A/N: Consent warnings continue to apply. There's a small amount of material cut from here for rating. Full version is on AO3.


He was dimly aware that he'd been drugged with something. He hardly cared though; the red woman was telling him all was well and he'd already given himself over to her power tonight. Nothing to do but hope she meant what she said.

He was so groggy he had hardly the energy to open his eyes when she commanded it. It was worth it when he did though. What he saw was not the red woman but-

Show me, she said, her lips full and soft.

Her skin was fair – but not pale and sickly as he'd seen it lately, not blotched red from crying.

Not marred with bruises. (That he'd stood there and watched darken on her cheeks. That he'd stood there and watched inflicted.)

His stomach roiled. He grabbed her hard, almost violently, and crushed her to him. "No," he whispered to her. "Not again. I've got you."

He stroked her hair. It felt right.

Show me, she said again. He wasn't sure if it was aloud or just in his head, but it was perfect – exactly what he wanted to hear. Hold me. Touch me. I want you.

She wouldn't want to look at him. He remembered that; she never wanted to look at him. He didn't blame her. "Hush," he said, and, still holding her to his chest, leaned over and blew out some of the candles by the bed.

She whined unhappily at that (of course; she loves fire) but clung to him still. Held him, pulled him down, kissed him.

Show me. Take me. I want you – please. She was grabbing at him and he thought of her eyes, her big terrified eyes, and he hushed her and she held him close.

She was guiding him into her, his little bird, slight and soft and warm. Exhausted as he was he still kept his weight up on his arms so as not to crush her. Yes, yes, like that. Oh. She was stroking his back, squeezing him inside, urging him on.

He came almost immediately. The climax was painful, ripped from his guts almost harder than he could stand, and he groaned into her hair and whimpered stop.


When he came back to himself Sansa was gone, and he was under no illusions about whether she'd ever been there in the first place. "Damn you," he said to the red woman, who was over fussing with her potions and powders again.

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Good, you're awake again."

Good? He laughed. "I'm finished, you bitch. Leave me alone."

"That's not true." She glided across the room to him and sat on the bed. He tried to avoid her gaze, as if she was a feral animal that might attack, but she sighed and put her hands on his face. "I know you," she said seriously, looking into his eyes. "I've seen everything about you." She said it without any disgust at all. Or any pity.

She leaned in and kissed him. He allowed it, because by now her body was so familiar to him it didn't feel like an encroachment. It felt, in fact, like a true kiss – with more affection than anyone had shown him in years. Maybe ever.

It was a while before he pushed her away, but eventually he managed. "If you know everything," he said, "Then you know that that girl was my last secret. I have nothing else to give you."

"That's not true," she said again. She climbed up to straddle his lap, shushing him when he made a sound of pain. Even now, with no poison working on him and no burning-hot cunt sucking him in, his whole groin ached. Like a great number of someones had stood him up and taken turns kicking him in the balls. It hurt.

"Careful," he grunted, and tried to shift her weight off him.

She didn't let him. "You have more," she insisted. "You have yourself. It will be just you and me now – no punishment and no lies. I want you badly. I want you." Damn her for knowing what a first that was. He hated her now more than ever. "I'm sorry it will be difficult for you."


[[[Cut for ratings reasons.]]]


When he awoke she was wiping him down with something soft. It was very soft, the softest cloth he'd ever felt, but still its touch on his cock made him whimper. He was chafed to hell and back. And that last peak – brutal and wrenching – had given him no pleasure at all. She got a fresh cloth and wiped the sweat from his forehead and the tears from his cheeks. She scrubbed gently at his eyes and he let her do it; it wasn't as if she didn't already know he'd been crying. He'd cried through half that last fuck, blubbered like a baby, begging her to stop and whimpering that he couldn't.

She'd told him to hush and kept right on going.

"I know. Rest," she said now, and he didn't manage to hate her because there was something a little friendlier in her tone. "You gave me what I needed. You did well, and I thank you."

She'd fully sucked the life out of him; he didn't have it in him even to answer. He only lay still, wondering whether exhaustion and sex-ache could kill a man, until he heard her approach with a heavy clanking sound.

"Your shackles," she explained. "I must return you to the cells soon, and I can't ask my guards to take charge of you unfettered."

Did her guards realize that he was weak as a kitten? Fucking cowards. He managed to twitch his head in a nod, but permission was as far as he could go towards helping her.

"Can you turn onto your side?"

He couldn't. He didn't think he was ever going to move again.

The red woman sighed – annoyed, it sounded like – and rolled him herself, far enough to pull his arms behind him. He made a sound of protest; the position wasn't really comfortable. He was too weak to do anything about it though, and when she stroked his arm and murmured shhh he was too pliant. He felt her lock the cuffs. He managed an experimental twist, and discovered that they were secure but not unpleasantly tight.

Next came rope, above his elbows. He was still relaxed enough to be flexible, and she didn't cinch too tightly, so he allowed that too.

"I should have dressed you first," she realized afterwards. "Now I'll have to return you shirtless."

He summoned up the energy to shrug.

"Well, I have trousers for you at least. Plain and roughspun, but they'll serve."

They'd be better than his piss-soaked, blood-spattered and soot-smelling leathers, anyway. He grunted and shrugged again.

"All right. Move a little – I'll put them on for you." He shifted his leg in the way she was nudging, and then went limp again and let her do it. She was careful about touching him between the legs but still it was more than uncomfortable, and he could hear himself making noises.

"Now your leg irons," she said. The shackles were cold and he shuddered violently when they closed on him. She laughed, but not unkindly. "Apologies. I know that chills."

She patted him as if he were a child or a puppy or something, but he was too worn out even to resent it.

"I'm going to call the guards in now."

"Mm," he said. The very best he could do.

When the guards came in she asked him to stand up, but of course he couldn't even try.

She sighed and directed them to shove him off the bed, which they did without much gentleness, and drag him out.

"I'm finished with him. Take him down to the dungeons," she said. "He can't even stand up on his own and he'll probably sleep the clock around, so don't disturb him tomorrow." He was watching the jewel at her throat – it seemed alive. All of a sudden, her face didn't. She blinked in his direction, and there was nothing behind her eyes.

He went cold even before she said it: "We can burn him the morning after."


The End. (?)

This had been my intended ending, but then people got me wondering what newly-liberated Sansa would have to say about all this, and I'm wondering if maybe she would step in and help him out. So, there is a potential reprieve out there somewhere. Not sure I'm going to write it, but I might.

Let me know what you thought of this fic!