Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Marethyu, Priapus, Mike God of Lore
The Unbound
Chapter 03: Spiders
– Sansa Stark –
Spotting the person she wanted to speak to, she hesitated. Arya was furious with her after the mess with Joffrey, and her father had been disappointed to hear that she had tried to back up Joffrey, but it wasn't either of them she wanted to speak to.
In the distance, sitting on a rock, Orys Baratheon was talking to his little sister. From his movements, he seemed to be telling some kind of story which Myrcella was certainly enjoying as she giggled, hanging on his every word.
As he noticed her approach, he trailed off, and the boyish grin on his face faded to a more serious look. A disapproving look. Myrcella looked her way, hesitating as Orys said something to her quietly, sending his little sister away as she headed toward the royal tents.
"Lady Sansa," Orys said, his tone neutral as she flushed. She'd seen him laughing and joking with Arya, but she wasn't surprised he was so formal with her. She was fairly sure Arya had a crush on him, whether Arya knew it or not. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"I- I just wanted to speak with you, Your Highness, to apologise," Sansa said quickly, watching him rise.
"Oh?" Orys asked, waiting for her to speak.
"I didn't mean to lie to you, for Joffrey, I mean. I just- the Septa always told me that it would be my duty to support my future husband, and I just thought it was what I was supposed to do as his future wife," Sansa admitted, embarrassed at the way his stare made her feel like a child. "I didn't mean to betray Arya or lie to you. I just-"
She'd rehearsed this in her tent, but her words were failing her.
"There is a difference between supporting someone and enabling them, Sansa. Joffrey could have killed Arya, if she'd been a little slower," Orys said, Sansa looking away in shame.
"I- I didn't think it was that serious. Arya plays with the other boys in Winterfell all the time," Sansa admitted. For all her problems with Arya, she never wanted her sister to be hurt.
"It was serious, Sansa. What do you think would've happened if I hadn't been there? If you'd lied for Joffrey, and he got away with his… pointless cruelty, do you think he'd stop? Is that the kind of man you want to marry?" Orys asked, arms crossed as she shook her head. "I understand that you thought it was your duty to support him. I do, but support should never be unconditional. Joffrey's temper is going to get him into trouble. A small hit from a stick was enough to make him attack Arya with a real blade. How long do you think it'd be until a wrong word from you gained his ire? Do you plan to continue to support him when you become the target of that rage?"
The sight of Joffrey's face as he swung at Arya flashed through her mind, his handsome face etched in fury at someone daring to strike him.
"I'm sorry," Sansa said, unable to form any other words. It felt so perfect when people started discussing her marrying a prince, like in the storybooks, but the reality was different.
She only wanted to support her future husband, like the Septa had taught her. She didn't mean to stab Arya in the back, she didn't think it was that serious…
– Orys Baratheon –
Sansa is a naive girl, but I can see the potential behind her naivety. She genuinely is ashamed, and I can tell that my words are cutting deep.
One of the Princes approaches, whispering in my ear as I look at Sansa. She's a Northern girl who was raised to act Southern, and because of it, she doesn't feel at home in either place. She's too Northern for King's Landing and too Southern for the North.
I suspect Lady Stark is to blame for that one. Why does a Northern family even have a Septa? The North follows the Old Gods, not the Seven.
The Lady of Whispers purrs into my ears, and despite my mistrust of the Princes, I can't deny that the idea she is pushing forth is an enticing one. King's Landing is a viper's den and one that I am altogether too unfamiliar with. Hircine can help me in the wilds, but the city is far more dangerous.
Sansa isn't just a naive girl; she's an opportunity.
"You understand what you did wrong, don't you?" I ask, my tone smooth as spider's silk as Sansa nods.
"I betrayed my family, accidentally or not," Sansa agrees as she looks down. Cupping her chin, I made her look up at me.
"Beyond that, Sansa. Joffrey is a deeply flawed boy. You saw that yourself. If I hadn't been there, would you have lied to protect him from the consequences of slitting Arya's throat?" I ask, seeing her stiffen up.
"I- I wouldn't- he wouldn't-"
"He almost did. You know what you saw. You're not a foolish girl, just a naive one," I continue, seeing the shame in her eyes grow. "Even if nobody had gotten hurt, beyond the butcher's boy who will carry that scar for years, your words nearly let Joffrey escape punishment. He'd only grow bolder, his future acts of mindless sadism enabled by you. Maybe he'd be grateful, but he'd grow more and more into a monster, and monsters don't care how much you've supported them."
Mephala, the Webspinner. My newest patron. Her domain is deception and intrigue, two things I suspect I will need dearly in the years to come.
I didn't accept it carelessly, testing the waters with Hircine, but he cares not for the courtly intrigue. Their domains are different enough that they don't care that I've made a pact with both.
"But Joffrey would have thought I was betraying him if I told the truth. He looked so furious with me when your Father asked me for details," Sansa replied. "It feels like no matter what I did, I was making the wrong choice."
"Perhaps, but as I said, enabling Joffrey would just make your own life worse. Do you want to be married to someone who enjoys hurting you?" I ask, getting a shake of her head. "Then, are you willing to help me guide Joffrey away from these dark interests?"
Sansa freezes at that, confused as she stares up at me. This is what Mephala suggested. Joffrey remains a problem and one that I need to keep a set of eyes on. Sansa could be those eyes, my own little spider weaving her web around Joffrey.
"H-how?" Sansa asks, making me smile.
"Getting away with such crimes would enable him, but the reverse is also true. As an older brother, I want to keep Joffrey out of trouble, but I can't watch him all the time. Imagine if I hadn't been there to stop him," I purr, having already planted the image in her head that Arya would have died without my intervention.
"You want me to… spy on Joffrey?" Sansa asks, looking around with a worried expression.
"I want to pull my brother back from the darkness he's falling into, but he is bitter that I am the heir. He will not accept my guidance; he's more likely to delve deeper into his cruelty just to spite me," I explain softly. "He's still young. He can learn to be a better man. One worthy of your support, but I don't think he can do it alone. I want you to help me make Joffrey into someone worthy of the title of 'Prince'."
She hesitates, but I can feel that I've got her hooked. She wants the storybook romance with a gallant prince, and that prince isn't Joffrey. But he could be.
"He'd hate me if he found out," Sansa replies, her tone soft and anxious.
"If he found out. I can teach you how to avoid that. Behind every great man, there's a great woman. The man doesn't always know that his greatness is thanks to the woman, and Joffrey will never need to know. Help me rein my brother in, Sansa, before it's too late for him," I ask, once again clasping her chin and forcing her to look into my eyes. I intimidate her. She fears that I planned to have my parents break off the engagement because of her accidental betrayal. "You'll do this for me, won't you?"
And yet, with our closeness and the way that I'm almost caressing her chin, I notice the way she looks up at me. Her eyes are lidded, her lips parting slightly as she tilts her head. She's in the perfect position for me to kiss her. I can feel how submissive she is; she wouldn't stop me from claiming her first kiss.
"I- I will, Your Highness. It's another way to support him, right?" Sansa asks, her voice breathy as she leans in just ever-so-slightly.
"That's right," I agree, giving her a smile, which she hesitantly returns. "Remember this, Sansa. You're going to be a part of my family soon, and no matter what happens, I will always have your back. If you need anything, I'll be there for you."
As I say that, I stroke her hair and step back. Her nerves calm as I put some distance between us, the moment gone and her first kiss unclaimed. For just a moment, her eyes lower to my lips, but she returns eye contact quickly.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Sansa says with a curtsey, but I just grin.
"It's Orys, to my family and future family. Now come on, let's go and see where Myrcella went off to, shall we?" I ask, giving her a smile. Sansa doesn't feel at home anywhere, but soon, she'll feel at home by my side.
My first little spider, poised to strike at a troublesome thorn in my side. I feel Mephala's approval of how the conversation went. Before long, Sansa and Myrcella are giggling and chatting, the two girls bonding.
Joffrey does not treat Myrcella or Tommen well. Sansa will see that in time, and it will show her that I'm right to want to keep an eye on him. If he is mean to even his own little sister, how would he treat his wife?
How long until she's changed from wanting to 'save' Joffrey to wanting to help me control the sadistic little prick? All while convincing Joffrey that she's on his side. With Mephala and my guidance, Sansa will weave her own little web and wrap Joffrey up in it so tightly that he'll not be able to cause any trouble.
– Arya Stark –
She normally hated going to sleep and arguing with her parents about being allowed to stay up later like her older brothers. As they stopped for the night, she got into bed eagerly, Nymeria cuddling up beside her.
Her father assumed that she was just tired, having spent some time running with Nymeria along the path instead of riding one of the horses or in a carriage. It wasn't tiredness that had her clasping her eyes shut, falling into a slumber almost immediately.
As she opened them again, her smile grew at the sight of the great plains before her. They stretched on forever, with countless secrets to explore. Her dress was gone, replaced with unnaturally comfy leather armour, the top having no sleeves, leaving her arms exposed as she pulled out her bow and took a deep breath.
A howl made her grin, Nymeria brushing against her leg as they looked over the plains.
"Ready, girl?" Arya asked, and Nymeria barked once in agreement. "Then let's go."
Heading out, she picked a direction to start hunting, as she did every night. It wasn't always the plains; sometimes, they hunted in the forests. There were also the jungles, like from the stories, and the vast deserts, but she didn't know how to reach them.
She'd seen creatures in these plains that were like nothing from her home. Giant cats with huge fangs, massive furred beasts with large trunks and tusks. She wasn't stupid; she didn't hunt those ones. Trying to hunt out of her league was how she went from hunter to prey.
Instead, she searched and grinned as she found a track. A fox.
She reached up, stroking the fox fang that Orys had given her. Every night, she hunted the fox, its white coat unmistakable, and every night it eluded her. It was so slippery, but the thrill of the hunt kept her going even after several failures.
She never grew tired as she and Nymeria rushed through the plains in leaps and bounds that she couldn't do in the waking world, and her senses felt so sharp. These dreams had started from the moment Orys had given her the fox, but she was sure they were more than just dreams.
The night passed all too quickly, her arrow barely missing the slippery fox as it dashed into the bushes, and she awoke with a jolt at her father's call.
"I'll be up soon," Arya promised, sighing at the sight of the dress she was expected to wear. Nymeria grumbled as she got out of bed, but Arya just smiled slightly. "Don't worry, girl. We'll get the fox soon."
Nymeria barked, just once, and Arya gained a secret smile. It wasn't just dreams because she was sure that Nymeria remembered them as well. As they got ready for another day on the road to King's Landing, she spotted Orys talking with his father and reached up to touch her amulet.
He just looked over to her, gave her a wink and a knowing smile before looking back to his father.
Did he follow the Old Gods? Was her amulet some kind of charm? She didn't know, but she knew it was a gift that she was very grateful for. She wasn't going to tell anyone; she knew it would be trouble if the Septas found out about it. Putting on her cloak, she grinned at the white fur trim as she went about her day.
– Eddard Stark –
Being called to a Small Council meeting within moments of arriving told him a little about the state of King's Landing. Was the situation so dire that the council couldn't wait for him to settle in, or did they just want to catch him off guard immediately before he had time to prepare for his new duties?
Maybe it was the message from Lysa that had him so on edge, but at least there were no Lannisters in the Small Council.
"With the wedding so soon, my brother wishes for us to hold a tournament both to celebrate his son's marriage and Lord Stark's appointment as the Hand of the King," Renly explained.
As the Small Council discussed the cost of Robert's demand, the doors opened, getting their attention as Orys walked in.
"Your Highness, this is unexpected," Varys said, his tone far too soft. "I would have thought you were still settling in from your travels."
"I planned to, before I heard that a Small Council meeting was taking place," Orys explained easily as Renly got up.
"The Master Huntsman, gracing us with his presence," Renly joked, making Orys laugh as he embraced his uncle. "Forgive us. We're not used to having a royal presence at these meetings."
Orys hummed at that, a moment of displeasure crossing his face as Renly offered him a seat.
"This will be my kingdom in time, and I've been away in Casterly Rock most of my life. I'd like to know the land I'm supposed to rule one day," Orys replied simply.
"Most wise, Your Highness," Pycelle simpered. "We were just discussing your upcoming wedding and the tournament that your father wishes to throw in celebration."
"And how the treasury can't afford it?" Orys asked, a frown on his face.
"True, but the situation isn't completely dire. The Tyrells are funding the wedding, and I believe your Grandfather would fund the tournament," Baelish replied. "It's no secret that your father arranged this wedding to weaken the power old Tywin had over the crown."
"How much do we owe Grandfather?" Orys asked with a sigh. "How deep in debt is the crown in general?"
"Three and a half million crowns. Two million to the Lannisters, One and a half million to the Iron Bank of Braavos. It was more, but the Tyrells paid a handsome price for your hand, Your Highness," Baelish admitted, Orys rubbing his forehead. "They forgave the debt that was owed to them and paid off many of the smaller loans."
"So we traded owing Grandfather to owing Grandfather and the Queen of Thorns? Lovely," Orys chuckled darkly.
"Not happy about your future in-laws, Your Highness?" Varys asked simply.
"The Tyrells are a good match, but I'm not so naive to think that Lord Tyrell forgave our debts out of the kindness in his heart. I only met Olenna Tyrell once, but it was enough to leave an impression. She's not someone I want to be indebted to," Orys explained.
"Indeed. Lady Olenna insisted that your wedding be of lavish extravagance. It's tradition for the Royal family to pay for the royal wedding, and having the Tyrells be the ones funding it does send a certain message," Varys agreed.
"While His Grace is rather liberal with the tournaments, perhaps it would be best to hold this one as he requests. Combining it with the wedding will allow us to blunt the fact that the Tyrells are paying for the entire thing," Baelish suggested. "I suspect that Lord Tywin would be just as eager to counter Lady Olenna as we are."
As they continued to discuss the upcoming wedding and tournament, Ned watched Orys. In some ways, he reminded Ned of a younger Robert, but only somewhat. Orys was more serious than his father ever had been, seemingly uninterested in whoring and well aware of the responsibility that was soon to fall on his shoulders.
Despite him being fostered by the Lannisters, Ned didn't think Orys was involved in Jon Arryn's death. Maybe it was his gratitude for Orys protecting Arya that was colouring his image of the young prince, but for now, he would assume Orys was innocent.
He was well aware that he was deeply out of his depth, surrounded by people who had made a life out of intrigue and deception. He belonged in the North, not here, but he owed it to Robert and to Jon to get to the bottom of this.
Baelish and Pycelle were pushing for them to approach Tywin to fund the tournament, either through loans or as a gift to his beloved grandson. Orys was trapped between the Tyrell and Lannister families. On one side, he had his mother's family, and on the other, his future in-laws, both using the future king to expand their own influence.
He was also well aware of that fact. As they moved on, Orys took a more passive role. He watched and listened as the Small Council discussed matters. Even he could tell that the council were more deliberate with their words, with the Crown Prince attending the meeting.
– Orys Baratheon –
I meant it when I said that I need to know about my future kingdoms, but I had another reason to want to see the Small Council. Mephala is the Lady of Whispers, and her domain is secrets.
I want to know which of my Small Council can be trusted.
From those who attended today, Renly and Ned. Uncle Stannis is currently away, and this meeting was called at the last minute with no time for him to return.
I can see the webs that others are weaving, and while I expected Varys to have such a well-spun web, there was something about it that I found disturbing. For a moment, as I spoke to Varys, I saw the outline of a dragon's head behind him.
Varys served as the Master of Whispers for the Mad King. He served House Targaryen before he served House Baratheon, and those burning eyes convince me that Varys is a problem.
Littlefinger may be an even bigger one. His web is just as vast as Varys, which worries me greatly. Why does the Master of Coins, a man from such a minor house, have a web that compares to the Master of Whispers? Then there's the blood.
For a moment, I saw his hands and clothes coated in blood.
Pycelle is the least problematic of the three, but I saw his robes coated in gold. He's Grandfather's man, I'm sure of it. He acts like a doddering old man, but Mephala exposes that as the act it is.
As the meeting comes to an end, I thank them for their service to the crown and make my way out of the room, lingering before the Iron Throne. Walking up to it, I pause for a moment before I make the climb and take a seat on the infamous throne and look upon the empty throne room.
The damn thing is so large that I'm over twice my height in the air, towering over the throne room. Thousands of swords forged into a throne. The Targaryen's are a strange sort. Aegon couldn't just settle for a nice cushioned seat? If I'm not careful, I could easily cut myself on the many sharp edges, and the damn thing is so uncomfortable to sit upon.
"Trying out your inheritance, Your Highness?" Varys asks, watching me examine the room before me. "How does it feel?"
"Uncomfortable," I admit as I rise. "How many have died for the honour of sitting on the world's most awkward chair?"
"More than even I could count," Varys admits. "I imagine you will be sitting in it before long. Your father finds holding court to be tiresome, and often passed the duty of seeing to the royal petitioners on to Lord Arryn. As the heir, you may sit in his stead if you desire. Or leave it to Lord Stark."
"I might as well get used to it," I simply reply, looking over the throne one last time. "I'm guessing people wouldn't approve of me bringing a cushion?"
"I'm afraid not, Your Highness," Varys agrees with a small smile, watching me take the steps back to ground level.
What an ugly chair.
– Cersei Baratheon –
"Stop fidgeting," Cersei ordered, pressing the cloth to the side of Joffrey's head. Her son continued fidgeting all the same, even hissing in pain as she applied the salve to the side of his head.
"It's not fair. Orys throws a rock at me, and I get punished?" Joffrey complained, and she hid her frown at his words.
"Orys threw a rock at you because you were trying to stab Lord Stark's daughter, something that could have started a war," Cersei replied softly.
"That wolf-bitch hit me with a stick," Joffrey complained mulishly, avoiding responsibility. It was becoming increasingly clear that he was spoiled, and maybe she was to blame. She'd moved a lot of the affection that Orys should have gotten onto Joffrey after Orys was taken away. "Me. I'm a prince, and she's little better than a wildling. All the Northerns are barbarians. Do I have to marry Sansa?"
"Yes," Cersei replied bluntly, moving away from Joffrey as she watched him. "It's your duty to help increase your family's influence. Orys is to marry a Tyrell, you will marry a Stark, and in time, Myrcella and Tommen will marry members of influential families."
"Like you did?" Joffrey asked, making her nod easily.
"Like I did. You don't have to love her; you don't even need to like her or see her beyond formal occasions, at least until it's time to make little Baratheons, but you will marry her," Cersei said, her tone stern as Joffrey frowned.
Despite everything, a part of her did love Robert. He'd given her three beautiful children, and he did try. His whoring had all but stopped after Orys' birth, which had led to them having a lot of sex. In truth, it was why her affair with Jaime had come to an end. It wasn't viable to keep sleeping with her brother when she was with her husband, sometimes three times a day.
The infrequency of their entanglements had led to them getting more desperate, eventually getting caught by Jon Arryn shortly after Joffrey's birth. He told no one on the condition that the affair ended for good. Jaime agreed, and while she was furious at the time, the years had shown her that he was right.
Joffrey remained the black mark, the living evidence of their youthful indiscretions.
"I don't want to. We allow the northerners too much power. Those animals consider themselves our equals," Joffrey complained. "I shouldn't need to marry one of them to keep them in check. They owe us their obedience."
"Oh? And how would you handle them if you were King?" Cersei asked. In her mind, she compared Joffrey's whining to Orys when he was told that he was to marry a girl he'd never met.
"I'd double their taxes and command them to supply ten thousand men to the royal army," Joffrey finally said, making her eyebrow raise.
"The royal army?" Cersei asked.
"Why should every lord command his own men? It's primitive, no better than the hill tribes," Joffrey continued. "We should have a standing army of men loyal to the Crown, trained by experienced soldiers, instead of a mob of peasants who've never held pikes in their lives."
"And if the Northerners rebel? If they decided that your decrees were tyrannical?" Cersei asked.
"I'd crush them," Joffrey replied, a scowl on his face at the hypothetical betrayal. "I'd seize Winterfell and install someone loyal to the realm as Warden of the North. Uncle Kevan, maybe."
"Right… and these ten thousand northern troops, would they fight for you or their lord?" Cersei asked, already knowing what he'd say.
"For me. I'm- I'd be their King," Joffrey replied as if any other answer was unthinkable.
"But you've just invaded their homeland and asked them to kill their brothers," Cersei pointed out.
"I'd be King. I wouldn't be asking," Joffrey countered.
"I'm sure that's what the Mad King thought right before the Starks played such a large part in the rebellion that dethroned him. The North cannot be held, not by an outsider," Cersei lectured, disappointed with Joffrey's lack of understanding.
The Targaryen inbreeding had led to their madness, but in her pride and ego, she'd assumed that she and Jaime would be fine. Now, she had three brilliant, beautiful children and one inbred, sadistic fool.
"Why do you think Orys is charming Arya? Eddard Stark could have left that incident with a grudge against our family. Instead, he left feeling indebted to the future King. Arya is loved by her family, and now she adores Orys," Cersei continued, seeing Joffrey's scowl deepen. "He took your mistake and turned it into an opportunity to make the Starks more loyal to him."
"By injuring me, his brother," Joffrey complained. "He betrayed his family just to make some barbarians like him. And Sansa betrayed me-"
"Sansa was ordered by her King to tell the truth. Sansa tried to defend you at first, didn't she? But when Orys made it a royal command, she had to choose between supporting her betrothed and obeying the crown," Cersei explained. "Orys saw the entire thing. If Sansa had lied to his face, she'd have put you both in a worse position. She did the only thing she could do."
Seeing that she wasn't getting through to him, Cersei sighed as she rose.
"Your father has insisted that you remain grounded to your room until your punishment has been decided. Joffrey, do not test him on this. Eddard Stark is his dearest friend. You could have attacked anyone else, and it would have been less serious," Cersei sighed, stroking Joffrey's hair as he pulled his head away.
"Is this not punishment enough?" Joffrey asked, gesturing to the side of his head where a small scar remained from where the rock had struck him. It was tiny, barely noticeable, and Joffrey had to lift his hair to show it.
"No. When the worst case of your actions was a war, a tiny scratch is hardly punishment enough," Cersei said, her tone stern, which seemed to surprise and confuse him. "The Hound has been told to keep you in your room; do not make things worse for yourself by acting out like a child."
Joffrey didn't respond, turning his head away from her as she frowned and made her way out.
As she left the room, she made eye contact with Sansa Stark, who looked embarrassed.
"I wasn't eavesdropping! I mean- I wanted to apologise to Joffrey, but- I guess now isn't the best time, is it?" Sansa asked, her face red as her hair. Joffrey had been rather loud.
"No, it is not," Cersei agreed, frowning in thought. "Come with me."
Sansa blanched but followed behind her dutifully as Cersei led her to the royal bedchamber, gesturing for Sansa to take a seat as Cersei did the same.
"You heard Joffrey's issues with marrying you, I take it?" Cersei asked, making Sansa nod awkwardly.
"I did, Your Majesty," Sansa admitted. She looked like she had more to say, but stopped herself.
"Go on," Cersei commanded, making Sansa pale. Cersei poured them two small glasses of wine and offered one to Sansa. Catelyn did not let her daughter drink; she noticed that at the feast, but Sansa was too polite to refuse. Her tolerance would not be as good as Cersei's, and alcohol loosened lips.
"It's just… he seemed so nice when we met. I didn't realise he hated my home that much," Sansa admitted quietly.
"Joffrey is a child, still immature. Boys grow up slower than girls," Cersei said after a moment of thought. "He 'hates' the North because he's blaming everyone but himself for his problems. If Arya had been from the Vale, he'd 'hate' the Vale. If she'd been from Dorne, he'd hate them instead. Would you rather marry Tommen instead? It would be easily arranged, and he's a more… gentle boy. There are advantages to being the older partner."
Sansa froze at her question. Sansa was younger than Joffrey but older than Tommen. Their ages were still close enough for her to marry either. Marrying one of their children to a Stark was a good way to keep the North loyal. It didn't really matter which one of her sons married Sansa.
"I'd like to give my betrothal with Joffrey a chance, not run away at the first problem," Sansa said quietly, making Cersei smile slightly. "As you said, he's still a boy. Maybe he'll be a great man with the right support. Was Orys like Joffrey when he was younger?"
Ah, something told her if Cersei had asked if she'd rather marry Orys, the answer would have been different. She'd heard from Myrcella that Sansa and Orys had seemingly become friends, but she suspected Orys was up to something.
"No. Orys was raised in Casterly Rock, and my father has little patience for immaturity. Orys was forced to grow up quickly," Cersei explained. "As the eldest prince in King's Landing, Joffrey was lavished with attention from the courtiers and, admittedly, me. He's not taking having been put back in second place well."
She could tell that Sansa was listening to her every word. Eddard Stark did not trust her, something he could barely hide with his laughable inexperience, but Sansa didn't share her father's misgivings.
"I'm glad that you want to give your betrothal a chance. Marriage isn't always about love, Sansa. It's about duty. Joffrey can be… difficult, but he is still a child at heart, needing guidance. You have the chance to help with that, to temper his worst traits, to guide him where others cannot," Cersei explained softly, and she spotted something in Sansa, who almost jumped at her words.
Ahh, this wasn't the first time she had heard this. That was Orys' game. He didn't trust Joffrey, so he was using Sansa to keep an eye on him. Father had taught Orys well. Sansa lived in a storybook; she wanted her storybook prince, and Orys was using that to convince Sansa to act against Joffrey for Joffrey's own good.
"But he hates me," Sansa said softly, and Cersei just chucked and reached out, touching the younger girl's hand.
"He 'hates' you right now. As I said, he's just a boy at heart. Be there for him as others lavish Orys with their attention and praise, and soon, he'll lean on you for your support. You'll need to be patient with him, but don't mistake patience for weakness. Don't just let him walk all over you, or he'll never respect or listen to you. You'll have to be firm but not overbearing, or he'll fight against you at every step," Cersei lectured.
"Is that how you are with the King?" Sansa asked, making Cersei chuckle. "Prince Orys said that behind every great man, there's a great woman. Is that true?"
Now that he didn't learn from her father, as he would never speak to anyone about Mother. In fact, it only seemed like he brought up their Mother to remind Tyrion that he'd killed her. So where had Orys developed that little tidbit? Interesting.
"Indeed. I could argue with Robert until we are both red in the face, and it would achieve nothing except make Robert dig his heels in, but a quiet word spoken at the right time can change the world," Cersei agreed.
"C-can you teach me, Your Grace?" Sansa asked, looking to her for guidance.
"Of course, but please, call me Cersei when we're alone," Cersei said, smiling softly as she examined the young Stark.
Orys, what are you up to?