Gossip and Tennis

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Sansa didn't know why she kept up with the lie she had told. As infuriating as the princess could be, she was whip sharp and quite fun to argue with. Her mind was exhausted but she felt satisfied with her adventure for the day as she ran to catch up with Myrcella.

-----/////-----

"Mordane?! Where are the blasted candlesticks? We can hardly see our plates." Cersei said as she turned her pointed nose up at the table.

"They're missing, my lady. I've searched high and low." she choked out nervously as innocently as possible. Though she knew none of the servants were thieves, it had been more and more common for household valuables to 'go missing'. Everyone knew exactly who the character was, however.

"The painting in the upstairs hall is gone too. It seems we have a thief in our midst." Cersei glanced around the room suspiciously, looking as haughty as ever. "Hmm. So this is how I'm treated after all our years together. My husband's prized possessions? Well, I shall just garnish your wages until the pilfered items are returned."

Cersei glanced around the room as Sansa and all of the other servants audibly inhaled.

"Is that quite understood?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am." they all replied together.

"Perhaps I shall ship you off to the Isles with all the rest of the thieves." she began to eat her breakfast seeming happy with herself.

"Oh, didn't you hear? The princess went to the king and asked him to release all of those people." Myrcella said with a waggle of her eyebrows. She was pleased to know something the others didn't.

"She didn't!" Sansa exclaimed from her place against the wall, though she wasn't supposed to talk during meal times.

"Mmm, and now by-" Myrcella paused as Sansa jumped back into place as Cersei glared viciously. "By royal decree, anyone who sails must be monetarily compensated."

"Compensated? Oh, honestly. What is the world coming to?" Cersei scoffed and took on her usual disgusted look.

Joffrey jumped into the conversation then. He clearly looked irritated for the attention to not be on him. Joffrey always seemed annoyed whenever Cersei paid Myrcella any mind.

"What I want to know is who this comtesse everyone keeps talking about?" he looked honestly concerned and mildly irritated by the mystery woman. "There must have been ten courtiers speaking of her today... and how the princess fell all over herself."

Sansa couldn't hold back her smirk as she poured more juice into Joffrey's cup and made eye-contact with Nan and Mordane over top the Lannister's heads. Her cheeks went a bit pink and enjoyed the proud looks on their faces.

"Well, we shall find out who she is and bury her." Sansa immediately fumbled with a cup and dropped it, terror running through her heart.

-----/////-----

Margaery was well-known for her bright and competitive spirit amongst the young lords and ladies. This was evidenced by the pride she took in kicking Samwell Tarly's ass on a regular basis. Besting him wasn't very hard, and Margaery thought it quite fun. On this one particular and rare occasion, Sam caught a good volley that went soaring harshly over Margaery's head. She jumped backward and flew back, catching the rubber ball hard with her wooden and tightly strung racket, but falling through the net and into the spectator's area with a crash. Margaery let out a pained grunt.

"Your Highness, are you hurt?" asked Margaery's admirers as they swarmed her to check on her and grab whatever handfuls of her they could.
"Only my pride." she groaned as she extricated herself and made herself presentable, racket in hand. As she walked back to the game she had to remove handkerchief favors from her shirt with an annoyed sigh.

"The ball, Marge!" Sam laughed and pointed back over the princess's shoulder. When she turned to look it was in the hand of one young Lord Joffrey Lannister, who looked pleased and proud of himself. He smiled coyly at the princess.

"You look well, Joffrey." Margaery said, giving him a cursory glance, an approving cursory glance over.

"You're welcome to look, Your Highness." he gave the princess a smirk. and the poor girl looked threatened and more than a little disturbed.

-----/////-----

Sansa was doing the week's work in the market when a chill ran down her spine. She felt a mild strike of terror and instinctively knew who approached. If she could have run, she would have. Sansa wished Hodor were with her just for a show of strength and support.

"Sansa Stark, you get prettier every week." said a high-pitched, snobbish, and oily voice.

"And you, Lord Baelish, are wasting your flattery." she said dismissively, praying one day he would take the hint and leave her alone.

"It's a pity your soil's the best in the province and yet so poorly tended." he lifted his eyebrows at her and licked his lips. Sansa caught the obvious innuendo but decided to ignore the disgusting suggestion.

"We have limited resources, my lord." she replied softly as Nan and Mordane moved to join her in a practiced maneuver.

"We do the best we can." Nan said. "Anything I can do?"

"Perhaps you should bring it up with the Baroness and stick to shopping." Mordane scoffed at him and put herself between Sansa and Petyr Baelish.

"I would really rather discuss the matter with Sansa if you don't mind." he said dismissively and turned to the redhead. "I may be twice your age, child, but I am well-endowed... as evidenced by my estate. I've always had a soft spot for the less fortunate. You need a wealthy benefactor, and I need a young lady with spirit."

Sansa swallowed hard, held up the basket in her hands with a smile. "Prunes?" she offered.

"No. I'll buy nothing this week, and you'd do well to remember that without my generosity..." he said with a low growl and a raised eyebrow. "Your pathetic little farm would cease to exist. So I would be very, very careful if I were you."

He leaned in close enough she felt his putrid breath warm on her face. If she could have, she would have punched him. Baelish smiled wickedly, turned on his heel and walked away.

"Ooh, what a horrible man." Nan groaned as all three women watched his strides. "If he didn't buy a bushel of vegetables every week, I'd spit on him." she groaned.

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