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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27883 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
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“Why did you bring me here? What do you want with me, Lord Baelish?” She asked, slightly on edge as she stood facing him.
There was something about the way he looked at her that she disliked. Something in his gaze that she couldn’t quite read. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something about him made her nervous, putting her instantly on edge whenever she was around him. The way he looked at her, spoke to her, as though he were a spider watching a fly as it landed on its web. It made her shiver, a flicker of fear racing through her whenever he got close, and she fought the urge to shy away from him, worried she would make him angry.
He had visited her briefly in her room over the past couple of days, talking to her but refusing to answer any of her questions. It had started to wear on her nerves, driving her to madness as she wondered what fate he had in store for her.
“My lady, you wound me. I thought you would be grateful to be free of King’s Landing. Free of the Lannisters and their plans for you. They would have forced you to marry The Imp for your claim to Winterfell. The Lannisters would have stolen your home away from you. I’ve rescued you, Lady Sansa. Don’t you see?” He said, never taking his eyes off her.
“What about my sister? Why didn’t you rescue her? You knocked her out and left her there.” Sansa said, a rush of anger filling her.
Petyr shook his head, shifting his stance slightly as he searched for an answer to soothe her. “I am sorry about that. It was unavoidable. I couldn’t risk taking her. She’s Lord Tywin’s paramour. He would never have stopped until he found her, and we would never have made it this far.” He said in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring tone of voice.
“Where exactly are we right now?” Sansa asked, looking around the room she had been locked in. She sat back down on the bed and Petyr remained in the doorway, blocking her escape. Petyr paused for a moment before looking around. “The abandoned seat of House Fell, Fellwood.” He replied.
“The Stormlands then. Aren’t the Stormlands pledged to Tommen? Why are we here?” She asked.
“I bought these lands years ago under an alias after the fall of House Fellwood. I use it as a headquarters and safehouse for my operations in the Stormlands. We won’t be here for much longer. As soon as our escort arrives, we’ll be traveling east, to the coast and then to the Vale and your Aunt Lysa.” Petyr said.
“Operations? What kind of Operations? What exactly is it that you’re planning? Wait…the Vale? Why there? I want to go home.” She said.
Petyr gave her a smile that made her uneasy and slowly crossed the room, reaching a hand out to her. “All in good time, my dear. Right now, Winterfell is in the hands of the Ironborn.” He said.
“The Ironborn? What about my brothers? Where are Robb and Bran and Rickon?” She asked desperately.
Petyr adopted a sad expression and placed a hand on her shoulder, making her uncomfortable. “I’m afraid your younger brothers are gone. Dead. Your brother Robb is in the Riverlands, which are under siege by the Lannisters. It’s not safe for you to go home right now, but later, I promise to take you to Winterfell.”
Sansa, desperate to return home, reluctantly nodded her head. “Thank you, Lord Baelish.” She said.
“Excellent. Now how would you like to get out and stretch your legs for a bit? It must have been horrible being cooped up in this room for so long.” He said as he held out his hand for her.
“Thank you. I’d enjoy that very much, my lord.” Standing she joined him, forcing herself to take his hand as they left the room together.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Arya stood on a pedestal in her sister’s chambers surrounded by fussing women dashing about the room. She was ultimately on edge; her nerves shot as her handmaidens laced her into her dress. Today was her wedding day. She would finally be marrying her lord.
“You look so beautiful in your dress, my lady. You’ll be the envy of every lady at court.” A handmaiden gushed as she stepped back and held up a mirror.
“I don’t feel like myself in this awful dress. I love Tywin. I’d do anything to be with him, but this isn’t me.” She thought, fidgeting with the sleeves of her gown.
Arya shook her head to clear her thoughts before giving herself a smile in the mirror. She spent the next ten minutes finishing preparations before it was time to proceed to the Throne Room. She took a deep breath and made her way out of the Tower of the Hand.
The walk to the Throne Room in the Red Keep was nerve-wracking. Her heart raced, and her stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots. The closer she got to the throne room the worse it got. Her head was spinning, and she felt dizzy, but finally, she made it.
Reaching the throne room, servants pulled open the massive wooden doors, and she stepped forward. There at the altar stood her lord, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt of crimson silk, lined with golden lion’s head buttons, black satin pants and dark, polished leather shoes with gold laces. Around his neck was a chain of golden hands to symbolize his status as Hand of the King.
As she walked down the aisle, Arya gazed up at her lord and saw him smiling at her. Instantly her nerves settled, and she felt that everything would be alright as she stepped up onto the altar at his side. They faced each other, Tywin taking her small hands in his as the High Septon stepped forwards.
“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”
Having rehearsed this part thoroughly, Arya smiled, and the pair said the words together. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.”
The High Septon bound a ribbon around their intertwined hands and pronounced them wed as the hall burst into applause. Taking her hand, Tywin led her down from the altar and into the Great Hall. There the entire royal court gathered at the tables as servants passed out the first of seven courses for the wedding feast.
They sat at the high table, side by side, in the place of honor. In the middle of the hall, dancers, jugglers, musicians, and acrobats performed, entertaining the guests of the wedding. Arya sat at the high table, fidgeting in her seat.
She was eager for the feast to end. A northerner, big celebrations were not her thing. She was anxious to leave the hall behind, her attention wandering as she waited for the festivities to end. They had been feasting for over an hour and a half now, and she was growing somewhat restless.
Looking to the left, she saw Tywin speaking to someone a few seats down the table. Lady Shireen Baratheon, the new lord of Storm’s End. She was Stannis Baratheon’s daughter. In return for their submission, the lords of the Stormlands had requested that Lady Shireen be recognized as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands to rule in her own right. Dragonstone had officially been reclaimed by the Crown and would be given to Tommen’s heir when the day came.
Sighing, Arya turned back to watch the entertainment, all the while wondering when it would end. Back at Winterfell she would have thrown food at her sister or caused some other bit of mischief by now, but things were different now. She was married now and expected to behave herself. Like a blow to the gut, she remembered that Winterfell was in the hands of the Ironborn now and her younger brothers were gone.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. To her left, Tywin leaned in whispering in her ear. “Shall we retire for the evening, my lady?” he asked. Relieved she nodded, and the pair stood as the hall quieted down.
“My lords and ladies. I thank you for coming to celebrate the union of my young wife and me, but the night is coming, and we are keen to retire. We shall forgo the bedding ceremony and retire privately. I leave you all to enjoy the night’s festivities while they last, so eat, drink and be merry.” He said.
Relieved that there would not be a fuss, Arya grinned up at Tywin as he took her hand, leading her through the corridors of the Red Keep to the Tower of the Hand as the celebrations continued behind them, the noise slowly dying down as they moved further away.
Arya smiled to herself as she walked beside her lord, her hand in his as they entered the tower, their escort taking up positions outside the entrance to the Tower of the Hand as Tywin stopped just behind the closed door and turned to face her.
Looking up at him she wondered why they had stopped when suddenly strong hands gripped her by the waist and lifted her, Tywin carrying her in his arms towards the suite of rooms they shared, his face a smile just for her as he took her inside.
Tywin gently set her down on the edge of the bed before sitting beside her, his hands cupping her cheeks, he softly kissed her lips. She kissed him back, her eyes drifting closed as he held her, fingers teasing along her jaw as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth.
She moaned softly into the kiss and sucked on his tongue as his hands worked to unlace the stays on her gown, slowly tugging it down, exposing her pale skin. Tywin’s hands roamed across her torso, fingers caressing her soft, smooth skin.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The creaking of the boughs and the sound of the waves woke her from her stupor. Sitting up in her cot, she looked at her surroundings. The small one-room cabin was sparsely furnished, a single chair, a small table to eat at, a chamber pot and the hard-wooden cot with thin blankets that she currently lay on.
The indignity of it all infuriated her. She was the Queen. They had no right to do this to her. Forcing her into yet another unwanted marriage. And to the brutish Iron Islanders of all people. It was unthinkable that soon she would be trapped in the cold north with some wretched old man pawing at her.
Worse still she had been trapped on this galley for days now as they sailed slowly towards the Iron Islands. The rocking of the boat had made her nauseous the first day, forcing her to retreat to her bed, below deck. The journey might have been more bearable had she been able to drink, but her father had made sure there was no alcohol on board the ship. It didn’t take long for the first symptoms of withdrawing to appear. Cersei’s body ached, her mind fuzzy as she dry heaved into the chamber pot beside her bed.
Over the past two days, she had vomited, shook, shivered and ached, her mind drifting in and out of a stupor as her body worked to purge itself. She had yelled and screamed, demanding wine, but a servant replied there was none. After cursing the unhappy servant, she lost control and had tried to attack him, but he threw her off and fled.
Since then she was confined to her chambers, the door locked from the outside. It opened only so servants could enter long enough to empty her chamber pot and deliver meals that went untouched. She had tried to dash the door a few times, but a second servant, tall and muscular, barred her path, forcing her back.
The sound of the heavy bolt on the door being pulled out of place caught her attention, and she looked up. Standing in the doorway, a Lannister soldier stood and bowed his head. “If you’re feeling better now, my lady, we have docked at Pyke. We will stop at the inn in the village, and there you may bathe and change into a fresh gown before you are escorted to the castle.
“Your Grace,” Cersei snapped, glaring at him.
Startled, the soldier blinked and looked at her. “Pardon, my lady?” He asked, looking at her with concern.
“I am the Queen of Westeros. You will address me as Your Grace.” She snapped shrilly.
The soldier looked at her for a moment, a sneer forming on his face. “Your lord father asked us to make this plain to you before you were escorted into the custody of your new husband. You are not the queen because you are not married to the king. You are merely the Princess Dowager of Westeros. A daughter of House Lannister. You are no longer Grace, but Lady. Your father says you would do well to accept your new role because the Ironborn will not be so accommodating as the people of King’s Landing.”
With that the soldier turned and stepped aside as servants entered to lift her trunk and carry it out while two soldiers in Lannister garb forced Cersei to her feet, grabbing her arms and leading her screaming and struggling from the ship.
“How dare you! Unhand me you filthy dog. I am the Queen. The Queen! Let go of me at once.” Cersei barked shrilly.
Villagers paused, looking up at her as Cersei was frog-marched through the village square, toward the inn where a room and a bath had been prepared for her. Two of Cersei’s ladies in waiting were there with her trunk as the soldiers stopped and waited just inside the room, their eyes averted.
The ladies in waiting quickly stripped Cersei while she fumed and cussed and swore before pointing to the tub. Cersei was tempted to refuse, but when the soldiers started to move towards her, she quickly climbed into the tub as the ladies bathed her, scrubbing her skin clean with linen rags lathered in scented soaps.
An hour later, Cersei was seated in her chamber, dressed in a flowing gown of crimson silk, eating a meal of cheese and hard bread from the dining hall below as her ladies set her hair in a jeweled hairnet. After finishing her meal, she was led downstairs and out of the inn where her escort waited.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Jamie Lannister was seated in a hard wooden chair in the great hall at Riverrun; his eyes shut to block out the noise around him. He had overindulged in wine last night and was now paying for it. Meanwhile all around him, Frey and Lannister soldiers rushed this way and that, carrying out the task of transferring the keep into the hands of Emmon Frey who shouted belligerently at them as they passed by.
Shaking his head, Jaime suppressed the urge to strangle the man. He had arrived only an hour ago, and already Jaime wanted to see the man dead. The only bright spot was that with him came his Aunt Genna. Beside him at the table, his Aunt Genna shook her head.
“Look at that. My lord and master. Bloody oaf. He never could resist the chance to make an ass of himself. And my witless sons are no better.” She spat.
Beside her, Jaime spared her a comforting glance as his aunt took a sip of wine and shook her head. “I heard the most surprising news on the way here, nephew.” She said facing Jaime.
“Oh really? Do tell.” Jaime said, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.
“Your father is getting remarried.” She said with a smirk.
Startled, Jaime turned so fast in his chair to look at her that he nearly toppled over, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Married? Father? MY FATHER?” At her nod Jaime fell against the back of his chair, his mind struggling to process this news.
“And he isn’t the only one. Your sister is to marry Balon Greyjoy.” Genna said, taking a mouthful of wine from her glass.
“What?! Cersei is getting married? No. No, that’s not possible. She wouldn’t…” Jaime said softly, his world spinning out of control.
“Oh yes. You didn’t hear it from me, but your father caught her fucking one of the servants and threatened to disown her if she refused. She set sail for Pyke just a few days ago now.”
“Cersei? A servant…fucking. No, it couldn’t be true. His twin would never betray him like that.” He refused to believe it. Shaking his head, he turned to his aunt. “No, you must have heard wrong, surely.” He said, his chest tightening. It had to be malicious gossip by an unhappy servant, he told himself.
His Aunt Genna looked startled and shook her head. “I can’t imagine why Tywin would lie to me of all people about such a serious matter,” Genna said fixing him with a stare.
“Father? Father told you himself?” Jaime asked a twinge of panic rising through him.
“Of course. I was at King’s Landing until we received the news that Robb Stark had surrendered the North and Riverrun had fallen. We set out immediately at my husband’s insistence.” She said, but Jaime didn’t hear her.
Jaime collapsed in his chair, his world falling apart. “The sister he had loved, the sister he sacrificed everything for…had betrayed him. Why? How? Had she always been faithless, and he just never saw or was it a onetime occurrence?” He wondered to himself. Standing he stepped from the table and wandered off, looking for someplace quiet to think.
TBC
Author’s note. In the next chapter, Sansa sets sail for the Vale, Arya and Tywin begin celebrating their honeymoon, Jaime struggles to find his place and deal with Cersei’s betrayal, and Cersei struggles to resign herself to new realities.
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- 13
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl