The men left for the hunt just after dawn. Sansa waited impatiently in her father's solar, reviewing plans and numbers. She had already sent out Robb's marriage proposal and played the hostess to Marcella and Tommen. She hoped the king wouldn't go too hard on those two. They were innocent of the crimes of their parents and brother. Tommen would take the black and be fostered with the Starks until he was thirteen. Sansa was hesitant to send Marcella to Dorne but the princess was young and Oberyn still lived. He and his brother cherished all children and Ellaria Sand would have no need to avenge his death.
Oberyn was said to be a scholar as much as he was a warrior. Perhaps he could be invited to study the wight if her brothers were successful in bringing another back. He might provide soldiers or be convinced to help Danaerys instead of Aegon. It was too soon for the dragons to be born, but he wouldn't know that. She'd have to consult with Father and Jon on that one.
Her ministrations were interrupted by the door crashing against the wall. Lady stood to attention in front of the desk. Sansa dropped her quill, adrenaline pulsing through her veins.
"Ser Rodrick," she said in faux alarm, "is all well?"
"My lady, you must come at once," he said. Sansa stood and hurried to him, Lady at her heels. "It's the Kingslayer. He-he- he attacked Lady Arya!"
"Is she alright?" Sansa didn't have to fake the trembling in her voice. Arya was the soldier on the front line for this battle.
"Seems she twisted her ankle. But that wolf almost took off his sword hand."
Sansa stumbled. Fate was a strange mistress. "Has Father been sent for? And the maester?"
"Aye, my lady. Lewin is seeing to them in the summer hall. We've got the queen there too. The imp didn't go this morning so he's been sent for."
"The Lannister guards?" Sansa asked.
"Most of those camped in the castle are on the hunt. Only a few remain, but we outnumber them a hundred to one."
"The prince and princess?"
The old knight grimaced.
"I'm not sure," he admitted.
"Wait, did you say you have the queen in the great hall?"
He spat in disgust. "She was with the Kingslayer."
"How strange," Sansa murmured. She turned to the man tasked with guarding her. "Please gather a few men and find the Queen's children. They should be in the nursery. Don't fight unless you must, but tail any southern guards that take them."
The guard bowed and hurried off, his armor echoing through the empty hall.
Sansa and Rodrick entered through the side door that connected the summer hall to the castle. The hall was more of a long room that opened into the courtyard. One wall consisted only of thick stone columns. It was where they met with most common folk and unloaded shipments when the weather permitted. It had been a triage of sorts during the Long Night.
The room was in utter chaos. Arya was yelling insults and throwing whatever she could get her hands on at the queen. A young Winterfell guard was struggling to keep her seated on the table. Cersei Lannister was in a state of undress. She was missing her corset and her gown was open, revealing her shift, which was stained by whatever drink Arya had thrown. Her golden hair was in disarray and she was fighting a Winterfell guard. More Lannisters were trying to get to the queen, but the wall of northerners blocked them from getting through.
The Kingslayer was held down by four men, both Stark and Lannister, while he writhed in pain. It was almost sad that he would lose his hand again. It was like a singer losing her tongue. Nymeria chewed on something red and gold at the end of his table. Sansa realized, with a bit of a laugh, that is was the meat from his wrist. His hand was dangling by a thread, blood pouring from the wound. Lady went to lick it up, but Maester Lewin shooed her off.
Sansa sprung into action and ran to Arya. She hugged her sister tight, demanding what happened and if she was okay and why was the queen not dressed.
"SHE WAS RUTTING WITH HER BROTHER LIKE THE DOGS IN THE KENNELS!" Arya shouted.
A few of the men flinched.
Tyrion's face as he slipped through all the guards was one for the ages. He was utterly confused and shocked. Sansa could see the moment that sharp mind of his started working. His face went white and he looked like he might vomit. The fallout would be difficult for him. Tywin hated his youngest son, but he may very well be the last Lannister left by the end of the day.
"Arya, silence!" the Maester scolded. "I can't concentrate with this racket. Lord Tyrion, your belt, please!"
Tyrion only gaped, his face turning green when his mismatched eyes found Nymeria.
"YOUR BELT, MY LORD!"
With shaking hands, Tyrion removed his belt and handed it over. Lewin pulled it tight and buckled it tight above his injured hand.
"Tyrion! My children!" Cersei screeched.
He ran off as fast as he could. Sansa watched him go sadly. He deserved a better family. He was too good for all of them, except maybe the youngest.
A soldier burst through the door to the castle. He skidded to a halt in front of the old maester, handing over a large bag.
"Light a torch," the maester ordered.
"NO!" Jaime shouted. He moved with renewed strength, causing the men on his back to struggle. "NO! I'll kill you. I'll kill you all!"
"Ser, it is your hand or your life!"
He wasn't in a state to understand logic. He fought and fought and fought. Sansa had to look away, the guilt too overwhelming. He only paused when Cersei spoke.
"Jaime!" She said through her tears.
Maester Lewin took advantage of Jaime's hesitation. His hand fell with a sicken plop in the puddle of blood. The renowned knight instantly collapsed. Lady, true to her name, snatched the body part and laid down very primly in sight of the queen. Lewin tried to get the men help carterize the wound, but all of them were watching the polite direwolf with wide eyes. Cersei went on a new tirade with terms such as "fools", "whores", and "witches". Ser Rodrik sent Sansa a pleading glance.
Sansa obeyed, opening the heavy door for the wolves. Nymeria went first, with Arya's help, and Lady picked up her new treat to prance out of the room.
"GIVE ME HIS HAND YOU SAVAGE CUNT!" Cersei bellowed, her beautiful face turning a splotchy red.
Ser Rodrik drew himself up in outrage, but Arya beat him to it.
"He's not going to use it any more," she said.
Cersei erupted with an intensity that hinted at the insanity lurking within. Sansa took advantage of the distraction and ushered her wolf through the door.
The sound of hooves thundering through the gates sent everyone into a terse silence. It took the fat king an embarrassingly long time to dismount. Lord Stark didn't wait. He pushed through the lines of men and gaped at the scene before him. He kneeled in front of Arya, asking a thousand questions in a low, rushed voice.
King Robert looked to an angry Arya, to Jaime being force fed a potion, and Cersei's state of undress. He reached her in three steps and backhanded her so hard that she fell. Ned's hands tightened on Arya's.
"Stand, you slut!" He spat. "Stand and face your crimes like the man you say you want to be!"
"Robert!" Ned yelled. "She is still the mother of your children."
Cersei laughed bitterly. Her green eyes shone with madness like Tyrion's wildfire on the Blackwater. "No, I am not. I made sure that any black haired child of his never quickened. ** Robert roared so loud it itched at Sansa's ears. He stomped over and kicked his wife in the stomach. Ned stepped forward to intervene, but Sansa placed her hand on his elbow. She'd not have him die now. It was to sweet of a scene to stop, anyway. Cersei had done nothing to stop Joffrey and his kings guard. She'd done nothing to stop the dead. She'd burned innocents alive, tortured gods knew how many people. Her death would be quick enough.
Ned intervened when Cersei started coughing and heaving. Sansa didn't approve. How many times had she lain like that in the throne room, waiting for the Hound to appear and help her up? This beating was nothing. Nothing. It was only a fat man. No knights, no hilts, no blunt edges of their swords. They didn't strip her. They didn't break the skin on her back with a rod.
Joffrey's fun faded into Ramsey's. Suddenly, his pale arms were forcing her into a chair. Theon knelt between her legs, his tears itching at her thighs. No one would stop this. Lady was dead. Sandor was dead. Jon, her last sibling, was hundreds of miles away. It was going to happen. Sansa stopped fighting. Her muscles were still wound so tight that it hurt. Her breathing was coming in heavy whines. She thought of a story instead. She thought of Jenny of the Oldstones, with flowers in her- ** "SANSA!"
She was in Winterfell. In a hall on the ground floor. The late-summer sun flowed through the great columns, painting Jon's black hair brown. Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon had beat Ramsey into the ground and she'd watched his hounds feast on him.
Sansa scratched at the dog bite on her arm.
"I'm back," she said quietly.
The wolves were going mad. Lady and Nymeria were pummeling and scratching at the door. Three different howls and a growl sounded behind Jon. She tried to peer around his shoulders, but he stopped her. Her gently steered her out the door and into the hall. She followed him through the stone maze of her home, until they found a courtyard with laundry hanging to dry.
They settled against the wall. Lady, Ghost and Grey Wind sat in her lap and licked at her fingers.
"You can talk me. It'll help, if you tell someone about it," Jon said.
"No. Not this."
"Arya, then. But someone."
Sansa nodded, not able to meet his eyes.
"Your plan worked," he said, nudging her shoulder.
Sansa smiled at that. "It did."
Arya was to follow the twins and catch them in the act. She had to create a ruckus or antagonize Jaime into attacking. It was very doubtful that Arya had even considered the first option. Father had gave them each a guard the week before and Arya had made a point not to shake him off. Sansa was proud. Now, Cersei couldn't kill the king. It was inevitable that he would drink himself to an early death, but it was okay for now. Tywin would have to be dealt with. That wouldn't be her problem and he was for more predictable than Cersei or Joffrey. Madness did it have its advantages, she supposed.
"I wish I could speak to Danaerys. Or make Tormund tell me about his bear. Or have Sandor bark at me to suck it up because at least I have all of my face and a bed that fits my legs, but no he does not want to trade beds because he can suck it up like I should be doing."
Jon's laugh echoed through the fluttering sheets and tunics. "He once told me I had to get my women slicked up like a baby seal."
"Gods! No!"
"He'll be here before you know it. And you'll rue the day you wished for him."
Jon stood and held out his hand. He helped his sister up and brought her in for a hug before she could stop him. "Talk to Arya. Dany won't be here for years to come."
Sansa nodded and let him pull her back into the game.