to Dorne, as I was shipped off to Robert Baratheon."
Well, there it is, Loren thought, giving Tyrion a sidelong look. "Dorne, besides the Vale, is the safest place for her. Also, besides the Vale, they have not declared. Either Myrcella causes them to remain neutral, or they join us. It also causes the Reach to stay on its toes."
Cersei scoffed. "Are you mad? The Martells loathe us."
"That they do. And if we do not placate them, which is something the West and Robert should have done before, if you ask me, then they will join our enemies. Father has his pride," he stated.
"Also, Cersei, what do you think would happen to Myrcella if Stannis or Renly takes this city? She would either be killed or worse. I suppose you know what happened to Elia Martell?" Tyrion added, which made Cersei fall silent.
"Send her to the West then, with Tommen, if you think they are not safe?" Cersei questioned.
Loren shook his head. "A letter has already been sent. Even if it had not, it is not possible, neither by land nor sea. We have a small number of ships and only a narrow window before Stannis closes the shipping lanes, so we can still send Myrcella to Dorne, but not farther. We would need to pass Redwyne waters and the shores of my late wife's family. As for land, Cersei, Robb Stark harasses us from the North, and to the south we have the forces of the Reach. Those are not options."
"No," Cersei said as she shook her head. "As I said before, it is done." Loren retorted.
"No!" Cersei raged, sweeping the wine jar off the table before storming out.
"Well, Pycelle it is then. I suggest the Master of Laws handle that old goat. I shall speak with Littlefinger, see if Littlefinger can be baited into bringing Lysa Arryn to the table. After that, I have something I wish for you to do," Loren said with a smile.
"Oh, very well, brother. I would not mind handling that dirty old man," Tyrion replied with a smirk.
Chapter 9: Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion Lanniser (299 A.C. Fifth Moon)
Halls of the Red Keep
Tyrion walked beside Bronn and Timett. "You said he wasn't alone?" he asked.
"No, almost sorry to interrupt," Bronn noted with a grin.
Tyrion smiled at him. "No, don't." Bronn let out a chuckle.
As Timett and Bronn opened the doors, Tyrion saw that Pycelle was not alone, just as he had expected. Two frightened squeaks were heard as the whore lying beside Pycelle fell from the bed.
"What is the meaning of this?" Pycelle sputtered.
"No! Please…" the man uttered as Bronn dragged him from the bed.
"You disappoint me, Grand Maester, as you do my brother," Tyrion said.
The man straightened. "I do not know of what you speak."
Tyrion smiled. "Truly? You didn't tell the Queen about mine and my brother's plans to send Myrcella to Dorne?"
"No! Never! No, it's a falsehood, I swear it. It wasn't me," the man insisted, as Tyrion sat down in a chair. Then, as the realization struck Pycelle, he began to shudder. "Ah… Varys. It was Varys, the Spider."
"Oh, truly? I doubt that," Tyrion replied. "My brother told Varys he was sending word to the Hightowers, offering an alliance to destabilize the Reach with that match."
The man began to tremble.
"Also, the other person my brother told anything was Littlefinger, and he told him that he planned to wed her to Robin Arryn," Tyrion said, rising to his feet.
"So you see, my brother told no one that he was offering her to the Dornish. No one but you," Tyrion stated, frowning as he shook his head at the old man.
"Hm, the eunuch has spies everywhere," Pycelle said with a tremble.
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Cut off his manhood and feed it to the goats," he said casually to Timett.
"No, no," Pycelle muttered, staring at him with wide eyes.
"There are no goats, Halfman," Timett said, looking around the room.
Tyrion smirked. "We'll make do."
Timett stepped closer, and Pycelle collapsed in fear, trembling. "So, Pycelle, how long have you been spying for my sister?"
"All I did, I did for House Lannister. Always," Pycelle began as he rose. "Truly. Your lord father, ask him. I have been his servant since the days of the Mad King."
Tyrion shook his head. A betrayal was a betrayal. He looked at the man in his grey robes, his beard hanging down to his waist. "I don't like his beard."
"What? No, no," Pycelle muttered.
Bronn smirked, and with a quick draw of his knife, he cut the man's beard off. Pycelle squeaked and fell back onto the bed once more.
Tyrion rose. "How many Hands have you betrayed, Pycelle? Eddard Stark? Jon Arryn? And the current Hand, which should not happen again."
"Lord Arryn… he knew. He knew the truth," Pycelle sputtered as he rose.
Fool, Tyrion thought.
"He planned to tell King Robert."
Tyrion frowned. So my sister poisoned him, with Pycelle's help. "So you poisoned him?"
For a brief moment, the man looked at him angrily. "No. Never!"
It even sounded convincing. "Yet you let him die? Made sure he succumbed to his illness?"
The man crumpled to his knees. "Lannister… all I did was for House Lannister," he wailed.
Tyrion breathed in deeply. "Get him out of my sight and throw him in the black cells."
Pycelle wailed as Timett and Bronn dragged him away. Soon Tyrion was alone. He turned toward the whore, black curls framing a small nose and wide eyes.
"For your troubles," he said, placing a silver stag on the chair beside her.
Her eyes flicked toward the wailing Pycelle being dragged from the chamber. Tyrion smiled, placed another coin beside the first, and walked out toward his chambers.
As Tyrion read through some of the laws written by King Jaehaerys and Barth, Harick opened the door. "My lord, Lord Varys is here to see you."
Tyrion frowned and sighed. "Let him enter."
As Varys took a seat, Tyrion continued reading. The man settled himself, smiling, the familiar perfume filling the room. Tyrion looked at him. "May I offer you wine?"
"Of course, my lord," Varys said with a soft smile.
As the wine was poured, the eunuch took a sip. "Mmm, a fine vintage."
"Indeed. It's Arbor Gold," Tyrion noted. "What brings you here, Lord Varys?"
"I came to tell you that our mutual friend has been given a post as Lady Sansa's handmaiden," Varys said.
It was an odd thing, Tyrion thought. He liked Varys and the words he spoke, yet there was always something off about him. Still, the man held value, and at this moment had proven himself trustworthy.
"Good. One of my better ideas," Tyrion smiled.
Varys took another sip. "And it seems you and your brother have been busy. The Grand Maester has found his way into a black cell."
"Your brother played it well, to be honest," Varys continued. "I suspect he considered all the options and presented us with three. Yet I must ask, should I be worried? Janos Slynt, Pycelle… the small council grows smaller every day."
"That depends," Tyrion replied. "You are the Master of Whisperers, and so far you have proven yourself loyal. To me and my brother, as you did with Robert. Yet as you know, this council has shown that they serve themselves, not the Hand. My brother and I know what happened to Eddard Stark and Lord Arryn."
If it were up to us, the current Master of Coin would soon lose his head quite nicely. "Though I do not mean for my brother to die. I care for him quite a bit." Tyrion added.
Varys smiled. "Power is a curious thing."
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "Tell me, my lord, are you fond of riddles?"
Tyrion leaned back in his chair. "I suppose I am about to hear one."
Varys' eyes brightened. "Three great men sit in a room: a king, a priest, and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who lives and who dies?"
Tyrion considered it. "It depends on the sellsword and what he wants. Gold, duty bound by oaths, or devotion to the gods."
Varys smiled. "Does it? He has neither royal authority, gold, nor favor with the gods."
"He has the sword," Tyrion replied. "The power of life and death. He chooses which value he wishes to pursue."
"But if it is swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power?" Varys asked.
"When Ned Stark lost his head, who was truly responsible?"
Tyrion knew the answer but did not speak it aloud. Joffrey had ordered it, but Littlefinger had nudged the blade. He knew Joffrey's impulsiveness, knew the outcome would likely be Stark's death.
Varys continued. "Was it Joffrey? The executioner? Or something… or someone else?"
Tyrion sighed. "As for the riddle, it depends on belief. Robert won the crown by battle, as Aegon did before him. Power is held by those cunning enough to wield it through others, or strong enough to take it themselves. My brother has both. Men follow him for who he is and how he inspires loyalty. Yet also by the strength of his own sword. Loren would likely be one of the best swords in the realm, if he did not also honor his duty to his house and lordship."
Varys drank again. "That is quite close to how I see it. Power resides where men believe it resides. It is a trick, a shadow on the wall. And people like us can cast a very large shadow. Yet men born like your brother may cast an even larger one."
Tyrion smiled, raising his cup. "That we can, my Lord Varys. That we can."
Chapter 9: Loren Lannister
Loren Lannister (299 A.C. Fifth Moon)
Loren's Solar – As Tyrion talks with Pycelle
TThe solar was warm despite the chill that clung to the Red Keep's stone corridors. A brazier burned low near the wall, its embers casting slow shadows across shelves lined with ledgers and sealed correspondence. Loren sat behind his desk, composed and at ease, while Littlefinger occupied the chair opposite him, fingers laced loosely together.
"You are disappointed," Loren noted with a smile.
"Indeed, my Lord Lannister. One moment you offer me a chance to become a great lord. The next, it is gone, and I have been made a fool in your game."
Loren did not bristle at the accusation. Instead, he rose from his chair and moved toward the sideboard, selecting a decanter of deep red Arbor wine.
"I am sorry about that. But considering the track record of previous Hands of the King, one cannot be too careful. The Crown is grateful for your loyalty in ending Lord Stark's plot. Still, it did not bode well for him in the end. Losing a head and all," Loren replied as he poured the man a glass of wine.
He handed the cup across the desk, watching Littlefinger closely as the man accepted it. There was no gratitude in Baelish's eyes, only calculation.
"Yet, my Lord Baelish, I do have a further proposal for you. You are quite well known to the Tully siblings, are you not?" he asked.
"I am, my lord. I have known both of them since I was a child," Littlefinger replied.
"Good," Loren said calmly. "As I said, I regret that you were a pawn in my latest scheme. Yet you are the main part of the next one I have in mind."
Littlefinger lifted his cup but did not drink, studying Loren over its rim. "Is that so, Lord Lannister? Forgive me if I feel skeptical, considering the last time we spoke."
Loren met his gaze evenly. "Then let us put the past behind us and raise a cup to the future Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Protector of the Vale," Loren said, lifting his wine.
Littlefinger's eyes widened, his practiced mask slipping for just a heartbeat. "Oh? And how am I supposed to become that?"
Loren returned to his chair, folding his hands atop the desk. "As I said, I know you are well acquainted with Lysa Tully. Since the beginning of this war, the Vale has remained idle. I intend to change that and bind the West to the Vale. This is my offer. If you are able to bring Lysa Arryn here and sign a betrothal arrangement with my second eldest daughter, Alicent. I cannot betroth Joanna yet, as she is my current heir.
"In return, I shall grant you the lordship of Harrenhal and all its adjacent lands, and give you the support you need to marry her. With my name, my seal, and your position as the future Lord of Harrenhal, it will be acceptable for Lysa to wed you," Loren stated.
Littlefinger did not answer at once. He leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the words settle, his fingers tightening around the stem of his cup.
"You would make me not only Lord of Harrenhal, but Lord of the Vale in all but name?" he asked.
"Indeed," Loren replied. "As I said, the Crown is grateful for the part you played in dealing with Lord Stark, and for your continued service as Master of Coin."
With that, Loren rose and went to his desk, retrieving a sheet of parchment already prepared. He set it down carefully and reached for the wax and seal beside it.
"Here. Read it. The arrangement," he said, sliding the parchment forward.
Littlefinger took it eagerly, his eyes moving swiftly across the lines. "Indeed, my Lord Lannister. It is all here," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Then we are in agreement."
"Indeed, my lord. We are."
Loren held the wax over the flame until it softened, the scent of melting resin filling the room. He pressed his seal firmly into it, leaving the roaring lion stamped in crimson.
"Then, Lord Baelish, future Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Protector of the Vale, let us drink together to bring brighter tides to Crown and Vale," Loren said, raising his cup.
Littlefinger smiled and raised his own. "To future friendship," he replied, still smiling behind his hazel-green eyes.
Following morning
Loren clenched his teeth as Tyrion read the letter aloud.
To Loren Lannister, Acting Hand of the King, Heir to the West, and Lord of Castamere.
I, Daven Lannister, son of Ser Stafford Lannister, write with a heart made heavy by duty and loss.
The host my father raised at your command has been met and broken at Oxcross. The Northmen came on hard in the night and in strength, striking before our lines were fully formed. We had not expected them to strike, as reports claimed they had not passed the Golden Tooth. Their vanguard pressed through the line, while their cavalry fell upon our flanks.
My father fell holding the line, struck down by Lord Rickard Karstark himself while rallying the men of the center. I ordered the horns sounded for a fighting retreat once it was clear the field could not be held, lest the host be wholly destroyed.
Of the thirty thousand swords, spears, and bows raised in your name, no more than ten thousand remain under my command. The rest are slain upon the field, taken captive, or scattered in flight across the hills and passes. Many banners were lost. Others were burned.
The survivors have withdrawn in good order to Lannisport, where I have taken shelter behind the lord's walls. The men are weary, wounded, and shaken, yet the core remains disciplined. Supplies are thin. Horses scarcer still.
I await your father's command, my lord, whether to hold Lannisport, attempt to gather the routed, or to send forces to strengthen other garrisons in the West. I will obey whatever course your father judges best for the honor and safety of our House.
May the Seven grant me the wisdom my father no longer can.
Daven Lannister
"How did he pass the Golden Tooth? It is the only pass Robb Stark could have taken. Unless he pressed south before entering the West, yet then he would have encountered the southern strongholds," Loren muttered.
"How did this Northern upstart defeat us once more? I am his King," Joffrey raged.
"Quiet, boy. If you had not cut off Lord Eddard's head, we would not be in this mess. Until either my father rallies another army or moves west himself, the lands of the West will be ripe for plunder. As of now, there is little we can do except send out the Defenders of Caster," Loren stated.
He turned to Acolyte Carim, his personal scribe, who had ridden with him from Castamere. "Have word sent to Castellan Manfred. Have them ride out and harry the Northmen. Raid and plunder, as they were trained to do."
"As you say, my lord," Carim replied.
"That is all? You will do nothing else?" Cersei asked.
Loren sighed. "No. Those are the only troops I have authority to command, and they are suited to dealing with raiders. The Ironborn learned that the hard way in the past. That is all we shall say on this matter. Father will have sent out the orders."
He then looked back toward Joffrey. "Your Grace, a week ago we spoke. I suspect you have a solution for the current food crisis."
Joffrey stood there, stumped. "I had kingly duties. I did not have time to come up with an idea."
"I heard you shot smallfolk at the gates with a crossbow," Loren snarled. "That does not matter now. As we discussed, you had a week to come up with a solution. Since you failed, the royal jewelry will be pawned for loans, to hire sellsails and purchase food."
Joffrey looked ready to retort, but instead fixed Loren with a steely glare. "If that is all, the council meeting is hereby ended."
Joffrey stormed out of the council chamber.
Loren sighed. He would need all the luck in the world to rule beside that boy when his time came.
Chapter 9: Sansa Stark
Sansa Stark (292 A.C.)
Sansa's Chambers
Sansa Stark (292 A.C.)
Sansa's Chambers
Sansa opened the door, and on the other side stood Sandor Clegane, waiting. She sighed inwardly. If one of the Kingsguard was here, it meant Joffrey wanted to see her. She forced a smile, straightened her clothing, and stepped out of the door. She wondered when Shae would return.
As they walked, she asked, "Tell me what I've done." She hoped that Loren had not betrayed her and told Joffrey what she had said to him.
"Not you. Your kingly brother," the Hound replied.
"Robb's a traitor." By now, she knew the words by heart. "I had no part in whatever he did."
The Hound chuckled. "They trained you well, little bird."
Soon enough, they arrived in the throne room. It was filled with courtiers, and sitting upon the throne, a crossbow resting in his lap, was Joffrey. Beside him stood Ser Boros Blount and Ser Meryn Trant. Sansa swallowed hard, remembering all the abuse they had inflicted upon her.
When she reached the foot of the throne, she knelt. "Your Grace."
"Kneeling won't save you now," Joffrey growled, his grazed green eyes fixed on her. "Stand up. You are here to answer for your brother's latest treasons."
He rose and pointed the crossbow at her.
"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part in it. You know that. I beg you, please," she pleaded.
"Get her up!"
The Hound pulled her gently to her feet.
"Ser Lancel," Joffrey said. "Tell her of this outrage."
Sansa looked at Lancel Lannister. She had always found him handsome and well spoken. Yet the words that came from his mouth were anything but that, nothing like the way Loren had spoken to her.
"Using vile sorcery, they slipped past the Golden Tooth, and your brother fell upon Ser Stafford with an army of wargs not three days from Lannisport. Those men loyal to our King were butchered in the night, and Ser Stafford himself slain. After the butchery was done, the Northmen feasted upon the flesh of the dead."
Gasps of outrage echoed through the hall, and Sansa feared what the King would do next.
"You have nothing to say?" Joffrey demanded. "Hmm. I think we should send your brother a message for what he has done. You Starks are all unnatural, just like your wolves, like the one that savaged me."
"That was Arya's wolf," Sansa sobbed. "Lady never hurt you, but you killed her anyway."
"Your father did," Joffrey replied smugly. He knew it was not true, but she also knew he had spared Lady. "But no matter. I killed your father, and now I wish I had done it myself. Oh, did you know I killed a man last night with this very crossbow? He denied me food, his King, so instead I gave him my quarrel."
Sansa swallowed. Cruel boy, how did I not see?
"He died quickly," she said.
"No. He bled to death. All the better," Joffrey replied. "Now I wish I could shoot you. That would send a message to the Starks. Yet Mother says if I do that, they will kill my uncle Jaime."
Sansa's heart quickened as Joffrey studied her thoughtfully.
"But we can send them a message another way. Ser Meryn. Ser Boros. Beat her."
Sansa collapsed as the two supposed knights came forward. Boros slammed a fist into her belly, driving the air from her lungs. When she doubled over, Ser Meryn grabbed her hair and drew his sword. For a moment, she thought he meant to kill her. Instead, he struck her thigh with the flat of the blade. It burned, and tears blurred her vision.
"Enough," she heard the Hound rasp.
"No, it isn't," the King replied. "Ser Boros, my lady is overdressed. Unburden her."
Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa's bodice and tore the silk away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands, but not quickly enough. She heard sniggers, distant and cruel.
"Beat her bloody," Joffrey commanded. "We'll see how her brother fancies that."
"What is the meaning of this!"
She heard his voice then, cracking like an iron whip. Without pause, she was released and fell to the ground, arms crossed over her chest, breath ragged, eyes lowered to the floor of the throne room.
"You are both knights of the Kingsguard. Is this what chivalry has fallen to?" he demanded. "Hmm, nothing? If I were King, I would have you whipped through the streets and sent to the Wall."
He stood at the foot of the throne, followed by four Lannister guardsmen, one of whom she recognized as Captain Valarr.
Loren noticed her state, and his eyes burned with cold fury as he looked at the King. He removed his own cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Lannister red had never felt so fine. She looked at him gratefully.
"So tell me, knights, what kind of men beat a helpless girl?"
Boros and Meryn glared at the Heir to the Rock. "The sort who serve their king," Boros said, raising his sword.
In a red flash, Red Rain was at Boros's throat. "Careful, Boros. One more move, and we will make that pretty white cloak Lannister red."
The man breathed deeply as Loren nodded to Valarr, who stepped forward and took Boros's blade, to the growing anger of Meryn and Joffrey.
Loren turned coldly toward the King as he sheathed Red Rain. "This girl is meant to be your Queen. Do you have no regard for her honor?"
"I'm punishing her," Joffrey snapped.
"For what crime? She did not fight her brother's battles, you halfwit," Loren said calmly.
"You cannot speak to me like that. The King can do as he likes." Joffery retorted warthfully.
"The Mad King did as he liked. Has no one ever told you what happened to him?"
Ser Meryn stepped forward, hand on his sword. "No one threatens the king in front of the Kingsguard."
Loren laughed softly, his gaze full of disdain. "I did not threaten the King. I was educating my nephew."
"Ser Meryn, unseat that sword and lose the hand that does it." Meryn froze.
"That was a threat, you fool. See the difference." Loren stated with a stealthy gaze.
"Speaking of a king doing as he likes," Loren continued, "as Acting Hand of the King, and considering that the king is a minor until he is six-and-ten, I am placing Sansa Stark under my protection."
The hall fell silent.
"I further decree that the King is not to take any action regarding the state. My sister remains regent, yet seeing that my nephew does not take well to a woman's authority, I shall assume the position. She is also clearly still grieving our good King Robert's death, to properly guide the King."
"You can't. I'm the King!" Joffrey shouted, stepping down from the throne.
"No man who must say he is king is a true king," Loren replied.
"Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, Ser Clegane. By order of the Lord Regent and Hand of the King, escort His Grace to his chambers for rest. He is clearly unwell and overtired, or he would not have acted in such a manner." Sansa lifted the red cloak to her lips to hide her smile.
"No, you cannot," Joffrey protested.
"I can, and I will. Now, sers." Loren retorted.
Meryn and Boros hesitated, then nodded to Loren. The Hound had already moved to the King. Seeing the game was lost, Joffrey stormed from the room.
Loren turned back to her.
"My lady," he said gently, offering his hand.
She hesitated only a moment before placing her trembling fingers in his. His grip was firm and steady, grounding her when her legs threatened to give way.
"Let us retire to the Tower of the Hand," Loren said quietly. "You will be staying there from now on. I will see that your belongings are brought there at once."
She looked up at him, searching his face. Where moments ago there had been fury, now there was only calm resolve.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He inclined his head slightly. "You endured more than any girl should have. You did not beg, nor did you break. That takes strength."
She felt her cheeks warm at his words.
"You are a wolf indeed, my lady," he added. "Do not forget that."
Sansa smiled faintly as he guided her from the hall, the whispers of the court fading behind them.
Soon enough, she was brought to her new chambers. Shae arrived shortly after and helped her wash and redress, speaking softly as she worked. When Sansa was finally settled, wrapped in clean clothes and warm blankets, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," she called.
Inside stepped a boy about her age, one she had seen before with Loren. "Tyrek Lannister, my lady, squire to Lord Loren."
"Good to make your acquaintance," she said.
"Lord Loren asked for your presence."
"Then I shall meet him," she replied, rising from her seat. She grimaced slightly as pain flared in her belly and legs. Tyrek offered his arm, and she took it gratefully as he escorted her to the Hand's solar.
She looked around. It seemed different. She had been here before, since her father's arrest, but now the tower's attire was Lannister, the Stark presence replaced.
As Tyrek opened the door, Loren rose from his seat. "Please, Sansa, take a seat."
She sat gratefully. "My lord, thank you once more for what you did."
"No need to thank me. I see no sense in senseless cruelty, especially toward one who does not deserve it. From now on, you need not worry. Joffrey's wings have been clipped. You will also be residing in the tower from now on. Is there something you wish for that I could arrange? Perhaps a book to read, or something else?" Loren asked.
Sansa smiled, then said, "I have one request, my lord, since the capture of my father and his death." Her voice began to tremble. "I have not seen my friend Jeyne Poole. One day we were together in the same room, and then she was taken away."
"Ah, yes, I remember her. Beth spoke of her, and you, fondly," Loren replied. "I shall ask around. I am sorry for being blunt, but unless she was killed, I should be able to find her."
Sansa nodded. She hoped she would see her friend again. Shae was kind, but with Jeyne and Beth she could speak of many things.
"Now, remember," Loren continued, "soon enough I shall send Tyrion on a mission, and upon his return I should be able to revoke the betrothal between you and Joffrey. If you still wish to wed me, I suggest you begin reading the history of the West. It will serve you well in the long run. And perhaps, if you are interested, I can arrange lessons in the harp, or in finance. The Rock and Castamere require a sharp mind to manage, as well as their lord and lady."
Sansa blushed at Loren's forwardness. "I hope it works out with Lord Tyrion. And as for marrying you, I think I want that. I know that even if the war ends, it is unlikely I shall return home. So far, you have been kind to me and have spoken to me with respect. As for the other things, I shall think on them."
"Very well, my lady. Supper shall be ready in about an hour. You may dine with me and my brother, or, if you prefer, I can send food to your chambers," Loren added.
"My chambers," she said softly. "I feel quite tired, and I wish to eat quietly, so that I may take the rest I need."
Loren nodded and rose from his seat. "Then I wish you a swift recovery."
She smiled, and after a moment she rose as well. Loren escorted her back to her chambers.
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