Notes: Can I stop? I wish I could, but the voices in my head have such amazing ideas! XD

This one actually started as a tumblr thing, and it got a life of its own, so I stopped fighting it.

I'm using some parts of the movie, but not all of them. I'll guide you through it, don't worry.

English isn't my native language and this wasn't beta-read, so let me know if there're too many mistakes.

Chapter 1

Sansa Stark didn't expect good things anymore; not from King's Landing, not from Joffrey. After such a long time in the Capital, she'd learned to always expect the worst.

She'd hoped before; when Robb was still alive and marching towards the city, when her mother was coming for her. She didn't hope anymore.

Now she stayed in her rooms and pretended to pray so people would leave her alone. She still had Shae around, and Margaery was kind to her, but… She was a prisoner and she'd remain one for… She was afraid to think of it, but most of the time she was sure she'd stay there until the day she died.

A little dove, forever in a cage.

It never failed to scare her how often Cersei's voice rang in her head.

However, that morning she was summoned to the throne room. A more morbid part of her wondered what Joffrey could possibly want from her. Robb was dead, so he couldn't punish her for her brother's successes anymore.

Maybe she should be worried, but at this point… What else could he take from here? Even the beatings -their pain and humiliation -had started to blur together in a horrifying kaleidoscope.

Then again… Perhaps she shouldn't doubt his cruelty -or his creativity.

Two of the Kingsguard took her there, as they always did. She wondered if they thought she was going to run or try to hide, and that was why they escorted her all the time. Or maybe Joffrey just wanted to remind her she had no choice.

The doors opened and Sansa noticed, as she entered, that the room was full of spectators, which could possibly mean he was about to humiliate her and wanted a crowd.

Her stomach tightened in apprehension.

"Ah, my Lady. It's always a pleasure to see you." Joffrey smirked as soon as he saw her.

Cersei was there, standing by her son's side, her beautiful face perpetually marred by the bitter look in her eyes. Tywin was also there, keeping close to the King as his Hand; he didn't look exactly pleased by whatever was happening, and that -more than anything else -worried Sansa. Tywin was one of the select few that could curb some of Joffrey's most furious outbursts. But if the wasn't happy…

That was when she saw them: the group of outsiders. She couldn't recognize their banners, so they couldn't even be from Westeros, but she hadn't even heard of visitors in King's Landing. And they were all looking at her.

She gave the King a perfect bow. "Your Grace, it's always an honor."

Joffrey snickered. She kept her position, eyes on the ground. "I have great news for you today, My Lady." He told her gleefully.

"What is it, My Grace?" She inquired politely, finally straightening up again.

He indicated the man in front of the group. "The Earl of Mercia here comes from England." Joffrey informed her. "In name of his King Vortigern."

Sansa tried her best to hide her surprise. She'd heard of England -logically, she was an educated young lady -but it was the same way she'd heard of Essos: as a faraway land that hardly made a difference in their lives.

Apparently, it wasn't the case anymore.

Sansa gave the man a polite nod. "I hope your visit has been pleasant, my Lord."

Mercia opened a smirk. "She'll do." He threw at Joffrey, completely ignoring her.

Sansa felt her blood becoming ice in her veins.

"You see, My Lady, you'll finally be useful to the Crown again." Joffrey proclaimed, coming down the steps towards her. "You'll be sent to England to serve King Vortigern, to love him as you love me…" He mocked, stepping closer. "Will you make your King proud?"

Sansa felt her throat closing up. She knew little of this country and even less of its King. He could be a monster, worse than Joffrey.

Or she could be free.

Why are you acting like you have a choice, little dove?

Cersei's voice in her head shook her awake. "I'll do whatever my King commands." She finally answered.

Joffrey leaned in her direction, so he could whisper on her ear. "King Vortigern is a cruel man that murdered his brother and his family for the throne. And I'm giving you to him. You can be his whore, his servant… I don't care. You're going to be his property; he can do as he wishes to you."

Sansa took a deep breath, before replying softly, "I'm only here to serve you."

Don't break. Please, don't break. Not in front of him.

"Oh, I shall miss you, Sansa." He mocked once more.

She prayed to all the Gods she didn't even believe in anymore, that she'd never think the same about him.

The Earl of Mercia didn't want to delay his return to England. Less than a week after she was given to his king, Mercia put Sansa on a ship.

The preparation for the trip itself was a bit hurried. She hardly had any belongings left, and the Lannisters provided her with only the absolute necessary to pass as a lady; her dresses were always kept until they were too tight, and her shoes only replaced when they desperately needed to be. However, it quickly became clear that King Vortigern was waiting for a lady, so she was -almost magically -provided with new dresses and even a few simple pieces of jewelry -though she suspected most of them were old trinkets that Cersei and Myrcella didn't care for anymore.

There were no effusive goodbyes, not that she was expecting them. Joffrey was there with Margaery by his side, and he made a remark about her still loving him even being far away.

Margaery gave her a hug and a sad smile, and passed her a small present, that only hours later Sansa opened: a rose pressed between glass and a simple and yet beautiful pendant.

The last person to talk to Sansa was Cersei.

"Goodbye, little dove." She told her, her tone flat, her eyes cold.

"Your Grace." Sansa curtsied. "Thank you for your lessons."

Cersei scoffed. "Don't forget them. You may need your weapons soon enough."

Sansa remembered that conversation, the one that seemed to have happened a lifetime ago.

Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs.

Sansa just curtsied one more time, then boarded the ship.

She wasn't provided with any company for to the trip, so she had no one to talk to, and the Earl of Mercia wanted her to stay in her cabin as much as possible, because she was too pretty to be about on her own and he didn't have time to babysit her.

What else he would do on a ship was beyond her understanding, but she wasn't about to argue. He treated her as a nuisance when he was in a bad mood, and he just plain ignored her when he was in a good one.

The month they spent on that cursed ship was the longest of her life. She was seasick and miserable during the first week. After she got used to being on the ship, she embroidered as much as possible, because there was nothing else to do, besides wonder about her future and fear it.

She was tired of fearing everything.

When they finally arrived at the port, there was a small -but heavily guarded- committee waiting for them. Sansa's legs felt weak under her, like they weren't used to firm ground anymore. However, she was happy to finally see other women, and mostly anyone that wasn't Mercia. The two girls -Jane and Ruth -were quiet and soft spoken.

Sansa felt a small kinship towards England. Of course, this was based on nothing but its weather; the constantly grey sky and the cold wind somehow reminded her of the North. Sansa was happy to be away from the suffocating heat of King's Landing.

They rode for two days, and once they were close to Camelot they stopped in an inn. Sansa was bathed and primped until she was considered good enough to meet the King. Jane and Ruth had gushed about her beautiful hair as they styled it in a way they imagined it would be pleasing to their king.

Once they got closer to the castle, something inside Sansa became restless.

Camelot felt… Dead. It was a strange feeling, but it was like the land had no life. The scenery was grey as far as the eyes could see and that Tower… There was something strange there.

Sansa felt dread pooling on her stomach.

They continued on their way, and Sansa saw signs of construction all over the place. It was quiet, without the usual sounds of jest she'd seen in construction sites as a child.

There was something chilling about Camelot.

The doors of the Throne room opened, allowing Sansa in. Mercia didn't follow her, and she found herself alone. After all the public spectacles that Joffrey liked to put on, it was strange to be like this. There were quiet guards in strategic positions, but nobody else.

That was when she finally saw the King.

Vortigern Pendragon was a handsome man. He had sharp features and a powerful presence, his clothes and his posture were those of a king. He wasn't a boy playing a part, like Joffrey had been.

But his eyes were dead.

"King Vortigern is a cruel man that murdered his brother and his family for the throne."

Sansa lowered her head, kneeling in front of the throne. "Your Grace."

There was a pause. "Your Majesty." He corrected.

Sansa started trembling, wondering if he'd punish her so early for the mishap. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."

Silence again, then he got up. She remained exactly as she was, eyes fixed on the ground even as she heard his steps approaching her. Finally, she could see his boots, right in front of her.

"Rise." He commanded.

She did so on shaking legs, her eyes still lowered. The King touched her chin, making her look at him.

"Lady Sansa Stark…" He spoke her name carefully, as if he was tasting it. "The last of her honorable House. The heiress of the North of Westeros."

There was something about the way he'd said it, like he was calculating and planning even as he spoke the words.

"It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty." She spoke.

"You're young." He commented.

What could she answer to that? "Yes, My King."

He appeared to be analyzing her face. "Pretty too."

Once again… There was something in his voice. It wasn't a compliment, it wasn't an accusation, but still more than just a statement. There was something in his voice that was ringing warning bell in her ears.

You can be his whore, his servant…

"I hope that pleases you, Your Majesty." She finally offered.

The corner of his mouth curled up minimally. "I find your manners pleasing. The question now is…" He grabbed her chin, not in a painful grip, but firm enough to let her know he could hurt her if he wished. "Are they real or just sweet lies from sweet lips?"

"My only wish is to serve my King." She spoke in the same way she claimed to love Joffrey and when she wished for his safe return.

His grin became more pronounced. "That will do." He stepped back towards his throne. "How old are you, Lady Sansa?" He asked without turning.

"Ten and five, my King." She answered.

He hummed as he sat back. "I have a daughter, her name is Katia. She's a quiet girl, she needs good company." He gave her a prodding look. "Can you be a good lady in waiting for her, Lady Sansa?"

"It'll be an honor, Your Majesty."

What else could she do?

Princess Katia was a sweet girl that couldn't go anywhere. Vortigern only allowed her one trip a year; a few weeks of summer in some noble's house. Other than that, Sansa spent her entire time with the young princes in Camelot.

The King was a mystery to her. She'd heard stories of how he controlled his people with an iron fist and a healthy helping of fear. Any word of the "True King" was to be squashed as ruthlessly as possible. There were also whispers of dark magic, that he'd sold his soul for his power, and the tower he'd so diligently built would bring darkness upon them all.

People feared him and he liked that.

Sansa kept herself silent and docile, and that was how she heard all the stories. Hardly anyone paid attention to the lost girl from Westeros. She just moved around the castle, gathering all the information she could.

She didn't know what Vortigern wanted from her. He treated her with the same indifference he treated Katia's other ladies in waiting, only rarely paying attention to her. In those moments he'd ask questions about the North and Westeros and prod her for whatever she knew about either. Sansa didn't know that much about the land, but she could talk about the families and the results of the War of the Five Kings and that seemed enough for him.

She'd traded a cage for another, and though she didn't live in fear anymore, she felt frozen in time.

And, like this, two years passed.

And then… Whispers of revolution started.

The True King was back.

The Sword was free from the Stone.

Notes: Let me know your feelings!

This first chapter is just a estabilishing one to put Sansa in England (I kept the name, because they use it on the movie), next chapter things will start moving.

I hope you enjoyed it!