Charlotte was born a royal, a princess. A Lannister. Through the acts of thievery, she ends up in Winterfell, being raised by Lord and Lady Stark. As Jon Arryn's death has come to pass, King Robert needs a new Hand. Who other than her father, Eddard...
The day will come when your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth and you'll know the debt is paid.
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A flickering torch lights the dark room where silent whispers slither through the darkness. Mixed emotions churn in the atmosphere of the room. "We are the Lords of small matters, what makes this one any different?" Littlefinger pushes himself against the table, grabbing ahold of both sides with closed fists. "Charlotte Baratheon is sentenced to die. There is nothing we can do. This secret meeting was called for nothing."
"What kind of men are we, if we cannot sway the King's opinion?" Renly, having grown quite fond of Charlotte in her previous weeks of living in King's Landing, stands to defend her. "The entirety of the city will rebel. Did you not watch Joffrey's mockery earlier this morning?" Renly pivots in Varys' direction. "What are your little birds saying?"
"Support for the girl has grown immensely over a few short hours, enough to cause commotion in Flea Bottom. Riots have already began in Cobbler's Square and the harbor is blocked from the inside. If nothing is accomplished, shipments to the city will cease."
Littlefinger pushes himself forward, shifting the direction of the table. "One girl attaches to Robert's arm and stumbles through the streets. She acknowledges a single voice in the crowd. Why does the city turn to turmoil after?"
"Petyr, Charlotte represents hope, a better future of happiness and joy. When people watched her marching through the streets, they saw innocence. She was untouched by the vile of the ruling crown. If ever such a girl, raised as a commoner, can learn to be Queen, there is still hope for this city." Varys' words entangle through Littlefinger's mind. "If she dies, so does King's Landing's hope for redemption. We've already lost the North."
A silent maester sits across from Varys. A smile returns to his face after weeks of suffering and torment. "I agree with the bald man, the Princess cannot die."
"What are you proposing? An escape plan?"
Another figure walks into the room, hidden underneath the shadow of a cloak. It is a familiar voice to the men of the room, but a surprise to their ears. "Only one person needs to believe that Charlotte is dead-Joffrey."
•••
Charlotte leans against the cold stones of the Great Hall. The echoing voices of her people continue to ring through her ears, and through the discomforted parts of her mind. For hours, her hands have been bound together by thick chains. Her wrists ache for release, however her heart refuses to relinquish the fight. Joffrey's words ravaged a deep part of Charlotte's warrior spirit, threatening to dampen such a strength only few possessed.
Joffrey forced Charlotte to stare into her mother's eyes as the crowd throws scornful taunts in Charlotte's face. Eyes of agony and repentance. "I'm sorry," she whispered through the air, "stay strong, Charlotte. I love yo-" Charlotte forced herself to turn away as Joffrey slapped her across the face. "Nobody loves you." He snatched her long hair back, and stares into the depths of her eyes. "Give up, sister. There is nothing left to fight for."
