As The Poets Say

Lannia I (We Had a Promise Made)

Lannia Waters had never before hated a wedding. She had seen her share of fancy ones in her years of being a handmaiden in King's Landing, or else she heard stories about them from other ladies and maids she worked with, but she thought they were always so beautiful. Sometimes, the people getting married even truly loved each other; if not, the dresses and decorations were always fun to look at.

A royal wedding was a different affair; as a handmaiden, she was sequestered to a little area near where her lady sat next to her husband at the feast table. Not so far away that she couldn't be easily called upon, but not so close that people gazing upon the royal family– and distant members– could see her easily. Still, the decorations were extraordinary, and there were people spitting fire and performing at every corner, so Lannia supposed it wasn't all bad.

Unfortunately for her, and everyone else in attendance, the person being married today was Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister. He was certainly the worst kind of king Lannia had ever seen, but she was only sixteen, and hadn't even been born in a time before King Robert. Still, she had heard enough history and witnessed enough abuse to know that Joffrey was not the good sort of king. She disliked him particularly because of the way he targeted Lady Sansa over and over again, with no provocation. She thought back to earlier in the day before the wedding, at breakfast, when Tywin Lannister had gifted him his new Valyerian sword. As he had picked it up and gazed at it, he had said, 'Everytime I use it, it will be like cutting off Ned Stark's head all over again.' Sansa had been seated at the table, mere feet away.

With all of that in mind, Lannia was hardly surprised when the happy occasion of a royal wedding took a wild turn.

Lannia had thought the very theatrical and wildly inappropriate 'War of the Five Kings' bit was in bad taste, and seeing the look on Sansa's face as the costumed dwarfs mocked her brothers death had made the handmaid's blood boil, but Joffrey's childish cruelty truly knew no bounds.

The King and Tyrion looked at each other, almost as if they were in a standoff. The King had suggested that Tyrion get down into the circle with the actors and fight them, and instead of doing so or saying something that wasn't biting, Tyrion had raised him a challenge- 'I think you should fight them. This act was a poor imitation of the true bravery you showed on the field of battle, Your Grace; climb down from your high table with your Valyerian sword, and show them how a King fights.'

Joffrey surveyed the crowd as Tyrion found his seat again. Lannia glanced at Sansa, and found her staring at the table, so still that a passerby might mistake her for a statue. Then the King placed his hand over his cup, and picked it up, before slowly stalking around his seat and towards the banquet table where the Lannisters, and Sansa, were seated. He walked until he reached his uncle's seat, and then paused, before lifting the cup over his head and pouring the wine down in a slow, steady stream, directly onto Tyrion's head.

Nobody moved, and the crowd was so silent that the stream of wine splashing onto skin and then the ground seemed deafening. Lannia looked at each person seated at the high tables; The Queen wasn't even looking at her husband, and in fact seemed to be in a very similar position to Sansa. Tywin seemed to be watching the crowd. Cersei was smirking, watching the wine run down her brother's face. Lannia clasped her hands together a bit harder, digging her nails into the backs of her hands. She felt an overwhelming urge to hold her breath.

The King lifted a finger to his mouth, licking off a stray droplet of wine as Tyrion reached up to brush it out of his face. "A fine vintage, good for a wedding," he spoke, "a shame that it spilled and went to waste."

Lannia swore she could see Joffrey's eye twitch. "It did not spill," he corrected, but before he could continue, the Queen leaned out of her seat and reached her hand out to the King, as if she was waiting for him to come and grasp her hand.