authors note: so, this is just a little one shot I cooked together a few nights ago. No plans to expand, just a bit of fun for me to write!
I'm a big fan of sansa, and I loved the idea of her taking charge in KL, so here is that AU idea!
please enjoy, review and favourite! Thank you!
also thank you so much to the lovely assa-h, who translated this story into hungarian, and placed it on her site! check the link here fanfic . hu / merengo / view story . php ? sid = 134215 (remove spaces)
songrecommendations: fight song - rachel platten / house stark theme.
like a small boat,
on the ocean.
sending big waves,
into motion.
I might only have one match,
but I can make an explosion
...
He had taken her Father's head, had sent the country into war, ruined any chance at peace, and yet she was still to marry him, she was still his prisoner. True, he left her alone most of the time, only demanding she show up to court, and go for arduous walks with him around the Red Keep. He spoke of nothing too interesting, and Sansa barely even feigned interest, her arm looped through his, eyes dead, talk small, spirit crushed.
Her family remained in open rebellion against the crown, and she was still considered a traitors daughter. Though none called her that anymore, not after Joffrey had removed three people's tongues for calling her such a name. Sansa had sobbed, begged him to never do so again, but he had just acted a little bewildered, smiled, and tried to explain how it was necessary; how now no one would ever call her traitor again.
He may have been evil, despicable, unhinged, but he was right, none dared call her traitor again.
Then came the Battle of Blackwater, the horrific tension and fear of it all. Sansa remained in the main rooms with Cersei. She had prayed continually, hoping the God's would grant her some reprieve and call Stannis the victor. She had prayed so hard she was sure her heart would burst, begged the God's above; both her Mother's and her Father's for a Lannister loss. And yet, she had not been granted her wish, the last Baratheon had lost, and Joffrey had come running into the room, crying out his victory. He'd pulled her into his arms, spun her round and kissed her atop the head. She had cheered with them all, feigning happiness, though she hadn't meant a word of it. She had smiled and nodded, stood at his side in court as he handed out Knighthoods and achievements, her smile empty, and yet it was enough to fool the King.
A statue was built in his honour, made of solid gold. He ordered the builders to add her to the statue, at his side, her hand on his chest, smiling up at him, both set in gold, the King and his future Queen. It was beautifully done, even she could admit that, but it made her stomach turn to look at whenever she was forced to walk past it.
Just days after the victory (but on her part the loss), Margaery Tyrell came, asking the King to set her aside, to put aside the daughter of the a traitor, for someone more worthy. And for the first time in months Sansa had felt hope, her heart spluttering that she just might be released, that she just might be granted such a small mercy. But no, Joffrey against everyones advice refused the Tyrell girl, glaring down his Mother and dismissing Maester Pycelle with a mere wave of his hand. He claimed his love for Sansa was too strong to ever set her aside, that he would never abandon her. Sansa had forced down her tears as he had pulled her into his embrace, the court had cheered and the bards had started up their songs. She had smiled a simpering smile, but inside she had felt dead.
She had tasted freedom and it had been cruelly ripped from her tongue.
Sansa despised Joffrey, despised him with every fibre of her being. True, he didn't actively mistreat her, he punished those who spoke out against her, and did in his own way try to protect her. During a riot on the streets of Flea Bottom he'd sent 40 gold cloaks out searching for her, and had the tongues, hands and ... other parts of her would-be-rapists from the riot severed in the middle of the court. He tried to show her he cared, that he would protect her, and Sansa knew in his own perverse way he did seem to care for her ... maybe even love her. But she would never forget he had taken her Father's head, was cruel to everyone but her, and often treated her as though she were an idiot, a simpering girl to be loved and protected, but never taken seriously (though she did live up to that stereotype, it was much, much easier than anything else).
It seemed as though he had some odd kind of love for her, but she could never love him, not after what he had done to her and her family, she would never allow herself too, never.
Once he had tried to explain to her why he had killed her Father, why he hadn't forgiven the Stark's. He tried to explain his actions, even tried to justify them, and though she agreed with him with her words, she didn't buy a second of it in her thoughts. He easily could have let her Father take the black, or kept him as a hostage, but he hadn't. Her Father was dead because of him, because of her betrothed. She would never forgive, and yet she allowed him to smile as he thought she had, overjoyed that he had apparently. convinced her.
So, she stumbled through her relationship with him. She said the right things and smiled all the time, feigned interest in his boring stories, and pretended to swoon at his less-than-heroic actions. She wore his favorite colors; red and gold, wore her hair in his favorite southern style and wore the necklace he had gifted her everyday (a golden lion with rubies for eyes, worth a small keep). She went for walks with him around the castle and the gardens, and even persuaded him to let her leave the RedKeep now and then. He had agreed, and had gifted her two members of the Kingsguard, for her 'protection'. But it was a kind of freedom, and she had relished in that.
Still she was unhappy, incredibly so. Her Mother was a captive at the Twin's, Robb was dead, Bran and Rickon captives of the Iron Born and Arya long missing. She had sobbed for days after finding out the fates of her family members, the Stark's scattered and parted, a pack that no longer had their fellow wolves. Joffrey hadn't understood he tears, had barely been able to offer any comfort, just leaving her to cry ... though he had hugged her in attempt of comfort, which had been uncomfortable for the both of them.
The next day he had ordered lemon cakes for her dinner, and she smiled, not a proper smile but a smile all the same; it was a nice action, and yet Sansa hadn't eaten them, pretended to, but hadn't.
The wedding arrived quickly after the crown's victory and consolidation of the seven kingdoms. Sansa had approached the day with utter fear churning in her stomach; this was it, no going back, she would soon be his completely. The thought had made her feel ill, and yet as she had descended the steps in the Sept of Baelor, on the arm of Tywin Lannister, approaching her new husband, she had seen one silver lining; she was soon to be Queen.
The ceremony had been beautiful, and the feast long and opulent. The bedding had been unpleasant, but thankfully short lived, and Joffrey hadn't been cruel, it had been dark and she had closed her eyes, and Joffrey had surprisingly let her; a small mercy he had given her, and yet one she mentally thanked him for.
The next day she was crowned Queen, and the small folk cheered her name as the High Septon placed a new forged crown of silver and gold studded with diamonds and rubies atop her head. Joffrey instructed he to hold her own court session and she did, sitting on the arm of his Throne (an honour few were given), and presided over events with the first genuine smile she'd had in months, as Sansa realised something.
Joffrey loved her, truly loved her, and that? That she could use.
She was subtle about it, but slowly Sansa Stark wrapped her influence around the King.
Cersei was soon sent away (under protest) to Lannisport, after Sansa suggest the Queen Regent was being cruel to her.
Jaime was released from his vows, given Casterly Rock and married to Margaery Tyrell, a favour to her friend who craved power in a way Sansa never would.
After Tywin passed of old age, Sansa had somehow convinced Joffrey to make Tyrion hand, years later people would question how she'd convinced him, but she had.
She was reunited with her Mother, who was held hostage at King's Landing, and watched as her daughter played the Game of Thrones so well.
He went to war with the Iron Born to release her brothers. Winterfell was given to Bran, after she convinced the King the boys had done no wrong, and it would please her so.
The Frey's title's were revoked and all killed.
The same with the Bolton's.
She gave him three beautiful children; two boys, one girl, the boys of blonde hair and one with green eyes, the other with blue, the girl of red hair and green eyes. Tywin, Gerion and Lyanna as they were named; Tywin was his Heir.
On Twyin's 6th nameday, Joffrey was murdered, poisoned, by a mystery assassin that was never caught.
The world didn't mourn him, but they sobbed for his wife who was clearly distraught, as she clung to his body and begged him to come back to her.
She ruled as Queen Regent through her Son, and the first action of King Tywin Baratheon was to ensure the Stark rule in Winterfell, and then return Riverrun to the Tully's.
Her name and family was restored, Winterfell and Riverrun returned to them, and her boy, her beautiful boy, so unlike his Father in both temperament and intelligence was King. The people loved him in a way they had never loved his Father, and he ruled well, married to a Dornish girl, the Kingdom thrived under him. She was Queen Regent, never to remarry, but to live her days out happily assisting her son's rule, alongside Tyrion, who remained hand.
Joffrey had died at the feast, and Sansa didn't weep for him. It had been her doing, the poison in his cup. She had held him as he died, and whispered the truth in his ear as he passed. He had died confused and sad, and in pain.
Joffrey had died at the feast for his son's nameday, and Sansa didn't weep for him. It had been her doing, the poison in the cup. She had held him as he died, and whispered the truth into his ear as he passed; 'it was me, I never loved you', he died confused, and sad, and in pain.
She had achieved her revenge, so many years later, and it had tasted as sweet as she had imagined.
so there we go! nothing fleshed out or too fancy but it was good fun to write!
I hope you enjoyed, and follow my page to keep an eye out for more one shots, and check on my other multifics!
thanks! see you soon.
updated: grammar fixing, embellishment of certain parts, core story remains the same, just made better, 04/07/18.