Chapter 45

King's Landing – Sansa

Sansa wondered if Jaime and Tywin knew that they looked very similar when they frowned. While much of Jaime's personality was reminiscent of his mother, there were moments when he looked so much like Tywin it made Sansa bite her cheek, so she didn't blurt it out. She likely would have if she wasn't so exasperated with the two of them.

As it was, she was staring down two very stubborn lions.

"I hardly see what being over six months pregnant has to do with me going to Flea Bottom," she said, fire in her eyes. Her hands were on her hips as she stared them down.

Did she easily tire these days? Yes, she did.

But the midwife they'd found for her, a lovely woman from Lys, assured them that Sansa was fit and healthy and that she only needed to listen to her body, and rest when she felt tired. The midwife, bless her, had even gone so far as to say that Sansa didn't need to vary too much from her routine. Yet.

"I don't trust the Spider," was Jaime's response.

Sansa barely refrained from rolling her eyes. They'd been over this nearly half a dozen times already, but these lions were just so protective.

"No one trusts the spider," she muttered.

But not trusting Varys didn't mean Sansa could ignore his network of spies, nor that in keeping him alive, he was able to continue to nurture that network. Sansa wanted her eye on Varys as much as possible.

She'd also heard a disturbing rumor that another man had slunk his way into King's Landing – namely one Petyr Baelish.

It was hardly surprising that he was here. Tywin's summons to well, everyone, to present themselves at the coronation would mean that King's Landing would swell with all manner of people in the coming weeks.

There was a certain amount of chaos present in the city, what with Aerys almost burning the city to the ground, a new king in place and the preparations for the coronation and conclave well underway.

Word had spread that a tourney with the wealthiest prize since Lord Walter Whent had held his tourney at Harrenhal would draw even more people to the capital, and it was just the type of atmosphere where Littlefinger thrived.

Of course he was here, which gave Sansa even more imperative to press her advantage now.

Sansa meant to use Varys, for she knew he wouldn't want another horning in on what he deemed his area of influence. All of which she could not do if Tywin and Jaime insisted on coddling her, wrapping her in cotton wool, and keeping her from the very people she wished to help.

Today was the first day when a veritable army of Maesters would be in Flea Bottom to offer the first public health service to the poor that Westeros had ever known. It was Sansa's initiative, and she'd be damned if Tywin or Jaime kept her from it.

"Sansa, we can send Jaime in your stead –" Tywin began earning a glare from her.

"No."

She jutted her chin out in defiance, staring down at her husband. She saw the concern in his eyes, and it softened her marginally. But not enough. On this she would not bend.

"Tywin, I need to be there. If I am not, Varys will take credit for this initiative and earn himself even more goodwill. The people need to see that House Lannister cares for them and that we are different from Aerys."

His face didn't lose its stern countenance, but she saw his shoulders soften. Slightly. He knew it as well as she did. A ruler didn't need the will of the common people, but gods, they'd be idiots to not press their advantage when they could.

"Remember the crowd at the trial?" Tywin retorted.

Sansa's breath hitched for a moment. It remained one of the scariest moments from being back in time – right along with the nightmares of Gregor Clegane coming for her. She knew what Tywin was doing, but she would not be swayed.

"That is why you will send the best men to guard me."

The silence in the library stretched as they looked at one another until finally, Tywin gave his head a short jerk.

"Jaime and Tygett will be with you, and you will listen to them, Sansa," Tywin said.

Now that she'd won, Sansa could be magnanimous, and she stepped closer to her husband, reaching for his hand.

"I will," she promised, as excitement hummed through her.

This was her first significant initiative as Queen, and she couldn't wait to see what the people thought. Poor people in this time did not have access to Maester and their tonics and medicines and sheer knowledge. A simple ailment that could be cured quickly by a Maester was unattainable for most. Sansa meant to make their lives better with this free public health service.

"When Jaime says it is time to leave, you will go without question," Tywin continued, voice hard.

She opened her mouth to protest but closed it when she saw the genuine concern in Tywin's eyes. She swallowed hard and nodded.

"I will."

Their eyes locked, and when he was satisfied with what he saw, Tywin gave a curt nod. He wasn't pleased, but he knew that this was an opportunity not to be wasted.

"I shall report back what I've learned, my king," she told him quietly, realizing Jaime had given them privacy by leaving the room. Tywin's large hand came up, stroking her cheek.

"I know you are adventurous at heart, my love, but the capital is teeming with many unknown elements. Your safety is paramount."

Sansa felt her throat thicken as she turned her lips to nuzzle his palm.

How could she argue when this man's love was so consuming?

"I promise I will be safe," she repeated, and Tywin gave a final nod, though Sansa knew he'd worry until she was safely back in Eastern Den. It was simply his way. Tywin did not love by half measures.

With Tywin's big hand on her back, they exited the library together to find a veritable army of people waiting for them. Sansa's eyes widened as several of the realm's lords gathered in the Den's impressive foyer.

Lords Jon Arryn and Yohn Royce spoke with Tygett. Elia was standing close to Tygett, clearly a couple, as the big lion hovered protectively around her. Sansa adored her goodbrother and how smitten he was with his soon-to-be wife. Elia was staying in the Den as well.

Her uncle, the Blackfish, was in a deep discussion with Catelyn and Ser Jorah Mormont.

Sandor was standing near Jaime, who had Andros Brax and Lewys Lydden with him. The four made a striking quartet – four young, unmarried lords from the Westerlands. The cubs were at Jaime and Sandor's feet, and it pleased Sansa that the friendship between the two men she counted as her closest friends was deepening. She believed it would do wonders for both men to have the other in their lives. They'd both lost so much already.

"What's this?" Tywin barked as the men there straightened and everyone turned to stare at them. Even in a roomful of influential people, Tywin was a cut above them all and it was apparent who the alpha was. Everyone deferred to him.

"We wish to view the Queen's reforms, Your Grace," said Lord Yohn Royce.

Since Sansa was so close to Tywin, she felt him startled and knew he'd be pleased. This was how she could be an asset to her husband and the realm itself. This was how they built the name and reputation of House Lannister as the King and Queen for the people of Westeros.

"Yes, it shall be an interesting day," Tywin murmured, giving her a look.

For a moment, Sansa wondered if he might choose to join them, but she knew the work before him was endless. They had so much to accomplish when it came to the reforms they wished to install, and each day the conclave grew closer. Tywin could ill afford the time to accompany her today.

She turned to him, uncaring they had an audience of some of the most powerful men in the realm and tilted her head for a kiss, which Tywin willing bestowed upon her lips. It was no chaste kiss, and she felt his concern pour into her mouth as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as her pregnant form would allow.

Not to be outdone, Tygett kissed Elia, who blushed but appeared pleased with his attention.

The carriage today was an open one, which pleased Sansa immensely. She missed riding her horse, and it was the worst thing about being pregnant, but a small concession to make to keep the babies safe.

Thankfully, Flea Bottom was not far from Mansion Row, and it might give her a chance to speak with some of the Lords she'd yet to connect with.

Tywin first helped Catelyn into the carriage.

"Be safe and listen to your guards. Ned would kill me if anything happened to you," Tywin said, looking to her sister.

Catelyn blushed but murmured she would. Far more dutiful than Sansa, Tywin seemed pleased that Catelyn was along on this 'adventure.'

Then it was Sansa's turn. Thank the gods her husband was tall and fit and strong, for her form had become even more ungainly in the past few weeks. Compared to her sister with her small bump, Sansa felt like a whale. She huffed out a little breath as she got herself situated to find Tywin's green-gold eyes pinning her with a look.

"Jaime's word is law," he reminded her.

She wanted to stick out her tongue at him but held back, giving him a demure nod.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Tywin snorted as Sansa's lips twitched. Then he sobered.

"I know you … care about these people, Sansa, but know this. If it comes down to your safety or theirs, I will always choose you. As will Jaime and Tygett and all the lords from the Westerlands. You are who is important."

She wanted to protest, but what was there to say? She lived in a world now that did not view everyone as equal. There was no bill of rights, no concept of human rights and no place to protest.

This was a place that believed in Kings and the right of that sole man to rule them. This was a society that upheld the structure of lord and vassal and that complex, symbiotic relationship.

It would take more than a few months in the past to change Tywin's way of thinking, and even then, she might not – not entirely. The man was forty-two years old and had years of thinking ingrained into him. He would likely never see those that lived in Flea Bottom as his equals.

That he allowed her to implement her vision was a testament to his love for her and his trust in her.

Sansa settled into the carriage and watched as the lions flanked Tywin, delighted at the picture he made. She wasn't the only one. It was an incredible sight. She caught a look of awe on the faces of other great lords who seemed at a loss for words that Tywin had somehow managed to have his house sigil in living form by his side.

That Elia Martell stood near enough to him to indicate how close they were, was a testament to how much Sansa had changed in coming back in time.

They were an impressive bunch that left the safety of Eastern Den on a bright and sunny morning. Sansa knew the trip would take hardly more than fifteen or twenty minutes, and she enjoyed the view of Mansion Row.

More and more impressive homes had been opened, with the lords and the ladies of the realm returning to the capital for the upcoming coronation, conclave, feast and tourney.

The next few months were sure to be a whirlwind of activity, and that didn't even account for the fact that her due date drew ever nearer. Sansa hadn't yet mentioned to Tywin the concept of 'bed rest,' for she was sure her very overprotective husband would insist upon it when she did.

For now, she felt fine, if somewhat large and cumbersome.

Despite his new friendships, the moment the carriage began to move, Sandor fell in beside her, a grim look on his face, as his eyes scanned the people they passed. Ser Jorah did the same on the other side, and Sansa hoped that she could find a better fate for both men than the ones she knew were before them. Sandor's future was already so different, that Sansa was confident that he was far better off with the changes she had implemented.

But Ser Jorah was a different matter. So much hinged on his fateful marriage to Lynesse Hightower. Perhaps when Ned returned Sansa could find a way to suggest a different marriage for Ser Jorah – one which would see him remain in the North, a man loyal to House Stark.

"How are you enjoying King's Landing, Lord Clegane?" Sansa asked.

Sandor merely grunted and turned down his lips.

"It's too fucking crowded," he muttered darkly.

"It is," she agreed readily, not at all put off by his gruff tone. "But the cubs have been well received and seemed to be adjusting. Perhaps one day we can take them hunting in the Kingswood."

That garnered her a rare smile and a shake of his head.

"If you think that the King will let you do that while you're in the state you're in, you're far more a fool than I believe, Your Grace."

Sansa threw her head back, laughing and clapping her hands. Oh, she liked Sandor and his dark, quick wit. His lips twitched, and she winked at him, just in time to catch a scowl on her uncle's face.

"Piss off Clegane and leave these ladies alone," the Blackfish snapped at him.

Sansa was too shocked to protest and watched as Sandor swallowed down an angry retort, kicking his horse to find Jaime, Andros and Lewys. When he was gone, Sansa scowled at her uncle.

"What in seven hells was that?" she snarled at him, appalled at his behaviour.

Brynden's eyebrows arched as if he couldn't quite believe she'd speak to him like that.

"He's beneath you, my dear. A Clegane, speaking with a queen," Brynden scoffed, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it.

"You've done it now," Catelyn muttered, shaking her head at their uncle. Brynden appeared wholly confused.

"Done what?" he asked.

Sansa wanted to scream! The snobbery of this time was hard to take, and this was almost too much. Gritting her teeth, she glared at her uncle.

"I'll remind you, uncle, that I am the Queen and not you. I did not seek your counsel on who can speak with me, nor do I need your permission. Sandor Clegane is a lord pledged to my husband's house, a man who saved my life at great risk to his own and a man elevated to Master of Lions in my husband's court. What is your position?"

For perhaps the first time in his life, Brynden Tully was at a loss for words. On a roll now, Sansa couldn't hold back.

"If you wish to cast stones about being worthy, you have to look no further than yourself. You haven't done your duty by our House. You've taken no wife, given our House no heirs. You would have run off to the Vale to take up a position to guard the Eyrie, abandoning your brother and mine when you know as well as I do that the Riverlands needs a strong presence. There were houses sworn to ours that betrayed us, uncle, yet I have never heard you petition my husband for them to be held to account for their actions! Willem Darry is said to have escaped Dragonstone with the Royal Fleet and Viserys, King Aerys' heir, and you are worried about Sandor Clegane of all people?"

Her voice had risen enough that Jaime and Tygett slowed their horses, worried looks as to who or what had made her upset. They all knew how furious Tywin would be if Sansa was angry.

"Seven hells," she heard Jaime mutter as he looked at her uncle. "What have you done now, Blackfish?"

The man in question sputtered, not having a response.

"I suggest before you chase away a man who has proven his loyalty to me, you take a good long look at yourself, uncle," Sansa finished in an angry huff.

Brynden's eyes narrowed, and he was about to retort when Jaime shook his head.

"I would advise against it, My Lord."

"But ---"

"But nothing," Tyg said, giving him a head shake. "She speaks the truth. Sandor Clegane did a great service to House Lannister. If the Queen wishes to have him by her side, then by her side, he'll be, and you won't convince her or my brother otherwise."

Brynden Tully looked stunned.

"But he's a Clegane," he muttered.

Tygett chuckled.

"He's earned his spot in our house, trout."

Sansa was somewhat mollified that Jaime and Tygett had backed her but disappointed when Sandor didn't return to his spot by her carriage. She vowed to speak to Tywin when she returned to Eastern Den. This would not do. She would not have people treating Sandor in such a way – not after what he'd done for her.

Which meant something needed to be done. Sansa thought about it until she finally had it – a solution that was both elegant and practical.

What better man than Sandor Clegane to be her sworn shield? Especially given how many new people were flooding into King's Landing these days. Sansa knew beyond a doubt that Sandor would be loyal to her. Now she simply had to get Tywin to agree.

She smelt Flea Bottom before she saw it, and the din of so many people packed into one spot could be heard. The stench was unmistakable, a rancid mix of pigsties, stables, tanner's shed and whorehouses.

It was a foul place and the most lawless district of the city, rife with poverty and crime. The twisty maze of alleys and cross-streets were unpaved, and the entire area nestled against the old dragon pit beneath Rhaenys's Hill. Even on the sunny day, the buildings were so close that they leaned over the narrow alley, almost touching one another. It was indeed a place where hope went to die and a place that Sansa desperately wished to reform.

"Are you sure about this?" Jaime asked, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

She sighed. In truth, her stomach was roiling, and the modern part of Sansa wanted to recoil in horror at the sheer disgustingness of the place. But she could not. If anyone needed her compassion, it was these people.

"Yes."

She fixed a determined look on her face as her heart broke the deeper they pressed into the slum. Tiny sets of eyes peered out of windows of buildings Sansa wouldn't house the lion cubs in, let alone human children. Usually, Flea Bottom was a place that was bustling with activity - the poor attempting to eke out another day on the meagre existence they found here.

But not today. There was a stillness with her presence. Word had spread of Queen Sansa's generosity, and so those that might have dared something stupid with such riches now in their presence did not. It helped that some of the most fearsome warriors were with them. The poor were no match for the war horses and superior armour and steel men like Jorah, Jaime and Tygett had.

They made it one of the central squares, where she'd ordered the Maesters to set up tents. One was for women who could be seen in private, another for children and yet another for men. There were also several large carts filled with sacks of flour, salt and root vegetables, though no one had dared to begin to give away the food before she arrived.

Around the square, were all manner of people, pressing ever closer but orderly. Perhaps it had something to do with the hundred or so red-cloaked guards that held them at bay, but Sansa did not sense any anger from the crowd.

When her carriage came to a halt, she was helped from it by Jaime and then paused to gaze around her. There must be a thousand sets of eyes upon her, and for the first time, she wondered if this were a good idea.

Perhaps she should have left things alone – and stayed in her stunning mansion far above this place. It was one thing to know that everyone person was equal; quite another to put it into practice.

Her resolve hardened when Varys stepped forward, melting out of the crowd. She did not wish for him to take credit for her idea and that he was here made her stomach churn. The man was slippery and not someone she trusted at all.

"Your Grace, a most welcome sight," Varys said, dipping his head.

"Lord Varys," she returned.

She frowned.

"Why are the people not utilizing the Maesters we've provided for them? Surely, they have ailments that they wish to be looked at."

Varys coughed.

"They are … concerned that it is a jape. A trap."

"A trap?" Sansa was baffled.

She had put out the word that this was a free, public service from the Crown.

Varys cocked his head.

"They are not used to such generosity. Your husband was not known to be a champion of the people."

Somehow Varys made it sound even worse – as if Tywin had actively sought to keep these people in such a state. Sansa sighed, wondering if this were an entire waste of time.

Were the people mocking her? Would they not accept her generosity?

Perhaps she had overstepped and now made House Lannister the laughingstock of King's Landing. She was about to respond when a distressed cry had the crowd parting.

"Help!" Came the anguished cry as a man burst forward, holding a young boy bleeding from his side.

"There was an accident at the forge," the man said, near frantic as his son was pale and losing blood fast.

Worries about her place, what the crowd thought or whether this would be a success flew from Sansa's mind as she snapped into action, barking our orders to the Maesters who hurried forward to help the young boy.

"Remember to boil the water and clean your needles and your hands. The bandages must be fresh and ---"

"Yes, we know," the nearest Maester to her said but did as she said.

Sansa was so fixated on the young boy and his father she missed when others began to trickle forward. Unable to stay away, Sansa helped by handing the boy some sweet sleep while the first Maester cauterized the wound. Another then held a clean cloth to the wound, while the first prepared his needle and thread, claiming the boy had been lucky and none of his insides were damaged.

Sansa gave the child what she hoped was a reassuring smile as he bravely bit back the tears, all while his father stared at her in utter shock. The boy was filthy and yet here was the Queen, touching his dirty forehead and murmuring comforting words to him. It was unheard of!

When the wound was cleaned and sewn shut, and the instructions for his post care given, the father reached into breeches that had seen better days to remove a single copper coin. It was likely all the money he had, and Sansa's heart ached for them, that he thought to give her what little he had for saving his son.

"Here, Your Grace," he said as he tried to give it to her.

She shook her head gently and closed his hand back around it.

"No. Keep it. This is a free service from the King to his people."

The man swallowed hard and shook his head as if he did not understand.

"Free? I know the cost of sweep sleep and ---"

"Free," Sansa repeated firmly.

"Once per month, the Maesters will be here, and those in need of them will utilize their services for no charge. Spread the word and tell the people what happened here today."

The tears that tracked down the man's face did so through grime and dirt, but it was no less heartfelt.

"You saved my son's life," he whispered. "I shall tell any who listens what our Queen did for us."

Sansa didn't miss the possessive pronoun he emphasized and asked the man to send word when his son was healed and to keep her appraised of his recovery.

"He likely cannot read or write," Jaime murmured, making her feel like an idiot.

"Oh yes," she said, frowning.

"I will get word to you," the man promised and thanked them again before turning back to his son. The boy was gazing at Sansa with loving wonder.

When Sansa exited that tent, she was pleased to see the others being utilized and line-ups had formed. The Maesters would treat everything from boils to burns to bones that hadn't set correctly. The food was being handed out in an orderly fashion, and the entire square was swept up in disbelief that this was happening.

"He's right, you know," Jaime said, snagging an apple and munching on it. "Sit," he commanded gently.

Sansa frowned at him but did as he asked and sat on a bench and let him butter a piece of bread for her and hand it to her. She took a few nibbles and looked around.

"Right about what?" she asked Jaime.

Not for the first time did she think how fortuitous it was that Tywin's son knew she was a time traveller.

Jaime shrugged a shoulder.

"The cost of most of these tonics and potions is more than these people make in a year. That you are giving them out, helping them, with no demand for something in return," Jaime trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. "It is difficult to comprehend."

Sansa felt the dull thud of a headache at the base of her skull. Her largest battle was convincing the nobility that they were no more 'special' than a baby born in this hellhole. People were people, and everyone deserved this basic level of care.

As she contemplated Jaime's words, she was approached by Lord Yohn Royce, who looked somewhat stunned at the entire day and pleased all the same.

"Your Grace," Royce began, bowing to her. Sansa still wasn't used to that. People bowing to one another.

"My Lord."

"This is quite an undertaking," he said, voice slightly awed and thoroughly impressed. Sansa blushed and thanked him again.

Cocking her head, she took a deep breath and said, "Tell me, Lord Royce, is Lady Ysilla excited to come to King's Landing?"

The raven to Runestone went some days ago, and Sansa had already received Lady Ysilla's reply. The nineteen-year-old unmarried daughter of Yohn Royce was eager to come to King's Landing and become part of Sansa's court. Still, Sansa worried about what Lady Ysilla might be like and whether she was coming simply because she was summoned or if she was genuinely looking forward to joining Sansa's court.

Yohn would also look to make a proper match for his daughter during the upcoming festivities, and the honour of being invited by the new Queen could not be overstated. Ysilla Royce would be a prize.

It was apparent within a single sentence how much Yohn adored his daughter, something many men weren't very good at expressing in this time. That immediately warmed Sansa to the large man from the Vale.

"Yes, Your Grace, she is most excited. I have written her about your ambitious reforms, and she has pledged herself to your service, a most worthy cause," Yohn crowed.

Sansa wanted to shake her head in disbelief that what she had undertaken was considered a 'worthy' pursuit for a noble-born woman.

It wasn't as if the Crown could not afford to treat the poor better – they could. Having like-minded women implement some of her ideas in the castles of their husbands would spread Sansa's reforms faster than anything, so this court was essential. Social change would be slow to come, and Sansa needed to be careful not to push too far, too fast, while at the same time taking advantage of her very powerful and unique position.

She passed a pleasant half an hour with Lord Royce, learning more about his family, including Ysilla, while Jaime made the occasional japing leer about the man's daughter. He only shut up when Sansa reminded him that he was his father's heir to the Rock, and therefore Jaime would be expected to take a wife and produce heirs.

"Well done," Royce crowded at Jaime's scowl before giving her a bow and vowing to find her when he heard from his daughter.

"I like him," Sansa said to the man's retreating form.

"He's on a hunt for a marriage," Jaime muttered darkly. "He'll be eyeing up all of us young unmarried lords like a nice juicy hunk of meat."

Sansa looked at him, almost asking why marriage seemed awful to him, but a cough alerted her that they were not alone.

Lord Jon Arryn now stood before her, stooped over to pay his respects. He was a man who'd just seen his sixtieth name-day, and he was without an heir. In another life, he'd married Lysa, been named Robert's Hand and been the first to suspect that Robert's 'heir' was Jaime and Cersei's son born of incest.

Still, for a man his age, he looked good. His hair was sandy blonde, laced with grey but not overwhelmingly so. This man had led his men in the war for the past two years, and it had honed his body, so he was trim and leanly muscled. His age would not deter many eager and ambitious mothers who wished to snatch a prize such as the Eyrie that was still up for grabs.

And speaking of mothers …

"Your Grace, you are a true testament to your House. Your mother would be proud of you," he began.

That startled Sansa for a moment. In neither life did she have a mother alive. It made Sansa glad that Genna and Dorna would be coming to King's Landing. They may be married with children, but they would be welcome additions to Eastern Den and at nearly a decade older than Sansa, like big sisters or aunts. Sansa welcomed the female companionship.

"Thank you, Lord Arryn."

"I am sure your father is crowing his glee from Riverrun," he continued, looking between her and Catelyn.

"One daughter a queen with a babe on the way, the other Lady Stark and another heir. The rivers of your lands produce fertile fruit," he finished, gazing towards where her sister stood.

Sansa had to bite back the snicker!

The rivers of your lands produce fertile fruit.

Gah!

Beside her, Jaime coughed to hide a snicker as Sansa swallowed down the laugh that bubbled up her throat.

Somehow, though she never knew how, she managed to respond to Lord Arryn without cackling.

"Thank you, Lord Arryn."

The man frowned.

"I have heard your father will be keeping Lady Lysa at Riverrun when he comes to King's Landing with your brother, Lord Edmure."

It was apparent that man was fishing for information on Lysa!

Hell to the No, Sansa thought immediately.

No way, no fucking how she was letting Lord Jon Arryn come anywhere close to marrying Lysa. Her sister was still in love with Petyr, which was all kinds of wrong if Lysa married Jon. It didn't matter that this man controlled the Eyrie and the Vale. Lysa could not be trusted.

"He is My Lord. Lysa is …"

Sansa searched for a word that wouldn't make it seem like her sister was no longer a virgin. She didn't want to ruin Lysa forever, but neither did she want Jon to have any reason to look to her as a potential wife.

"Spirited?" Jaime supplied, his brows wiggling.

Sansa rolled her eyes at him.

Bah!

The man was incorrigible!

Still, it was a good word.

"Yes, Ser Jaime, she is spirited," Sansa replied, emphasizing the word spirited. Pointedly.

Jon Arryn frowned.

"Ahh, I see."

Sansa sighed.

"I'm afraid you don't, My Lord."

Taking a chance, Sansa blurted out the truth – or part of it.

"The truth is my sister is in love with one of your bannerman, and no matter whom she marries, he will always have her loyalty and her heart."

Jaime lifted an eyebrow, clearly wondering why she was giving Jon Arryn this information. The man seemed to puff up before her, his mind racing.

"Who?" Jon demanded quietly, his voice not carrying beyond their small party.

Sansa bit her lip.

"I'm not sure if I should disclose such information to you."

But honestly, the more Sansa thought about it, the more it made sense. If she told Jon Arryn that her sister was in love with Petyr and that Littlefinger hadn't done right by her, the man might demand they marry. It would likely stymie much of Petry's ambitions if he were shackled with a wife – one who adored him and yet one he couldn't stand.

It was a sad fate for Lysa to be tied to Littlefinger, of that Sansa did not doubt, but what else was her choice? Lie about Lysa's virgin status?

Unless Lysa married Petyr, there would always be the chance she would betray them for that man. Besides, Lysa loved Petyr and the man had sullied her. It was what they both deserved.

As Sansa thought, both men held their breath until finally, Sansa sighed.

"My father will not approve, but it was Lord Petyr Baelish. Lysa is obsessed with it him."

For a moment, Jon appeared confused. After all, House Baelish was an almost nothing house in the Vale. Their seat was an unnamed, old flint tower, which commanded no more than a few stony acres on the smallest of the Fingers. Their smallfolk consisted of a single village with a dozen families in huts of piled stone beside a peat bog. Petyr himself was only the second generation of landed family. His grandfather had been a landless hedge knight and his father the smallest of lords.

That Baelish had risen so far, so fast, to earn seats on the councils of Robert Baratheon and Joffrey was impressive. That he'd done so by any means necessary, less so. The man had been at the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and it was there that Petry's father had become friends with hers. Or her fake dad. Hoster. That was how Littlefinger had come to foster at Riverrun, and Sansa knew what that disaster had wrought.

"Baelish?" Jon asked, incredulous.

Sansa nodded and lifted a shoulder.

"I am not japing with you, My Lord. I speak the truth. Perhaps I overstep, but you need to know that Lord Baelish is ambitious, and he is not to be trusted. It was not Lysa that he loved, but my other sister, Catelyn. He challenged her betrothed, Brandon, to a dual, and only Catelyn's mercy held Brandon's sword. He has a deep resentment for House Stark from that incident and still harbours feelings for my second sister, but it was the third sister he …."

Sansa stopped, knowing she'd already done enough damage to Lysa's reputation that Jon Arryn would not go near her. But the man got a look in her eye that said Baelish would pay.

"I shall speak with your father when he arrives in King's Landing, Your Grace." Jon gave her a deep bow. "I thank you for your candour and the humiliation you have likely saved my noble House. King Tywin is a lucky man," Jon murmured before he took his leave.

Jaime let out a low whistle and gave her a look. She swatted at him.

"Don't start. She deserves it after how she acted, and honestly, the two of them and their antics are made for one another," Sansa muttered.

Jaime laughed as some of those who called Flea Bottom home began to approach. Instantly guards fell around her, though she sensed she wasn't in danger.

There were women younger than her, standing there, already beaten down in this life, with small children that looked like little more than waifs clinging to them.

One woman, hair as dull as dishwater, seemed to be the self-appointed spokeswoman for the group.

"We just wanted her grace to know it was good wot she dun 'er," the woman said.

The woman was missing a few teeth and smelled, even from here.

"It will be once a month," Sansa blurted out.

The woman held her gaze, and Sansa heard the lords around her gasp and mutter, saying, who does she think she is to gaze upon the Queen as if she were her equal.

But Sansa knew that this woman had pride. Her clothes might be little more than rags, but her baby was swaddled in something clean and soft.

"I believe you will be," the woman murmured after a time.

Sansa swallowed hard and nodded. This was why she was here – to make a difference!

"Tis good of her. It's good for the realm and for your reign, lioness," another said, piping up.

The children, a few bold ones, pressed forward.

"We heard the Queen told a tale when the Mad King tried to burn us all in our beds!"

Sansa let out a happy little laugh and shook her head, smiling at them.

"I did."

"Do you have 'nother one?" a small girl lisped.

Sansa nodded slightly as the children crowded forward, plopping themselves in the mud before here, staring up at her with eyes bright and eager. Delighted by them, Sansa wracked her brain for some tale, and an idea bloomed.

"Have any of you ever heard the tale of the dark warrior princess of the North and her red wolf?"

The children gasped as Royce came back, along with Tygett, Catelyn and Jorah. She met the man from Bear Island's eyes and saw approval and excitement from her sister that she would share a tale of the North with these urchins from Flea Bottom.

Decided then, Sansa wove a tale for the children of a young woman, driven from her home when her family was betrayed, and her travels to far off places to learn how to fight. Eventually, the woman returned to her home, to seek vengeance on those who wronged her, all with her giant direwolf on by her side.

The children were enraptured by her tale, and Sansa spent an hour weaving it flawlessly until the princess finally found the one she was meant to love – a poor smith from a place remarkably similar to Flea Bottom. The children cheered, and those there gave Sansa approving nods.

"Did they marry?" a little one asked.

Sansa nodded.

"Yes they did, in the ancient godswood of her family's castle when she vanquished the last of her enemies, and they lived happily ever after."

That satisfied the children, who were chattering excitedly, acting out her tale, all of them demanding to be the princess or the smith.

Sansa knew it was after the noonday meal by the time she finished her tale. The Maesters were busy, but Sansa was tired. And hungry. It had been an exhausting morning.

"Come now, time to get you home before my father has my head," Jaime said, waving for Sansa's handmaiden Barba and Tygett to escort her to the carriage.

Pleased that her day was a success, Sansa was grateful to turn her mind off as they began their journey out of Flea Bottom. It was still a depressing place, but perhaps Sansa had a chance to make the lives of the downtrodden just a little bit better.

Upon their return to Eastern Den, Sansa was ready for a nap. Of course, her husband noted her tired state and tsked at her, giving her what she called 'the stink eye.'

"You overdid it," he admonished her gently as Sansa leaned into him.

She was too large to be swept into his arms, but he supported her as he ushered her through the luxurious foyer and towards the stairs. She yawned, pleased he wasn't in his armour so she could cuddle closer.

"Perhaps, but I promise I will rest all afternoon."

He grunted, hardly mollified. Still, he didn't belabour the point, merely barking out orders as Barba helped her into a soft sleep gown and servants bustled about with soup, warm bread and fresh fruit. As Sansa ate in bed, feeling so decadent and spoilt, she told Tywin about her observations of Flea Bottom.

"It is a dank and miserable place," he agreed.

"I got into it with my uncle," she blurted out.

Tywin arched an eyebrow at her, and the entire story came rushing out, Sansa finishing with, "I believe we should name Sandor Clegane as my personal guard. It will give him a reason to be close with the cubs and near me, and no one can question his importance to House Lannister."

Tywin didn't respond at first but finally nodded, saying he'd think about it. She knew he could not be rushed, and if he said he'd contemplate it, he would.

With a yawn, she told Tywin about Lord Royce and then sleepily explained her conversation with Lord Arryn, including her split-second choice to tell Jon the truth about her sister and Baelish.

She felt Tywin's lips on her forehead as she drifted off to sleep before he murmured, "Clever little lioness."

Pleased and happy to be home, Sansa fell into a deep and contented sleep, knowing she'd done what she could for now.

King's Landing – Ned

The return to King's Landing was not nearly as interesting as when they'd raced to Dorne. For Ned, it was filled with the oddest mix of love, grief, hope and anticipation.

He missed his sister, achingly so. Her body was on its way to Winterfell, and Ned had sent a raven instructing Benjen to come to King's Landing for the coronation of the King and Queen. It was high time his youngest sibling left the safety of Winterfell. Ned needed his brother and was eager to have him by his side.

The love was for his nephew, who never failed to amaze Ned. He spent hours with the babe, eager for his own and hopeful the cousins would be close. He worried, slightly, about Catelyn's reaction to the child, but that she knew who this babe belonged to reassured him that she would welcome Jon into their home.

When he wasn't thinking about his new charge, his wife, and her pregnancy, Ned thought about Roose Bolton and the judgement that he would be expected to dole out should the man be guilty of the crimes he'd been accused of.

Ned didn't doubt King Tywin. The man had an uncanny ability to know everyone's deepest secrets. It was unnerving, and never had Ned been so glad that he'd formed a bond with the man from the Westerlands, not after growing up on stories of how harsh and controlling the man was. He was, but he was more than that and not for the first time did Ned begin to question his father's strategy of not interacting with those from the south.

Rickard Stark had been disdainful of anyone below the Neck, save perhaps the odd House like Bracken that still held with the Old Gods. But Ned thought perhaps his father had missed opportunities to create alliances that would benefit their region. Even odder than Ned's growing respect for Tywin Lannister was his newfound … friendship with Oberyn Martell.

Ned was confident there could be no two men in Westeros more different than him and the man they called the Red Viper.

Both second sons, that was where the similarities ended.

Oberyn was loose, morally ambiguous and promiscuous.

Ned was rigid, steady and sure-fast and determined, not to mention monogamous and married.

But there was a thread there – two men now connected by children who had the same father, both from regions that didn't 'fit' with the rest of Westeros. Bonds had been formed on far less, Ned knew, and surprisingly enough, by the time they spotted King's Landing, Ned could say that there was a basis for a true friendship there.

At the very least, Ned knew that no harm would come to the baby from Oberyn Martell. The child was Rhaegar's second son and half-sibling to Rhaenys and Aegon.

They were met at the River Gate by several of their alliance members, along with the King himself and his son. Stannis, Tygett, Jon Arryn and several of Ned's bannermen were there, although none of the women were. None of the Kingsguard returning with them was secured or under arrest. Those had not been Ned's orders, so Hightower, Whent and Dayne all rode behind him and Oberyn as free men.

There was no mistaking the sheer joy on Jaime Lannister's face upon spotting his friend, Arthur Dayne.

Whent seemed eager to see Sansa and Catelyn, pleased that the blood of the Riverlands would flow through the next King of the Seven and the heir to Winterfell.

However, Hightower remained aloof and sullen, and that was where Ned directed his attention.

"Your Grace," he said upon stopping in front of Tywin. Ned dipped his head in respect.

"Lord Stark. How was your trip?"

Ned met the King's gaze.

"It was as Your Grace imagined. Gerold Hightower remains belligerently loyal to House Targaryen, but the other two have come around. My sister ---" Ned paused, swallowed and shook his head. "Her remains on en-route to Winterfell, where she shall be interned beside our brother, Brandon. Her son, Jon, is healthy and thriving."

Ned wouldn't say that Tywin appeared pleased with the news, but neither did he appear shocked or upset.

"I will honour my promise, Lord Stark. I shall name him a Stark, and he shall be given Moat Cailin."

Relief crashed through Ned.

"My wife?"

At this, Tywin's lips gave a rare twitch.

"The women await us at The Den. Neither was pleased they had to remain behind."

Ned snorted, trying not to laugh. He could only imagine what the Queen might be like if she were 'not pleased.' Never in all his days had Ned met anyone like his wife's sister.

There was a slight commotion, and Ned looked shocked to see Gerold Hightower reach for Jaime. That both men were still on their horses seemed to not matter, for Hightower, owing to his size and his bulk, had managed to wrestle the King's son from his mount, driving a fist into his face.

Blood bloomed on Jaime's face, as Whent and Dayne reacted, scrambling from their mounts to grab Hightower and drag him off Jaime, who sat up in the dusty street, wiping away a steady stream of bloody spittle. The Captain of the Kingsguard was being held between Dayne and Whent, on his knees with his arms pinned behind him.

"Seven fucking hells, Hightower, what the fuck was that?" Jaime asked, hurt showing on his handsome face.

"You traitor," Hightower spat, eyes furious as he glared at Jaime with undisguised hatred. "You were charged with protecting the King, not that whore of Rhaegar's!"

A flash of orange and gold was all the warning Ned had before the tip of Oberyn Martell's sword was at Hightower's throat, drawing a bead of blood.

"What did you call my sister?" Oberyn hissed, his dark eyes furious.

"ENOUGH!" Bellowed Tywin, quickly dismounting as he barked out orders.

"Secure Hightower and bring him to the dungeons. He shall spend time with Selmy, as the men who refuse to break with Aerys will await their fate."

"And what is our fate, Your Grace?" Arthur Dayne asked head cocked once Hightower had been dragged away, cursing and yelling.

Tywin eyes up the man they called the Sword of the Morning.

"For now, if you swear your allegiance to me, you are free to go about your duties. The fate of your entire order will be determined at the conclave."

Dayne exchanged a look with Whent, and then both men when to their knee, swearing vows to the new King of the Seven. Jaime seemed especially pleased, and that now made three Kingsguard that had sworn to Tywin while two were in their cells.

Briefly, Ned wondered what would happen to them but then dismissed that thought. He was eager to get to Eastern Den. He wished to see his wife and introduce her to the babe.

Tywin seemed to sense that, for soon enough, they were thundering up the main thoroughfare. Ned hardly noticed the looks he received, nor that he rode beside the King. It was the oddest thing. Tywin was twice Ned's age – old enough to be Ned's father. And there were plenty of times when the 'advice' Tywin gave him felt more like that of a father than a goodbrother. But still they were brothers by marriage and in an alliance. There was no denying House Stark's position with this new King.

Something loosened inside Ned's chest upon spotting the familiar walls of the Den. The women were waiting for them, and while rationally Ned knew that he should pay his respects to the Queen, he had eyes only for his wife. Gods, he hoped that they would not be parted any time soon.

They'd already spent far too much time apart in their short marriage. He wanted nothing more than to spend his nights with her in his arms and days spent getting to know her better. They wouldn't be able to leave for Winterfell for a few months yet, and likely not until she'd had the babe, but hopefully, he could take her home within half a year.

Catelyn's eyes lit upon spotting him, and Ned was off his horse and striding towards her. Her stomach had grown in his time away, and that it was his babe there sent a fierce surge of pride and protectiveness through him. He caught her, for, despite her pregnancy being in its sixth month, Cat was a slim woman and swung her around, his lips finding hers.

Ned knew he smelled. He needed a bath and a shave and likely a haircut. But this moment was too perfect for worrying about such things as he fit his mouth against his wife's, kissing her with all the pent-up emotions coursing through his body, until finally, he set her down, feeling her slip her hand into his.

"Welcome home, husband," she said, a blush staining her cheeks, though she seemed pleased with his greeting.

Never in his life could Ned have imagined being so openly affectionate with his wife, but things had changed for him. Men like Tywin and Tygett, seemed to have no concerns about showering their woman with love and the gods knew that Oberyn Martell wouldn't be dissuaded. In fact, Ned caught the man from Dorne's wink. He was standing near to his sister, who looked far healthier than the last time Ned saw her when his eyes spotted the lion cubs.

"Fucking hells, they're real!" Ned cried, much to the amusement of everyone there.

Even his wife smiled at him, shaking her head at his wonder.

The cubs seemed to sense they were now the center of attention, for they moved from Sansa's side to trot towards Catelyn. They were nearing seventy pounds, and their paws were huge, indicating how large they would be one day. Though they were still cubs, the muscles that rippled beneath their tawny fur showed Ned just how powerful these beasts would be one day.

Upon reaching Catelyn, they nuzzled against her legs while his wife let her hand drift down to pet them.

And they let her! Ned's eyes widened in disbelief at his wife's ease with lions.

"Husband, I wish you to meet Alexander and Augustus, the lions of House Lannister."

Tywin had told him how helpful his wife had been – that she'd fed the cubs on their journey to the Rock. But Ned had never imagined this!

Less than a year ago, his wife had been a sheltered, reserved high-born woman whom Ned had worried he would never bond with.

This woman? She was warm and vivacious, bold and fearless. She was petting a lion! Gods, he hoped they could find direwolves in the North.

If Tywin could have lions, why could he not have wolves?

"They are remarkable," Ned answered truthfully. A large man with a horrific scar over half his face, standing near the Queen, stepped forward with her and the King as Sansa was grinning at him.

It was the oddest thing, how much his goodsister liked him, Ned thought. There was always such warmth in Sansa's eyes when she looked at him and she put him at ease, as if she didn't find his northern ways abhorrent.

"Lord Stark, this is Lord Sandor Clegane, my personal guard and recently named Master of Lions."

There was a subtle snort, and Ned caught the look on Brynden Tully's face, but Cat didn't seem unnerved by the large man, and neither did Sansa. This was the young man who'd saved Sansa from the attack at the Rock – the one led by his brother.

"Lord Clegane," Ned said, acknowledging the man.

Sandor tensed as if he wondered if Ned would mock him, but when that did not happen, he focused his attention on the cubs, answering questions as Oberyn and Elia approached with Jaime, Tygett and Arthur all in tow.

"I never thought I'd see the day when lions were back," Arthur said, voice awed.

Oberyn was far more succinct.

"No wonder your ego is boundless," he muttered to Tywin.

There was no other word for it – Tywin preened.

All attention was on the cubs until a voice called him, and Ned turned to the small carriage that had just arrived. They'd found a proper wet nurse and another woman to attend to the baby on their trip to King's Landing and now was the moment of truth.

"Is that –?" Cat didn't finish, pointing to the carriage.

"Our nephew," Ned responded softly.

Unable to help himself, he kissed her forehead, resting his hand on her swelled stomach. She turned her eyes to his, so there could be no mistaking his words.

"Rest assured, wife, this child in no way takes the place of ours. He is an extension of our noble House and gods willing, he will grow up knowing our child. They will be cousins, and everyone in the realm will know that to be true. You alone carry my heir in your womb."

Cat nodded and Ned thought he saw acceptance in her pretty blue eyes.

"Tygett returned with Rhaella's daughter from Dragonstone. Her name is Daenerys. Two children, both orphans, both dragons and both in need of parents," Catelyn told him softly.

The pain in her voice was unmistakable, and Ned watched as Cat straightened her shoulders and announced, "Show me my nephew."

Pride in his wife surged through Ned, as the women emerged, holding a small baby, swaddled tightly, and sleeping soundly. The nanny placed the child in Catelyn's arms, and Ned knew within moments that his wife would love this child as much as their own.

"Oh, he's so precious," she crooned to the babe as Sansa and Elia crowded close.

It was impressive, their display and open acceptance of this child, especially that of Elia Martell. This child was the product of a relationship her husband had with a woman who was not his wife, and yet, Ned could detect no ill will for Jon on Elia's face.

"He and Dany must be only weeks apart," Elia announced softly as the infant smacked its lips and opened his eyes to stare at the three women looking at him.

"Come, sister, let us bring him inside. He will wish to meet his siblings and his aunt," Sansa announced, leaving the men in the yard, staring after them.

Tywin snorted at Ned's look of abandonment, shaking his head.

"You've done it now," the King said, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"Done what?" Ned demanded, a bit put out at how quickly he was apparently forgotten upon bringing a new babe into their household.

"You just gave them another newborn. They cluck over the two already. A third?"

Tywin's eyebrow arched.

"They'll circle him like a pack of lionesses," Tywin decreed, though he seemed pleased by this development.

"Come, Lord Stark, let us toast your success."

Ned frowned. He didn't think the death of his sister was cause for celebration but realized the King referred to the fact that four of the five Targaryens were now in their possession.

Whatever the future held, it was apparent that the last of the dragons would be raised as lions and wolves. Whether that meant a better fate for these children remained to be seen, but they'd done what they could, and now only time would tell.

King's Landing – Jaime

"Lions," Arthur said again, shaking his head.

Jaime grinned. He had been since his mentor and friend rode through the River Gate.

A part of Jaime had worried if he'd ever see Arthur again when he'd been dispatched to the Tower of Joy. That worry hadn't dissipated even after his father and Sansa's revelations about what – and who they guarded. Jaime had hoped that sanity would prevail, but he hadn't known if it would. Hightower was hotheaded and stubborn as a mule and so Jaime had fretted.

Even Ned's raven hadn't truly reassured Jaime, not until he'd seen Arthur with his own eyes.

Now they were inside his family's impressive home, and his mentor was back, and even though there had been so much loss in his life, Arthur was alive and well, and that was incredible.

His father was wrapped up with welcoming Ned Stark back to their home, and Elia had disappeared with the other women, so Jaime was left with his friend.

"Come and meet them and their minder. He'd not quite as fearsome as he looks."

Jaime winked at Arthur, who chuckled and nodded at the young man who hovered protectively around the two cubs. Now, they were wrestling with the snaps and snarls reminiscent of two kittens playing. Only these were far from tame house cats.

"Lord Clegane, meet Arthur Dayne, the sword of the morning."

Arthur's eldest brother was heir to Starfall, and his parents were still alive. Word was that his mother was pregnant with yet another child, and that his brother had secured himself a marriage with a woman from Dorne.

Arthur's sister, Ashara, had once been part of Elia's court. At least until they'd attended the Tourney at Harrenhal, where something bad had happened to her. Jaime still wasn't sure what, though the rumour was that Brandon Stark had taken liberties with her while Ser Barristan Selmy looked on in jealousy.

"My Lord," Arthur responded with a twitch of his lips as he looked at the rather large man hovering protectively over the cubs.

"Ser Dayne. Jaime, ummm, tells me you're the best with your sword," Sandor managed to mutter.

Arthur chuckled.

"I am rather fond of using it. Perhaps you'll join us one day, in the yard, for some training."

Sandor stilled as if he didn't quite believe it. Jaime attempted to be friends with the big lout, but he was serious and quiet and preferred the cubs, Sansa and his uncle Tyg of all people.

But perhaps this was what Sandor needed – a man like Arthur to help him hone his impressive physic.

"Sandor, I promise you; your time training with Ser Arthur will not be time wasted," Jaime said, eager to have his friend back.

Sandor looked between them as if trying to sense a jape, but there was none. Just an honest offer to which he slowly nodded his head.

"Good. Then it is settled. Come and let us find some food and ale and get you reacquainted with the capital," Jaime said, a broad grin on his handsome face.

He wouldn't let Sandor stay behind, and soon enough, the three of them found themselves in yet another alehouse, with hearty bowls of stew before them, including thick slices of bread and dark ale to wash it all down.

Jaime liked being out of the Den with his friends and didn't miss the lusty looks sent his way by some whores who frequented this place. He wasn't interested, but that he noticed was a testament that he at least knew he would one day be expected to take a wife and marry. Still, it was far too soon for Jaime to entertain thoughts of some woman sharing his bed. Not when his grief over his twin was still fresh.

Neither Sandor nor Arthur seemed to notice the women staring at them either, which suited Jaime just fine.

They were in a corner booth and therefore afforded privacy to discuss whatever they wished.

"So, tell me how you came to rescue Elia," Arthur began, eyes intense as he leaned forward.

Suddenly the easiness of the evening waned as Jaime swallowed hard, thinking back to when madness gripped the capital. In fits and starts, he told Arthur how Aerys descended deeper into madness, gripped by the desire to use wildfire to burn King's Landing to the ground.

Arthur was suitably horrified, and Jaime gave him a grim look.

"We never should have left you here alone," Arthur muttered.

For the first time, the near hero-worship, he'd always viewed Arthur with dimmed.

"No, you should not have." Jaime paused. "How did you end up in Dorne, guarding Lyanna Stark?"

Arthur took a strong pull of his ale before setting it down.

"Rhaegar ordered us, after the Tourney at Harrenhal, and that mess with the Queen of Love and Beauty," he muttered.

Jaime shook his head, half in disgust and half in disbelief.

"But we were pledged to the King!"

"And the King ordered us to Rhaegar's side," Arthur responded with a half-shrug. "Who were we to disobey? From that moment on, our fate was tied to him."

Jaime frowned, not knowing what to make of that explanation and hardly finding it sufficient. It was challenging to realize how fallible his friend was.

"You still haven't explained your escape with Elia of all people," Arthur chided gently.

Jaime knew it was his way of changing the subject, and he let it happen for now.

"Word came that my father had remarried ---"

"How did that come about?" Arthur asked, interrupting him.

Jaime didn't respond at first, wondering how to describe his father's new wife – the time travelling Sansa from seventeen hundred years in the future.

Thankfully he was saved from explaining when Sandor barked out a harsh laugh.

"The Old Lion left for Riverrun when he heard that Ned Stark and the rebels made for the Keep. I think he was worried what Lord Hoster might do, with unmarried lords in his Keep and his eldest not yet wed."

Arthur looked intrigued.

"Go on, Clegane."

With more words than Jaime had ever heard, Sandor shared the journey to Riverrun – how hard his father pushed his small group of men, the entrance his father made and the pure spectacle at declaring he was there to marry Sansa.

"I never thought I'd see the day."

"The Queen, she isn't like other high-born women," Sandor muttered. "She's… kind."

Apparently, Sandor was wholly dedicated to Sansa, not that Jaime blamed him. Sansa was unlike any woman Jaime had ever met.

"Sandor is right. I was skeptical when I heard about my father's marriage, worried it was someone who was using him, but it is a true love match."

Sandor snorted as Jaime grinned.

"A love match?" Arthur asked, eyes wide.

Jaime and Sandor both nodded.

"It's true. They are mad for one another."

"And she is the one who found the cubs?"

Since it had been Sandor there, he told the story of the finding of the cubs, further establishing the lore of Sansa Lannister.

"Incredible," Arthur said.

"It was," Sandor agreed.

"And this precipitated you leaving King's Landing?" Arthur asked Jaime.

Jaime frowned.

"That, among other things."

Arthur gave him a look.

"There were issues at the Rock. An attack, by one of my father's bannermen ---"

"My cunt of a brother," Sandor interrupted.

Arthur's eyebrows winged up.

Jaime sighed.

"Needless to say, with my siblings both dead, along with my uncle and my childhood friend, I was desperate to return home. Aerys refused. Things got worse. He dismissed his latest Hand, and the only people he'd let near him were the pyromancers," Jaime said grimly. "I knew that I was not safe. There was no doubt that Elia and Rhaenys weren't safe, and even though she was pregnant, I knew we had one chance."

Arthur and Sandor both listened, transfixed as Jaime told them about their escape and their rescue, including the moment when Kevan and Tygett came upon them and the near-instant bond between the man and the little girl.

"And they love one another?" Arthur asked, voice slightly pained.

It confirmed what Jaime had long suspected – that his mentor had feelings for the woman from Dorne. Not that Arthur ever would have admitted it. He and Rhaegar had been close – friends once. It made Jaime want to ask how his friend did it – how had he stood by and watched Rhaegar treat Elia how he had.

"They do love one another," Jaime confirmed.

"That is good," Arthur responded, somewhat wistfully as Sandor looked at Jaime.

"Sansa has sent for Ashara," Jaime blurted out, then blushed, though he did not know why.

Of course, he'd seen Lady Ashara at the tourney, though he'd been far more enamoured with Arthur, his skills and being named to the Kingsguard than he had been a woman at that time.

"Did she now?" Arthur murmured.

Jaime nodded. Sansa had spoken, at length, to himself and his father about Arthur's sister, berating his father when Tywin claimed the woman was 'tainted' due to her unfortunate liaison with Brandon Stark.

"The woman lost a baby," Sansa had raged, frustrated and angry at men who "went around planting seeds they had no intention of raising."

It was apparent that Sansa held a man equally responsible for his by-blows and was determined to rescue Lady Ashara and her tattered reputation. That Elia approved only solidified their determination to 'rescue' Ashara. When pressed, Sansa confided that after the rebellion, the death of her daughter and perhaps the death of Arthur, Lady Ashara had committed suicide by throwing herself from a tower at Starfall.

His father had been unimpressed, but Sansa had insisted, and now the woman that was on her way to King's Landing.

"It wasn't Ned that defiled her," Arthur muttered into his ale.

"No, I cannot imagine a man like Ned Stark taking such liberties," Jaime agreed.

The Ned Stark he knew seemed far too morally uptight to ever do something like that.

"Ironic isn't it, that we both ended up guarding the wives of Rhaegar," Arthur murmured.

To this, Jaime snorted and shook his head.

"His marriage to Lyanna Stark wasn't legal. He could not set aside Elia as he did, bending laws to his whims," Jaime retorted, frustrated at his friend.

How did Rhaegar convince good men to go against their sworn vows?

Arthur knew the rules to obtain an annulment in the Seven.

While neither Rhaegar nor Elia had to be present to be granted an annulment, it had to be granted by the High Septon or a Council of Faith – neither which had happened with Rhaegar and Elia. In fact, the current High Septon was one of the reasons that Aerys became faithful to Rhaella in the latter years. There was simply no way that man would give Rhaegar the annulment he'd wished for.

Nor had a Council of Faith been convened in years.

Which meant that Rhaegar's 'annulment' was nothing more than talk and his marriage to Lyanna invalid.

Jaime sighed, suddenly tired.

While they had changed much, there was still work to be done. Sometimes Jaime wondered how Sansa did it, knowing what she did. The world she spoke of was one with much more equity and a firm rule of law established. That Westeros was still largely influenced by those with gold and power suddenly didn't sit right with Jaime. And that was saying something, as many would argue he was one of the most powerful men in the realm.

"Come on, lads, time for sleep," he said, throwing some coin onto the table.

For now, Arthur was staying with them, as the accommodations for the Kingsguard were still being evaluated. They, too, had been in the Red Keep, a place his father had not yet deemed safe. Besides, Jaime knew that his mentor would want to ensure Elia was fine for himself. Arthur might have made some … questionable calls, but deep down, Jaime knew him to be a good man. And good men were what the realm needed if they would change the Seven for the better.

King's Landing – Tywin

Tywin could not recall a time when Eastern Den had ever been so full. Thankfully Oberyn had taken himself back to his own lodgings, preparing it for the arrival of his brother and children.

And his mistress. He'd seemed to take delight in speaking about Ellaria Sand, thinking he was being bold and shocking.

Jaime had stumbled in late with Arthur and Sandor by his side, a development that pleased Tywin. Sandor Clegane was utterly loyal to him and Sansa. That the large young man now seemed to be forming a friendship with his son could only pay dividends for his House.

Arthur was a balm to Jaime's battered heart, having lost Tyrion, Gerion and Addam in quick succession.

Not that Tywin trusted the man from Starfall entirely. It was evident that Arthur had been loyal to Rhaegar, allowing events to transpire that still baffled Tywin.

What on earth had they been thinking, helping the prince abscond with Lyanna Stark?

Madness.

Madness and stupidity.

Now his wife had women coming to King's Landing to form her court, and Tywin was hardly in a position to argue with her. She seemed to take a keen interest in Ashara Dayne; a woman sullied and spoiled at Harrenhal two years prior.

Tywin had his ears blistered by Sansa when he'd mentioned that she had no hope of securing a good marriage, giving him a lecture on the hypocrisy of men sleeping around while women were held to a different standard. When she'd brought up the fact that neither one of his golden twins had been pure, Tywin had clamped his lips shut, unable to argue with her.

The morning following Ned Stark's arrival back in the capital, Tywin entertained the lord from the North at his large dining table while the Tully sisters chatted about the new baby. Elia and Tygett joined them, as did Jaime, who seemed to be nursing a sore head from the night before, though his son said nothing, staring broodily into his cup of coffee.

It was incredible to think that Tywin had single-handily brought almost all the Targaryen children under his influence in a short time.

"What is this?" Ned asked, drawing Tywin's attention away from his son and towards the man from the North.

Tywin allowed a rare smile to grace his lips.

"Ahh, it is something we call coffee. My wife found the beans at the market and brought them home, having read about them. It is a slightly bitter brew, made more palatable with milk and honey."

All the Lannisters had taken to breaking their fast with coffee now, as Sansa had smugly predicted. Tywin liked the energy it gave him to tackle the ongoing work before him.

Ned seemed skeptical at first, but seeing Jaime take a generous sip of the brew, he followed suit.

"Interesting," was all the man from Winterfell said, though he took another small sip and then another. Tywin caught Sansa's wink. His wife was incorrigible.

Since her "free public health day" in Flea Bottom, the praise for her had increased dramatically. Many monarchs talked about change and alleviating the suffering of the common folk, but few did so.

"Lord Stark, I believe today is a good day for you to accompany us to the Red Keep. My men have been busy categorizing the buildings that might be saved, and they reassure me it is structurally sound."

As much as Tywin liked Eastern Den, he knew the image the Red Keep projected. The distinctive towers might be gone, but his men reported that Maegor's Holdfast remained, along with several other key buildings. Beyond the symbolism, Tywin knew the defensive position on top of the highest hill in the capital was excellent.

Besides, there was far more room upon Aegon's High Hill than at the Den for their growing retinue of people. The Great Hall might be lost, but so much of it was salvageable.

Tywin caught the interest in Sansa's eyes, and before she could plead her case to come along, he gave her a look.

"Wife, you shall remain here until I deem it safe for you to visit such a place."

She pouted and gave him a look that told him he would pay for that comment later. Briefly, Tywin wondered if that might involve restraints. Lately, he couldn't get the image of being bound to his bed out of his mind as Sansa had her wicked way with him. Thankfully, with two new babies, and the lion cubs, there was plenty to keep Sansa occupied here inside their home.

"Sister, you must come and see the baby," Catelyn gushed, clearly overjoyed at having the infant in her care.

That softened Sansa considerably. Tywin almost shook his head at how different the reception of Jon was in this timeline from the one Sansa shared with him. Ned had claimed the boy to be his own in that other history – a bastard that no one questioned and had put considerable strain on his young marriage.

With Jon's parentage known by all and his place in the North reassured by Tywin's decree to name the boy a proper Stark, Catelyn was a loving guardian for a parentless child and not a young wife, jealous of her husband's indiscretion. Tywin knew Ned was far more like him than other men in that once he said his vows, he'd remain true to his wife. Catelyn's acceptance of Jon boded well for the future of the North.

With their day set, the meal finished quickly. The group accompanying him to the Red Keep was large – his own family, key members of their alliance, and the guards Whent and Dayne. Both men knew that area, as well as Tywin did, and they would be invaluable with their insights into what could be salvaged.

That left Sandor with Sansa and the cubs, Elia and Catelyn. Sansa had given his hand a hard squeeze when he'd kissed her goodbye, eyes glittering.

"We shall discuss your direction to me later, husband," she promised with a slight edge to her voice.

That it made his cock ache when she spoke to him in such a manner baffled Tywin, as he was so used to being in a position of power – especially when it came to bedplay.

He'd heard what others said about his marriage to Joanna – that while Tywin ruled the Seven Kingdoms, his wife had ruled him. It hadn't exactly been accurate. Yes, he'd been softer with Joanna, but never had she 'ruled' him. Not like people wished to believe. In their roles, Joanna had filled hers admirably, but that was as far as it went. She hadn't expected things of him – not like Sansa did.

"Yes, my queen," he'd responded, like some greenboy besotted with her.

Only – Sansa's eyes had danced with promise and merriment, and the gods knew he'd never been as satisfied in the bedroom as he had been since Sansa had stormed into his life. She hadn't been satisfied with the traditional role a woman occupied in this society, and she wasn't about to start simply because she was now Queen. Including her insatiable appetite in the bedchamber.

"The way you two carry on," Jaime muttered as they stepped outside, towards the stables where their horses were waiting. His son gave him a look.

"I thought Lannisters do not act like fools."

Tywin mounted his horse, knowing the picture he presented.

"Is it foolish to love one's wife?" Tywin asked.

Jaime's frown deepened, and then he sighed. Tywin knew his son still grieved the loss of his sister. It would take time for Jaime to open himself to the possibility of marriage, a wife, and, yes, even love. Though that was hardly necessary for men of their status. Jaime would need to marry; if not for love, then to continue on the Lannister name.

They made a picture, one of power and influence, as they left Eastern Den and rode towards the Red Keep. It would be the first time many of these lords would see the destruction Aerys had wrought, and Tywin had ordered the likes of Barristan Selmy and Gerold Hightower to join them. He wanted these men who had pledged to the mad King to see what Aerys had nearly done.

They wound their way up Shadowblack Lane, the twisty street that began and the foot of Aegon's High Hill and climbed. Around him, Tywin heard men speaking to one another, but none spoke to him. Perhaps that was the way of things, now that he was King.

Upon the top of the Hill, they were confronted by the large curtain walls surrounding the castle. The smell of charred wood and stone was stronger here, but the wildfire no longer raged.

The seven huge drum towers crowned with iron ramparts had survived Aerys' destructive ways, including the nests and crenelations for archers. Thick stone parapets, some four feet high, protected the outer edge of the wall ramparts. This was where the traitor's heads were traditionally placed. The walls themselves had several bronze gates and portcullises, with narrow postern doors nearby. The castle also had great corner forts. The immense barbican had a cobbled square in front of it. Behind the walls were small inner yards, vaulted halls, covered bridges, the City Watch barracks, dungeons, granaries, kennels, and stables.

Much of those buildings had survived the wildfire attack.

They rode through an open gate, now guarded by men in red cloaks loyal to him.

Once inside the curtain walls, Tywin brought his horse to a stop. The towers of the Red Keep itself, the castle which House Targaryen had built, were gone. This was where the Great Hall, which contained the Throne Room, lay, now a crumbled ruin, along with two kitchens, the council chamber and the Grand Hall that could seat a thousand. All of it was now gone, lost to the wildfire plot.

What remained, though, was impressive.

The godswood, an acre of alder and elms, and a heart tree that was a mighty oak remained, as did Maegor's Holdfast, the massive square fortress inside the heart of the Red Keep. The castle-within-a-castle was situated behind walls twelve feet thick, and a dry moat lined it with iron spikes.

Maegor's Holdfast included the royal apartments and the King's bedchamber, which Tywin had visited more than once. It included a canopied bed and twin hearths. The Holdfast also contained the Queen's Ballroom and was the only place in the Red Keep with no secret passageways, likely helping keep the wildfire from destroying it.

Tywin knew if he had any chance of convivence Sansa to utilize such a place, it would have to be entirely redone. Neither of them desired to exist in a place where the Mad King had raped his wife.

The Tower of the Hand had also survived the destruction of Aerys with its solar, tall windows and garden. The Small Hall remained, which could seat five hundred easily.

Thankfully, the Royal Sept, the Maidenvault, the stables, pigsty, the barracks of the gold cloaks, and Varys's apartment all remained. The black cells had all survived the wildfire, more or less. As had the rookery and the chamber used by the Grand Maester, and the White Sword Tower, where the king's guards were housed.

Tywin knew that the Spider had access to the plethora of secret passageways throughout the Red Keep – it was how he was so successful at his post. A part of Tywin worried what it might mean, keeping Varys alive when he knew so much.

There was damage from smoke and debris, including acres of dirt remaining, and so it would be sometime before it was useful, but all was not lost. Indeed, for a wildfire plot meant to destroy all of King's Landing, that only the front bailey had been destroyed was incredible.

There was much to be celebrated as the men with Tywin began to examine what was left.

"What damage was done?" Royce asked quizzically.

Tywin refrained from sighing. Indeed, viewed from here, if one discounted the fallen towers, it appeared that not much destruction had occurred.

"Above, Lord Royce, where the Great Hall once stood, there is nothing but an empty ruin. Gone are the large and the small kitchens, the council chambers and all that was contained within the Great Hall, including the Iron Throne itself."

The loss of these places resonated deeply, for they had been a part of the landscape of King's Landing for nearly three hundred years.

"Madness," Royce proclaimed, earning an approving nod from Tywin.

Madness indeed.

"My lords, I cannot promise that the steps are secure, but I wish you to see what the Mad King attempted to destroy."

At that moment, lords Crackhall and Banefort arrived with Selmy and Hightower.

More than one man sent a scathing look to Selmy and Hightower, whom Tywin ordered to climb the steps. The rest followed, and sharp gasps were met when the destruction became apparent.

Below, one could hardly tell something catastrophic had happened. But here? There was so much red brick and charred stone that the clean-up alone would take months to remove.

"Seven hells," Barristan swore, shaking his head as he paled and swallowed hard.

There was a small courtyard beyond the steps deemed safe, but the rest of the area was currently being assessed.

Those with Tywin crowded into the space, looking around in horror.

"Now, do you see what your King was set to do?" Tywin sneered at the two men.

Gerold Hightower notched his chin in defiance.

"He was the King" was the man's defence of a monster.

"He was a madman who would have killed every man, woman and child in this city!" Tywin roared, frustration pounding inside him.

How could he be so blind?

"Are you that blinded by your sworn vows that you fail to see what he was?" Tywin demanded of the two men who had yet to bend the knee to him.

Tywin did not expect an answer, and indeed, none was forthcoming.

"The day shall come when you will have to answer for refusing to break with him," Tywin told them.

There were grim nods from those that Tywin counted as closest to him, and that pleased him.

"All was not lost, but we shall never forget what Aerys attempted to do. This madness, this consumption of his, shall never again be felt by the common people," Tywin announced.

A cheer rose, led by Jaime and Tygett, as those surrounding him chanted his name.

Standing there, on top of the steps, amidst the ruin of the Targaryen era, Tywin knew he'd build his legacy out of the ashes of the old, stronger and more enduring than anything Westeros had ever previously seen – a dynasty that would last a thousand years, with his loving, time-travelling wife by his side. It was a silent vow he made and one he had every intention of ensuring came true.