Sansa stared blankly at her reflection in the ornate vanity in front of her, gold lions engraved in the frame she once thought beautiful. Her auburn curls had come out of the Southern style her handmaiden had perfected early that morning and hung messily around her face and down her back. The dusty pink gown that was given to her by Joffrey, as it was tight around the bust, was now covered in blood and ripped along the collar and sleeves. She looked down at her hands and observed the dirt under her finger nails. Memories of her pale hands on the ground trying to get away brought more tears to her eyes and her vision became blurry.
How many more tears could I possibly have? Sansa thought. How many times have I sat in this room, this golden prison, and cried? For the loss of father. For the comforting hands of mother. For the loss of sweet Bran and Rickon. Even Arya... She didn't know which was worse, knowing someone to be dead for certain, or not knowing and wondering if they're still alive.
A muffled knock forced her out of her thoughts and four hand maidens entered her chamber carrying a bath. They carefully set it down by the large window, not a drop wasted on the floor. Sansa looked over and became hypnotized by the steam emerging from the bath's surface, envious of the way it vanished into thin air.
The maidens stood there, waiting, unsure of what to do. With a small cough one of them spoke.
"If m'lady is ready," Gwendoline, a thin, mousy girl quietly said. Although her voice was barely above a whisper, it was so loud to Sansa she felt as though her ear drums would burst. Her blue eyes darted toward Gwendoline who looked down in fear. So this is how Cersei feels, Sansa thought. No, I do not wish for anyone to fear me. Sansa let out a small smile and stood.
"Thank you." Her voiced cracked, having not spoken since that morning. Gwendoline's face relaxed. "I will be fine on my own. Please leave me," Sansa breathed.
"But, m'lady, we were sent to help you undress and wash," another hand maiden blurted out. She was an older, plump woman with stiff black curls that grayed at the roots.
"Surely I am capable of washing myself. I thank you but have no need of you at this time. I wish to be alone," Sansa said with forced confidence. They wouldn't leave her if she had a hint of sadness in her voice. The maidens stood there for a moment's time, still unsure, but slowly one by one they left the room. The last one closed Sansa's chamber door behind her.
Sansa reached behind her and found the strings at the back of the dress. Southern gowns were much finer than ones worn in Winterfell. It was much colder there, and while the gowns were still beautiful, they were much simpler and more practical. Southern gowns were often encrusted with gems, metals, and thin fabrics to show off a woman's figure. Margaery Tyrell enjoyed that style. Luckily since today was not a happy occasion, but a farewell on the beach for Cersei's only daughter sent off to Dorne, it did not call for the highest of fashions and Sansa was allowed to wear a simple gown. Southern styles were impossible to take off by oneself. This one was not. The holes and tears in the fabric only made it easier. Once the back was undone, Sansa let the ruined dress fall to the floor. She let out a breath, the memories that came with the dress fell to the floor, never to be picked up again. She stared at herself in the vanity, which was now clouded with steam. Wearing nothing but her small clothes, her reflection looked different. It was as if she hadn't seen herself in years, for she no longer saw a girl, but a woman.
Still embarrassed of her body, Sansa turned away from the mirror, stepped out of her small clothes and walked towards the wooden tub. She sat on the edge letting her pale legs get used to the warmth. Slowly, she slid in. Once the water reached her neck, she took a deep breath and submerged.
All was quiet. All was peaceful.
She came back up and inhaled deeply. The doors to her balcony were open and sent a cold breeze over her flushed cheeks, now red from the hot water. She relaxed and laid the back of her head on the edge of the tub. She closed her eyes and decided she needed a few moments to relax before scrubbing herself of the memories... But it only made it worse. All she could see were the people screaming. Dizziness from running, not knowing her way. The feeling of wet hay underneath her feet as she ran. The smell of mud and ale lingering in the air. And the men... the three men that chased her down the narrow alley way and into that room. No way out. They looked at her with such hatred in their eyes. The kind of hatred she had for her betrothed, Joffrey. She had done nothing to these men and yet they despised her so.
Another cold wind painted her face and she looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set. The last moments of sunshine in Kings Landing were a wasted beauty. How long have I been sitting here? Sansa wondered. A fear grew in her stomach. Oh gods, I cannot be late for dinner. Her imagination took her to the dining halls of the castle. An empty seat next to Joffrey reserved for her. Cersei's eyes glaring at her for her tardiness. An amused expression on Joffrey's face with plans of yet another punishment for her. Sansa shook her head, trying to rid herself of these thoughts. She took the pink wash cloth and bar of lavender scented soap set neatly on the chair beside the tub and began scrubbing. What started out as a normal scrub turned into a soapy frenzy. The dirt was gone from her body and hair but she continued scrubbing until her skin was raw. With one final rinse, Sansa stood up in the tub and took the white silk robe from the chair, wrapping it around herself as she stepped out.
Wet footprints followed her to her wardrobe. Her slim fingers caressed all the pretty colors and fabrics. So beautiful. But she did not want to look beautiful tonight. She did not want any eyes on her. An impossible dream. She was the daughter of a traitor, a prisoner to the lions. The wolf bitch. She settled on an emerald green, simple gown. Lace outlined the edges of the collar, sleeves, and bottom hem. When her hand maidens reentered her chambers, Sansa sat in front of her vanity and asked for a simple style, two small braids going around her head. A style more common in the North. She smiled at herself, looking more like the girl she once knew in Winterfell, her true home.
"Perfect," a voice cooed from the chamber doors. The room became tense. Sansa's hand maidens bowed as Cersei floated in. Sansa's heart was beating fast, but she remained composed.
"Thank you, Your Grace, though not as beautiful as you," Sansa chirped her courtesies. Cersei smirked and looked at Sansa through the mirror, her eyes red from bidding her daughter farewell that very morning. A glass of red wine in her delicate fingers swung with every step she took. Cersei kissed the back of Sansa's head and fingered her curls. The smell of the sweet wine imported from the Summer Iles overwhelmed Sansa's nostrils.
"Pretty dove. I wasn't sure if you'd be able to make it to dinner tonight. You must be terribly embarrassed." Cersei's face was full of false pity. "Almost getting your maidenhood taken before you marry. How awful that would have been."
"Yes, Your Grace. Thank the gods I was found before any harm was done," Sansa quietly said with a controlled tone.
"Oh, yes. Thank the gods. Funny. Was it the gods who saved you, or someone else?" Cersei stared at Sansa quizzically.
The Hound! How could she have forgotten? All she could think about was the faces of her attackers. She had completely forgotten about the man who saved her. She hadn't even sought him out to thank him properly. A blush crept its way along her neck.
"Why do you blush, girl? Did you enjoy it?" Cersei mocked and took another sip of her wine.
"I blush because this gown itches. You are right, I should not thank the gods when it was not them who saved me," Sansa said, more to herself than Cersei.
"Yes, next time be more appreciative of your savior when he's meant to be looking after our Joff," Cersei threatened whilst touching the shoulder of Sansa's gown. "And more appreciative of your hosts when they give you the most beautiful fashions to wear and you continue to dress in these clothes fit for a little girl." Cersei made her way to Sansa's wardrobe. Sansa stood up from her chair and watched as Cersei looked through the dresses and chose one of blue and gold. Gold flowers danced along the sapphire fabric. The sleeves were long and fitted. Sansa thought the dress to be lovely, except the neckline was revealing, and she knew all eyes-Joffrey's eyes-would be on her tonight.
"Girl!" Cersei shoved the dress into Gwendoline's arms and waltzed over to Sansa. "See to it that the little dove puts that dress on tonight." Cersei ran her hands through Sansa's hair once more. "And fix her hair as well." Cersei looked Sansa up and down before leaving her chamber, three guards following her.
As soon as the doors shut, a breath of relief washed over all ladies left in the room. Sansa sat back down and stared at herself in the mirror once more before being transformed into a Southern lady.
The light outside had gone for the night as Sansa emerged from her room. Her hair now stood on top of her head in a bouquet of red braids, and two smaller braids went down her chest. As she began walking down the halls and turned the first corner, Ser Meryn Trant leaned against a wall.
"I was wondering what was taking you so long," he rasped, eyeing her heaving chest. "Now I see why." He looked at her hungrily. Fear boiled in Sansa's blood. She always felt uneasy around this man, but remembered she was a highborn lady and must never forget herself.
"Are you here to escort me to dinner, Ser?" she asked as dryly as she could.
"Yes, m'lady." He licked his lips and took his place beside her, holding out his arm. Sansa took it. He smelled of ale and something else awful. His arm felt like a snake as they made their way down the candle lit hall.
"That's some dress you have there, m'lady," Ser Meryn slurred.
"Thank you, Ser, your words are most kind." Sansa tried to swallow her repulsion and quickened her pace, hoping to reach the dining hall soon.
"I heard what happened to you today. I'm sorry I couldn't have been there...to help," he sneered. He tried to mask his desires with sympathy.
"You need not worry Ser, for no harm was done. I do thank you for your concerns," Sansa lied. It made her sick how easy it was for her to lie now. She had learned well. As they walked, the sounds of talking and laughter became louder. Thank the gods, Sansa thought. We're almost there. Suddenly, the room spun and her back was against the wall. Ser Meryn held her arm tight.
"Don't you lie to me girl!" he snarled in her ear.
"You forget yourself, Ser!" Sansa trembled under his grip. The unmistakable sound of Joffrey's snicker was heard in the distance and he released her.
The guards opened the massive carved doors to the dining hall. Warm candle light hit her face and aromas of meats and sweet lemon cakes, her favorites, enveloped her. Ser Meryn eased his grasp on her arm. Even a man as vicious as he wouldn't risk upsetting the boy she was to marry.
Sansa tried to regain her composure after the incident in the halls, tried easing her breath by singing the story of Florian and Jonquil in her head as she walked to her seat.
She bowed as she passed Cersei, who gave her appearance a nod of approval, easing her jumping heart. She took her seat next to Joffrey who was throwing meat at the sweaty fool that danced before him. Poor man.
Once seated and settled, a full plate was set before Sansa, but her appetite was spoiled from the day.
"Is my lady not hungry?" Joffrey asked.
Sansa immediately took a small bite of the sweet meat on her plate. "My apologies, my lord, the food is delicious." She took another bite, hoping to avoid an outburst that ended with her in tears. She laughed at the fool as he juggled cakes, one landing on his face. Joffrey watched her laugh for awhile, and once he was pleased, he looked away, back to gossiping with his mother the Queen.
She wondered how it was possible that all these people were laughing and enjoying themselves surrounded by a grand feast when just hours ago people were rioting in the streets for scraps of bread to feed families. Another pie fell on the fool's face and this time Sansa could not even pretend to laugh for it disturbed her so. Food wasted for Joffrey's amusement. She looked about the room. Watching. Observing. Cersei poured herself another glass of wine and looked straight ahead miserably, as one does when they're at a party and the only person they want to be there, isn't. Tyrion also sat at their table, picking at his food and suppressing a smile. Sansa looked in the direction of his eye line and saw a raven haired foreign beauty dressed in hand maiden's attire smiling back at him.
She watched as men talked of battles and reenacted fights. She saw ladies giggle and whisper quietly about which lords and knights they found most attractive. She saw Ser Meryn Trant smack a servant's bottom as she passed, almost making her spill the empty glasses on her tray. And then she saw him. She wasn't sure if hit was the wine she had been sipping, enjoying the taste more and more, but she could have sworn that when her blue eyes met his grey ones, he quickly looked away. Was the Hound staring at me? Now avoiding her gaze she was able to stare freely at him. His head was turned. She stared at the unburned side of his face. He had the features of a Northern man. A strong jaw, dark hair, and a prominent nose. Seeing just this side of his face was odd. He looked almost calm, unlike the usual scowl he wore whenever she was present. Maybe he wasn't always so angry...maybe it was just the way to burns disfigured his face. She remembered when she first laid eyes on the Hound. He looked a fierce warrior as he stood in the background watching his brother Gregor joust. Littlefinger had told her the sad tale of the Clegane brothers. How the Hound had earned his burns by playing with his brother's toys. Sansa remembered the fights she had with her brothers, but mostly Arya. She could never imagine Rob, Jon, Bran or Rickon doing that to her. Not even Arya, as angry as she sometimes was.
CLINCK CLINCK.The sound of Joffrey's knife tapping his goblet silenced the room. All eyes were now on him. "Today, we sent my beloved sister off to Dorne. There were tears, but I don't think it to be a sad day." Sansa glanced at Cersei. She was staring at her son with a proud grin, but her hand gripped the stem of her glass with tight anxiousness. "I think this to be a day to celebrate!" Joffrey continued. "For there is now a Baratheon in Dorne! One day there shall be a Baratheon in every realm of the Seven Kingdoms!" Joffrey raised his goblet, and all the noble guests followed suit. "To Myrcella!"
"To Myrcella!" the room chanted. Everyone drank to the golden haired beauty. People started sitting down, thinking the speech was over.
"And now," Joffey continued, "in honor of her, I ask my betrothed for a dance."
Everyone ooed, awed and cheered. "I would be honored, your grace." Sansa reached out her hand for him to take, but he declined.
"No, silly girl, I do not feel like dancing. I want to watch you dance with every man in this very room."
Silence.
"But your grace, it is so late, and I'm so tired. It has been a long day," Sansa said, trying to hide the desperation in her voice, but he ignored her and turned back to the guests.
"Who would like to have the first dance?" Joffrey shouted. No one dared answer. He grabbed Sansa's arm and dragged her to the middle of the room. "Don't be shy! Play!" he shouted and waved his hand at the small orchestra who started playing a lively tune. "Perhaps you, Ser Herland?"Joffrey barked over the music. Ser Herland was an older man, smart. He knew if he were to deny the boy there would be hell to pay. So he kissed his wife on the cheek and stood, offering his hand to Sansa.
"Wonderful," Joffrey said as he strutted back to his seat at the center of the table.
"My lady," Ser Herland said as he took Sansa's hands. Sansa accepted and he took the lead. She always loved dancing. Ever since she was a little girl, dancing had been something that always made her smile. She forced Rob and Jon to dance with her days before a party so she could get plenty of practice in. She took lessons and excelled at it. She used to dream of wearing the most beautiful dress, dancing in the middle of the room while everyone watched. She was doing those very things now, and all she wanted to do was crawl under the blankets and go to sleep, pretending this was all a terrible dream.
She finished her dance with Ser Herland, who gave her a sympathetic smile before returning to his wife. With every new song came a new man she had to dance with. Joffrey laughed and clapped as she was swirled around the room like his toy. She lost track of how many songs played. She was drenched with sweat and while Ser Gydrane twirled her, she lost her footing and fell, breaking the heel of her shoe. The crowd gasped, the band silenced, and Joffrey laughed.
"That's enough darling," Cersei whispered to Joffrey. Sansa was humiliated and near tears on the floor. Ser Gydrane helped her up and held her arm so she could balance herself.
"You're a mess," Joffrey started. "I like to see you pretty and right now you are anything but. Dog!" Joffrey yelled. "Take her back to her chambers, I am tired of looking at her."
Sansa heard the Hound approach her. The unmistakable sound of his armor moving with every large stride became louder and louder until she felt his hand on her arm. She readied herself for what should've felt painful and rough, but instead was gentle. He took her from Ser Gydrane and led her out of the dining hall. As they left, she heard Joffrey yell at the band to continue playing.