Chapter One
She had grown up to the sound of steel in the yard, and scarcely a day of her life had passed without hearing the clash of sword on sword, yet somehow knowing that the fighting was real made all the difference in the world. She heard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor begged for mercy. –AGOT
As their train of wagons and horses rolled through the gates of the Red Keep, Sansa Stark thought her heart might just burst from her chest.
It isn't fair, she thought.
In King's Landing she had seen all of her dreams step into reality. All of the gallant knights and beautiful ladies, the fine courtesies and pageantry, the handsome, golden prince who would make her his queen. All had been hers to grasp. Now, her dreams grew smaller and smaller as she made her decent down Aegon's High Hill. She couldn't even bid her beautiful prince farewell.
"Joffrey will think me cold and untrue," Sansa called back to Septa Mordane, who rode behind her and Jeyne Poole. Though tears pricked at her eyes, she willed them not to fall. A true lady and queen did not make a scene in public. "The queen will think me ungrateful. Please, Septa Mordane. Please let me go back. Just for a moment. Just to say good bye. I will miss Joff ever so much."
"No." The septa's tone brooked no argument. "I will hear no more on the subject. Your lord father already forbade it. Truly Sansa, the capital has been nothing but a horrid influence on you. With all this obstinance and trying to run off- I swear, you are becoming as wicked as Arya."
Earlier the septa had caught Sansa attempting to sneak away to visit Queen Cersei. She planned to beg the queen to intervene on her behalf. If only she could convince King Robert to order Lord Eddard to keep Sansa in King's Landing… But it was not to be. Septa Mordane put a halt to the plan before she even took a few steps from the Tower of the Hand. For one of the few times in her life, Sansa received a thorough scolding and suffered under the disappointment in her father's gaze.
To make it all so much worse, when they were all packed and ready to depart, Arya was late. They sat for the better part of half an hour waiting in the yard amongst the wagons as her little sister delayed them with her last minute dancing lesson.
A woman Sansa recognized as one of the queen's handmaids passed through the yard during that time. Sansa had smiled at her and the handmaid nodded in acknowledgement. But Sansa had dared not call out to her. Septa Mordane would have scolded her again. Yet Sansa could not but wonder if she should have taken the risk so she might ask the handmaid to take her farewells to the queen and perhaps even a plea for help. But that was too late now.
Their party tuned onto a narrow curving street that Sansa knew from her lessons to be the Hook. Several of the commons watched them curiously as they passed. She tried to smile for them.
A ways behind, Sansa could hear Arya's voice. As always, her little sister preferred the company of others to Sansa's and rode separate. She glanced back to see her sister riding between her bald dancing master and Desmond, one of the guards. Arya chattered away without care. Of course she would. Arya didn't like anything to be nice or beautiful. She actually wanted to return to boring, colorless Winterfell.
Chest burning with irritation, Sansa turned away from her sister and focused on the path ahead.
When they departed, Arya's tears weren't for the splendid castle they were leaving, but for the fact that Father wouldn't be returning home with them.
"Would that I could come with you, sweet one," he had said with a blend of affection and grimness. "My duty is here for now. If the gods are good, I will see you..." He reached for Sansa as well. "...both of you, before long."
He had kissed them both in turn and didn't even scold Arya for making them late. That burned all the more fiercely given Sansa's own scolding earlier.
As they continued to ride she heard a commotion behind her, but kept her gaze resolutely ahead. There were some shouts and exclamations of surprise. Sansa mildly wondered if a wagon wheel had come loose or if her sister had done something shameful that would earn her no serious punishment.
The shouts persisted and grew louder. Tomard, who led their party ahead of Sansa's chestnut mare, curiously glanced behind them. His expression curdled like sour milk. His lips sputtered aimlessly making his ginger whiskers shudder.
Sansa knew Jory or Alyn would never have looked so undignified. But Jory was dead. And Alyn had gone away with many of the other guards to assist Lord Beric Dondarrion in exacting the king's justice upon Gregor Clegane. That left many important responsibilities on Tomard.
"Is something amiss, Tom?" Sansa asked.
They had come to a stop. Tom looked at her and then behind her again. His expression made him look as though it were terribly painful for him to think.
"You leave him alone!" Sansa heard her sister cry.
A few commoners raced by them in haste.
Finally, Sansa turned around to look back up the inclining street as the sound of steel shrieking against steel filled the air. Gold-cloaked City Watchmen on foot flooded around their wagons, clashing swords with Stark men. But they weren't just fighting armed guards. She saw one thrusting steel through the belly of a washerwoman and another throwing a serving girl to the ground.
Jeyne cried out beside her. She would have done the same, but her friend's outburst seemed to calm her some.
Over the top of the wagon behind her, Sansa saw Arya, still between her dancing master and Desmond. City Watchmen on either side fought the men in the cramped street and Arya shouted for them to stop. Sansa wondered at the bald dancing instructor's skill in combat. He moved with a fluid grace she had never seen before.
Her eye line suddenly filled with Septa Mordane. "Sansa!"
Had she been calling her name for some time?
"Sansa girl, Jeyne, ride on!" Tomard cried. He turned to another guardsmen. "Cayn, take them to the Wind Witch. See that they get aboard safely. I'll- gods… Go, now, the lot of you!"
Sansa gave another look back at Arya, still atop her horse, looking frightened and furious. Her sister couldn't ride on. Wagons had halted in front of her as the fighting spread.
"Sansa!" Septa Mordane cried. "You will do as Tomard commands. Ride on. Quickly now!"
She obeyed, urging her chestnut mare forward down the curving street after Cayn. Jeyne rode beside her breathing hard from her sobs. She could hear Septa Mordane's horse following behind, trying to match their brisk speed.
"Those men were in the City Watch." Jeyne's voice was harsh and shrill. "Why are they doing this?"
Sansa couldn't understand this anymore than her friend could. Her mind still quaked from what they had just seen. Those gold cloaks drove their swords through the servants as though they were made of nothing more substantial than cheese.
"My father!" Jeyne's brown eyes were wild with fear as they turned onto a wider street crowded with smallfolk and silken litters. "I didn't see him. Did you?"
Vayon Poole had ridden back at the start of their journey to see to a problem with one of the rear wagons. He hadn't returned by the time the gold cloaks came.
"They wouldn't hurt him, not a steward," Sansa said. She was trying so hard to be calm, to think. But all that blood... "Your father doesn't even wear a sword. They wouldn't attack him."
But they hurt the servants who were unarmed and doing nothing more than riding on a wagon bearing their belongings.
Sansa didn't mention that thought to Jeyne, whose breathing had steadied some as they continued to ride.
Soon, the street opened into a busy square where fishmongers peddled their catch. They encountered an even larger crush of commons here. Men and women shouted out prices and promises of perfection to attract buyers. Smallfolk milled about, going this way and that from booth to booth.
To cut through the crowd, Cayn rode forward shouting, "Make way! Make way! In the name of the King's Hand, make way!"
His shouts did their work. A path slowly cleared as they moved along and many homely faces glanced up at them as they passed. Sansa thought she recognized one particularly filthy man dressed all in faded black who regarded them curiously. While she nodded and smiled at him courteously, she couldn't place how she could have possibly known such a man. His shoulder was twisted and he let off a foul odor.
Their small party continued their push through the square, glancing behind them every so often to look for pursuit. They were nearly half way to the River Gate. If only the people would make way faster…
But no. A rush of bodies suddenly threw themselves in their way, trying to rush out or through from the docks. The gates were creaking closing.
Cayn cursed, wheeling his horse around to face Sansa. "Bloody gold cloaks!"
Sure enough figures in black ring mail under golden cloaks gave shouts from the ramparts above the River Gate.
"We should return to the Red Keep," Sansa said. "We'll tell Father and the king what happened. They'll make them stop."
"Little lady, the City Watch takes their orders from the king and his Hand," Cayn said. "Something's amiss here."
Had Father and King Robert quarreled? Was he upset over Sansa being sent away before she could wed Joff as they agreed? Marriage contracts were seen as sacred in the eyes of the gods. To break a betrothal was to break a holy vow. The king might see this as treachery.
Sansa saw that as yet another reason they ought to return to the Red Keep. If she came back and stayed as she should, everything would be set to rights.
She was about to explain this to Cayn when the guard jolted. An arrow had suddenly taken root in his chest as though by magic, followed quickly after by another.
Jeyne's scream filled Sansa's ears along with a cacophony of noise, but she couldn't move or think of anything else. Sansa could only watch unflinching as Cayn grasped at his bare throat, his mouth flapping open. Her tummy churned at the ragged sucking and gasping sound he made.
He can't breathe, she realized, helplessly squeezing her mare's reins. He's dying.
This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't this was all a dream she would wake from, she decided.
A hand shook Sansa's arm roughly. Septa Mordane stood beside her horse. The old woman's face was all terror and determination.
"We must away," she said. "Quickly, now. They come."
And so they did. Sansa looked about herself. The City Watch advanced on them through the crowd on both sides. Three gold cloaks pushed and shouted as they inched closer from the River Gate behind Cayn, who now slumped in his saddle. Still more shuffled their way forward from back the way they came. These ones were on horseback, a few of them holding crossbows. They called for the commons to part before them, threatening to ride them down.
Sansa wished to obey her septa, but she could scarcely think through her own trembling. And where was there to go? People were everywhere swarming around them in an ever growing frenzy. The panicked commons seemed to slow their pursuers as they tried to escape through the far narrow streets connected to the square or rushed here and there, shouting.
"Now, Sansa!" Septa Mordane said more insistently. "You too, Jeyne. Quickly! This is no time for obstinence."
Drawing in a deep breathe, Sansa slipped down from her mare and Jeyne followed suit.
The septa clasped Sansa's hand and instructed her to hold tightly to her friend's. Jeyne continued to weep, though not so loudly. She clung to Sansa with both hands as Septa Mordane led them through the press of bodies. When Sansa looked back, she could only see nameless men and women rushing behind them. Cayn, their horses, and the City Watch were nowhere to be seen. The relief at that nearly made her lightheaded. A childish part of her clung to the hope that if she couldn't see them, they couldn't see her.
Though the commons thickened as they drew closer to the western side street, there was a continuous movement. They seemed to have become caught in a current of bodies and none of them dared lax their hold on the other, lest they get lost in the ever coming flow.
Jeyne let out another shriek just as they reached the Street of Steel.
Sansa dreaded turning to see what was happening.
"Quiet, girl," a harsh voice said behind them.
He sounded slightly familiar, so Sansa dared to look round. She saw that filthy man in faded blacks. He had a hand on Jeyne's shoulder, pushing her forward. Half a moment's contemplation and Sansa recalled where she knew him. At court! He was the black brother asking for recruits for the Night's Watch the day her father sat the Iron Throne.
"Keep moving!" he called.
What does he want? Sansa thought as she kept pace with Septa Mordane.
They made it a ways into the Street of Steel before the black brother called for them to turn into an alley. The septa looked back at him warily. But then there seemed to be a spark of recognition in her eyes and she did as he said.
The crush of people pressing against them instantly disappeared once they separated themselves and shifted into the alley. Sansa stopped to rest and recover her nerves, but the dirty man pushed them on.
"What are you doing, girl? You want them gold cloaks to catch you, is that it? They'll find you quick as spit if we stop here."
But he did take a moment to remove his cloak and drape it around Sansa and Jeyne and lifted the hood over their heads. The rotten cloth encompassed them in his stench and hung over their finer garments. If she wasn't so frightened, Sansa would have flung it away for fear that the scent would cling to her gown.
"Who is he?" Jeyne breathed into her ear as they hurried along. The cloak dragged in the damp streets, concealing their skirts from view as they followed.
"He's a man of the Night's Watch," Sansa said. "He's the one I told you about. He came to court and Father said he could take the prisoners as recruits. Remember?"
Jeyne nodded. Sansa knew she was lying, but didn't say so.
He led them down damp alleys that reeked like a privys, and made sharp turn after sharp turn. Along the way, Jeyne gasped, shook Sansa's hand, and pointed up ahead of them. There was a reason this place smelled so foul. A woman emptied a privy pot directly out her window. The girls instantly lifted their skirts off the ground only to find their hems already soiled and their boots caked.
"What are you stopping for?" the black brother demanded. "Hurry it up!"
"Come along, girls," Septa Mordane said.
They obeyed, cringing at every puddle they splashed in.