Joffrey watched her as his grin grew wider and his glare turned darker. He liked her pretty. He liked how even when she was in pain she was gorgeous. Sansa, the lone wolf inside the King's Landing, his lair and territory, stood with a stoic face as she watched the sun set by a window not far from where he was. He knew she had no idea of his presence for Sansa was too depressed to look at him. He loved her broken and he was always thrilled to know he was the one who broke her. He had broken her trust, her faith, and even her heart.
Tried as he could, he never found the same kind of ecstatic pleasure in hurting others. He shot arrows at a helpless prostitute his Uncle Tyrion gave him once. He tried his best to imagine her as Sansa, crying and pleading for him to stop. He wanted to feel her fear once more, just like those years before when she pleaded for him to rescue her father to mercy. Thoughts kept racing back to that fateful day he showed her the row of traitors. Their heads on a stick with their eyes wide open. Reflecting on it he realized how that moment had changed everything for her…and for him.
"Maybe he will give me yours." She tells him with a confidence and snarl that reminded him of the fearless wards of Winterfell. She was indeed a Stark who reminded him of Direwolves. She frightened him so easily with just one stare. Where was the look he had been craving for? The fear? She was supposed to fall apart! To break in front of him! Where was it? He started to panic as she stared right at her father's head without a single tear to shed. He had asked if she wanted to see more, so he showed her the head of her septa. Her response?
"Maybe he will give me yours."
Her older brother, Robb Stark, the annoying little ass that so dared defy him gave her the confidence to threaten him. It was simply unaccounted for. No, he could not accept it. He was supposed to be feared by Sansa, he wanted to see her be submissive towards him! Where was she? Who was this?
He realized after many years on reflecting, the look she had given him was a warning not to say anything further. He knew any hope of her ever loving him was now gone.
Ever since then he became even more brutal towards her, begging her in his own special way to show him the face that made him crave her pain. He loved it, he missed it, and he wanted definitely to see her love him and fall apart all over again.
Sandor Clegane, his dog, takes her under his wing. He pretends to be daft about it, but he knew entirely of Sandor's care for his beloved Sansa. The girl found comfort in Clegane's scarred face. She found safety and protection in his violent behavior. Joffrey wondered where he had gone wrong and why Sansa seemed to be on mutual grounds, despising his actions but not hating Sandor at all.
He was violent, he was vicious, and Joffrey knew it. He was cruel but not so much like Sandor. Joffrey rolled his eyes as he watched Sandor cover Sansa with his white cloak, Joffrey wondered what Sansa would feel if she knew about how many men Sandor had already killed.
That night in Joffrey's chambers he wished to kiss Sansa again. Maybe I need her to love me once more. Maybe I should trick her again.
Trick? The word didn't fit right in Joffrey's tongue. He tricked her, that's correct. He was usually blunt towards everyone, careless even. However in regards to Sansa he had lured her in with an idealistic princely look. He had made her to believe he was a kind, brave, and noble prince.
In truth he knew what he was. A feared King.
So she was his first then, first to trick into believing something entirely untrue, and first to break and disappoint in such a cruel way. What was she to him? His first to trick. That was all. At least that was what it should have been.
Then he saw her on her wedding day. He walked her with a smile on his face for finally being able to hold her. It had been years since he had kissed her, years since she had smiled at him. He wondered in his mind what she truly felt when he had said the exact same words he told her to Margaery Tyrell. Outside he was confident, pretending to believe those were real tears of sadness in her eyes. But she could never fool him. She could fool the world but not him, for he had seen the happiness escape her before. He knew when she was happy, all her faces were etched in his mind.
It hurt him.
He wanted to hurt her back.
He embarrassed her further as he removed his Uncle Tyrion's footstool and laughed as he announced the bedding ceremony. He whispered to her that he would have his way with her to see what she would look like. She looked distressed and no longer happy.
He kept wondering about her, never really telling anyone, that she was always on his mind.
He watched her in Godswood while nobody looked. He stared at her and watched her pray. He wanted to surprise her, maybe strangle her just to see fear in her eyes. He knew though, that the spark of which he loved to see-the betrayal-was no longer there.
Still he wanted to see more of her face. He wanted to see what she would look like if he bought her dresses. He wanted to see what she would look like drowning. He wanted to see what she would look like sleeping. He wanted to see what she looked like in a coffin. He wondered what she would look like old and then he wondered what she would look like if he said words that she would never believe.
"Sansa." A voice called out to her, causing her to stop from her prayers. She turned around immediately, her mouth agape and her eyes squinting as the sun's rays gave shadow to whoever interrupted her.
She knew the voice very well though. It was King Joffrey Baratheon, a horrible monster she despised and wished to die.
"Your Grace." She says with a soft voice as she stands up and does the traditional curtsy. Joffrey looks at her with a straight face, fear suddenly came within her, for she realized they were secluded and only a small push would be enough to bring her to her death on the edge of the cliffs.
"I love you." He tells her straightforwardly. Sansa merely blinks, with her hands dropping carelessly to her sides. Did he really say that? After killing her father and trying to kill her brother, he had the nerve to tell her such things?
"Your Grace?" She could only respond like a broken doll. Repeating the same words over. He blinks and turns around to look at the ocean.
"I just wanted you to know the truth." He finishes before walking away.
Sansa looks at the cliff and wonders if by chance he wanted her to jump.