The Difference Between Black, White, And Gray.

Chapter 1

"Joffrey, you're being an idiot," Sorcha deadpanned. She flicked her black hair out of her face to give the King a more stern expression.

Joffrey sat more fully in his throne and banged a fist against the arm rest. "You cannot speak to your king like that," he responded harshly.

"I speak to you in that manner because I do not wish to see you die!" Sorcha's eyes began to brim with tears. "Your guard obeys but they do not love you like I do, little brother."

"What will the people think if I allow a girl into my personal guard?" The Child King sat back in his chair and fixed a frown on his face. "They will think me weak."

"They already tried to kill you," Sorcha pointed out.

"Guards!" Joffrey called, "Find Maghnus and have him executed."

"NO!" Sorcha cried, "Why are you doing this to me, little brother?"

"I will not tolerate your disobedience, Sister. And you will refer to me as 'your grace,' I am your King now."

"Don't you remember our childhood, how I protected you? From everyone?" Sorcha's blue eyes were clouded with tears as the blacksmith's son was brought before her.

"What is the meaning of this, Sorcha?" Maghnus questioned.

The slender woman's armor chattered as she made her way across the hall. She tore her love from her brother's guards and held him closely. "Your Grace, please, have mercy. I only wished to protect you," Sorcha pleaded.

"That's better but I think you need an extra reminder that your brother is now King," Joffrey sneered, "Guards, finish the job."

"Thank you so much for all that you have shown me, Maghnus. I will never forget you." Sorcha placed a passionate kiss upon the prisoner's lips. Her gaze never wavered from his eyes as he was forced to his knees.

"I curse you," Maghnus spat at Joffrey as a cold sword was placed against his neck. The King sat forward in his chair as the weapon was raised.

"Well, that was a good show, right sis?" Joffrey teased eagerly. Excitement lay plain across his face and he clenched his hands in his lap as if he were fighting to stay still.

Sister no more... "Very entertaining, Your Grace," Sorcha replied in a hollow tone. Her eyes burned with murder as she locked gazes with the King. By winter's first snow, I will claim my rightful place upon the iron throne. As the only true Baratheon in this household.

* * * * 3 Months Later* * * * * *

"What are you doing?" Jamie Lannister questioned as he rounded a corner and came face to face with his niece.

"Enjoying the fact that I am not inbred, Stumpy," Sorcha replied coolly.

"What have I done to warrant such a tone?" Jamie responded. He glanced about to make sure they were not overheard and drew closer to the young woman. "You know better than to speak of that in public."

"We are alone, that much I can assure you. As for what you did to warrant such a tone- it varies from day to day. I guess I could begin with the fact that you are very selfish," Sorcha stated imperiously. She cast a fiery glance over her shoulder before leaning on the ledge of a window in the castle wall.

"Selfish? I lost a hand for the sake of our King."

"I should be the queen, as the only true heir to the throne; but alas, I am only a mere woman. However, if you admitted to...whatever you two call it, the whole kingdom will be saved from the short and bloody rule of another mad king."

"We would be beheaded," Jamie scoffed.

"No, I would be the queen. Do you have any idea what I would say should the subject arise?"

"Why don't you enlighten me."

"Fine, I will. I would say hell no, to begin with, then I would bestow gifts upon the lower classes to earn their affections. Life would be better for everyone and you and mom can live out your days happily ever after," Sorcha explained, "But we both know that my mother is too cowardly to own up to the truth. Even if there is a good chance her own son will kill her."

"You were the one who gave up the throne, or were you too young to remember?" Jamie pointed out.

"I passed the throne to my little brother," Sorcha deadpanned, "before he died and that monster rose from the ashes."

Jamie sighed and ran idle fingers over the nasty wound at the end of his wrist. Without another word he turned and made his way down the hall and to the Queen's chambers where he would spend the rest of the evening.

"You should show more respect for your elders," Tywin's gruff voice sounded from the shadows.

Sorcha nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her grandfather's voice. "Fancy meeting you here," she greeted, smiling despite herself. She stretched out her arms and welcomed a warm hug from her father figure.

"How long have you known about your mother and her brother?" he questioned seriously. Tywin held the girl at arm's length and inspected her dismal appearance. Her hair was a mess and she still wore the smudged tunic that had sat beneath her armor.

"Since the minute Joffrey came out of the womb kicking and screaming and I saw the look on Uncle Jamie's face," Sorcha's voice began to crack with sorrow, "That day was so happy for me. I thought that I would never be alone again now that I had a little brother."

"You shouldn't hold the incident with the blacksmith's boy against him," Tywin spoke gently.

"I don't. I hold his cruel treatment of his family, poeople, and especially our mother against him." Sorcha's jaw clenched and unclenched as she considered her next words. "He could show a little gratitude considering all she has given us."

"And you are a better daughter than she deserves," Tywin complimented guardedly.

"So why are you here?"

"Joffrey intends to marry you to The Hound."

A harsh silence fell between the two while Sorcha tried to corral her outrage. "Things have been over between The Hound and I for some time. You cannot allow this!"

Tywin raised a brow. "You have not sullied your honor, have you?"

"I wouldn't dare incur your wrath," Sorcha lied.

"Good. Don't worry, my dear, I will not let this grievous plot continue any further. But you still have to marry, little Sorcha. If we wait any longer you may never find a husband."

"You know I despise the notion."

"Do you think I married for love?"

"I know you didn't, brave Tywin. Not all of us are so strong," Sorcha sighed, "Please don't force this."

"You are strong enough to handle anything that comes across your path. Sorcha Baratheon, you are more of a Lannister than any of my children."

0 * 0 * 0 * 0 * 0 *

Sorcha slipped through King's Landing on cat's feet. She wove through the crowd without so much of a hint of recognition-a smart move considering the Lannister's had fallen out of grace in the public eye. Her heart squeezed as she continued past the smithy where she would have been headed had her brother not taken Maghnus from her. I will take his head myself for that one.

The neighborhood shifted as the buildings became more dilapidated. Nobles and people of birth skulked in deep cowls while prostitutes and merchants displayed their wares freely. Sorcha crinkled her nose when she passed an alley that especially reeked of piss and vomit. Sometimes she caught sight of a self employed prostitute making her living in squalor and filth.

A grand hall caught her attention as she moved through the shadows. She slipped around back to be bombarded by the sounds of passionate love making, even though most of it sounded fake. She paused when she found a quiet window and peeked in to find an empty room beyond. With a coy grin Sorcha hefted herself over the ledge and rummaged quickly through the dresser. She changed out of her own clothes once she had found a suitable outfit and walked confidently into the hall.

"That must be the new girl, Lord Baelish said she would arrive today," one prostitute muttered to her client as she walked him to the exit.

Sorcha turned her face so the visiting noble would not recognize her. She was seldom seen about the castle and her mother had been careful to mask as much as she could from the common folk. A hot sickly feeling stuck in her throat as her mother's tormented face flashed before her eyes. Just one more reason why Sorcha should claim the throne for herself.

After getting lost two or three times Sorcha finally arrived at the personal chambers of Petyr Baelish. She knocked hesitantly and took a step back to wait for an answer. Admittedly, she felt like a fool dressed in a whore's fine clothes. She hoped that the sly man would not get the wrong idea.

"Ah, the eldest Baratheon. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Littlefinger greeted warmly. He graced the woman with a charming smile before motioning her inside.

"Half your guards are preoccupied with your wares. You aren't running a tight ship these days. Perhaps you are cracking under pressure?" Sorcha lead with intimidation.

"Ah, but that is none of your concern. Does your mother know you are here, past your bedtime, in my chambers, wearing those clothes?" Petyr's eyes danced in the light of his fireplace.

"Joffrey would chop off your head if anyone in the court knew; don't even try to use that as leverage against me."

"Touche."

"I've always admired that silver tongue of yours and I have need of it now," Sorcha lead on cautiously. What she was about to lay down was a very delicate subject indeed.

"I'm listening," Littlefinger replied. A smug smirk crossed his lips as he took calculated strides back to his desk and seated himself upon the throne of the underworld.

"I know that you are restless and that you yearn for power. How would you like to have a little more?" Sorcha grinned and her heart fluttered with excitement. She had always loved the struggle of plots that went along with royal life. To her, it was the highest form of entertainment.

"What do you propose?" Lord Baelish threw caution to the winds. His instincts told him to seize the opportunity before it slipped though his fingers yet his experience schooled his reaction. He settled on folding his hands in his lap and waiting patiently for the girl to continue.

Sorcha produced a fine piece of parchment paper that had been folded intricately and stamped multiple times with her personal emblem. "Get this letter to the Stormborn girl and begin to circulate rumors that detail my kindness and generosity. Make sure the people love me in two weeks time."

"And what do I get in return?" Littlefinger asked coldly.

"Highgarden will be yours and you can marry any eligible woman of your choosing. High born, low born, barren, or hideous, whatever it is you like. Just do me the courtesy of naming an heir before you die if you fail to produce one."

"You plan to be queen!" Baelish breathed in disbelief, "This is a dangerous game you are playing, girl."

"I admire your concern for the royal family, Lord Baelish. That is why we appointed a new Master of Coin this morning," Sorcha replied smartly.

"I don't understand, my Lady. You come seeking a favor and work against me at the same time." Littlefinger's eyes were like fire yet his countenance was cool and reserved. He had to fight the urge to kill the arrogant Lannister where she stood; she was too far away from home for anyone to hear her scream.

"Oh, I'm not working against you," Sorcha spoke sweetly, "Not yet, anyway. Besides, you were so adamant that my safety has not been properly looked after. My mother couldn't agree more that she had been taking too long to choose a new personal guard for me."

Petyr choked on vomit as her cynical tone led him to an inevitable conclusion. He quickly grabbed a goblet of wine and faced the fire to hide his ire.

"In fact, she was so impressed that she gave the position to you!"

"Enough!" Baelish demanded. He fought to keep his composure while he processed this turn of events. He had had a plan and this little Lannister bitch had thoroughly ruined it. Her personal guard...the position was laughable. He would be the disgrace of the court!

"Don't be so morose," Sorcha soothed, "I just need to make sure you don't turn on me. After all is said and done your reward will be quite handsome."

"I would like Winterfell as well, my Lady."

Sorcha laughed and poured herself a glass of wine. "A wise man once said that you would let this country burn to the ground if you could be the ruler of the ashes." She tipped her glass to the enraged Littlefinger. "You can also burn. Please make a point of remembering that while you are packing your things."

"I have a business to run," Petyr argued.

"I'm going to take care of that. You're slacking off, anyway. There are tough times ahead and the city will be very much in need of our services."

"Our? Little Sorcha, this is my empire. I built it from the ground up," Baelish warned.

"Such a sad story, the little mockingbird who got his wings clipped. He would sit outside the queen's window all day and sing his songs. Eventually she grew tired of him and sent him away to a dark and terrible place where he could never reach his full potential. The princess mourned for him but knew her mother would never set him free. So, she decided to smuggle him away to a place where he could truly flourish," Sorcha began sarcastically, twirling the goblet of wine idly in her fingers.

"In the dead of night she stole into the dungeon and rescued the poor thing from his cage. She clipped his wings and kept him with her constantly for over a fortnight. One day when the princess was out riding the mockingbird decided he had had enough. He struggled from her skirts and stretched his wings in joy."

Lord Baelish hated the smug look on Sorcha's face. He had known the girl to be kind and even a bit naiive but her mother's influence had never shown through quite like it did now.

"In his impatience the mockingbird had forgotten that he could not fly. And so he fell into a puddle where he drowned like a pigeon. The end."

"That is a beautiful story, Princess, but you've forgotten one thing," Lord Baelish responded, a look of fierce determination in his eyes, "Mockingbirds are far more clever than that."

"I hope so," Sorcha laughed, "I'll be back for you in a few hours."

A/N: There is no way little finger will take that one lying down. Let the games begin!