A/N: I do not own anything related to A Song of Ice and Fire - it all belongs to the great George R. R. Martin. This is my first attempt at a fic in many, many years. For those of you who like the slow-burn, this is a story for you. Enjoy!
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, that so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves, and tombstones where flowers should be...
-"The Garden of Love", William Blake
He stared up at them, red-faced, silent, still. The kind of stillness that only comes when hope replaces breath. Pleading, desperate hope. It filled his eyes. Sansa knew she would always remember those eyes.
The king looked at her. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? You're to be a fool. But I've already got a fool, and I only need one. Someone fetch some motley, and Moon Boy. And two ponies. The last fool standing shall have the honor of entertaining my court." Joffrey settled back in his seat and again took Sansa's hand. He looked at her, a smug grin on his face. "See? A fair sentence. Let the fool kill himself."
"Truly, you have sown justice on your name day," Sansa answered with a smile. She hoped it masked the revulsion she felt at his touch, and the hate that boiled at his smirk.
"May you reap it all year," rasped the Hound. Sansa glanced at him, surprised. He stared straight ahead, ever the dedicated watchdog, but she could swear that his burned lips twitched slightly upward.
She did not weep when they carried Ser Dontos away. Whether he was dead yet or not, she could not say. But there was no forgetting pathetic thump when he slid off his pony, too drunk to stay upright, or to even roll away as Moon Boy charged. And there was no forgetting the silence as his opponent's mount galloped right over him. She did not hear the crowd's jeering and bones breaking and Joffrey's hysterical laughter; she only heard her own heart, beating faster and faster and faster. She watched as Dontos tried feebly to crawl, a small banner of scarlet painting the ground behind him.
Another life I could not save, she thought. All of my prayers for mercy are answered with death. Another voice spoke up: Yes, but merciful death. He had a chance to save himself, better than drowning in a vat of wine. She tested Joffrey's grip on her hand. His laughter had loosened it, so she pulled her fingers free on the pretense of adjusting her dress. Yes. Almost as merciful as a beheading.
She could not recall when she had fainted. It was sometime after the king had called for Ser Dontos to be tied to his pony to finish the joust. She had gasped. Foolish, she though as soon as Joffrey glared at her. Foolish. A mailed fist to her left caught her in the small of her back. She slumped forward, and another hit her in the stomach as an armored form stepped in front of her.
"My lady Sansa is either too delicate for such activities, or she has been bored to sleep, as I have been," King Joffrey called out to the crowd. "Go home. The tourney is ended."
There might have been another blow, but after the king spoke, she could remember nothing for certain. When she awoke, she was flying, or maybe lying in a tree, supported by two strong branches. Just like a little bird.
"I'm taking you back to your cage, little bird." There was no mistaking that growl. "The king has had his fun for today."
He laid her on her bed gently: so gently that it did not jar the ache in her back or stomach. She would have bruises on the morrow, but that meant little. If bruises were gold dragons, she would have enough to hire a ship and crew to sail her far away from all this.
The Hound stopped before leaving and said: "Tomorrow, little bird, take care to sing only songs of praise." With that, he turned to go, closing her cage behind him.
A/N: If you have time, leave a review! Knowing that one has readers is always great motivation.