A/N: Super stoked on posting this chapter. Please review? (Thanks for the follows/favs, too) . And also, I meant to post warnings before that this story gets lemony but I figure if you're sticking around, you kind of expect that anyway.
"Well, my eyes ain't green and my hair ain't yellow.
It's more like the other way around!"
-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "The Curse of Millhaven"
Chapter Seven: Kill Hill
..
SANSA
..
Shae was tying Sansa's hair back with a red ribbon to match the one that adorned her throat when a loud knock sounded at the chamber door, signifying that the Hound had arrived to escort her to dinner with the royal family. Instantly, Sansa's stomach did a series of clumsy cartwheels and she smoothed the front of her maroon gown before rising as Shae unlocked and opened the door. Sansa's nerves had been a wreck today. Earlier, Lord Tyrion had stopped by to deliver the unhappy news of King Joffrey's invitation to go horse-back riding the next morning. Although Sansa was more at ease around Tyrion than most of her captors, she had still felt her face pale at his words and she'd lied quickly when he commented that she looked as if she had seen a ghost. She'd spent the past hour readying herself to see Joffrey, and she'd practised exactly how she would bend her words tonight to make him feel like their upcoming horse-riding sounded like the best adventure in the entire world. She already hated herself for the insincerity, for the poison lies that fell out of her mouth so readily these days. Still, it was like Shae said- the more pleased Joffrey was, the less miserable Sansa would be. She'd already prayed seven times today that he wouldn't touch her tomorrow and that perhaps he'd be in a good mood and show her kindness. Did the gods stop listening after a certain amount of prayers? If that was so, they'd given up on her long ago.
"Best not be late for dinner, Lady Stark," the hound heaved in his gusty growl of a voice. "If I'm going to catch hell from his grace, it had better be for a better reason than his beloved wasting time perfecting her looks." He gave a dry laugh. "If you want to impress him, best to wear less and keep your mouth shut unless you're admiring him. At least, that's how I prefer my women."
Sansa felt the corners of her eyes wrinkle in an unintentional glower, but she gave a short dip of her head all the same and followed the dog into the slightly chill hallway. She bid Shae a farewell nod as her handmaiden gave her a curtsy. The exchange likely seemed unfamiliar to the Hound, but Sansa felt warmth spark through her at the smile Shae gave her as she left. It was extraordinary to have at least one person who seemed to care about her, even if Shae was a second rate handmaiden much of the time.
"I'm sorry, Ser," she muttered under her breath, staying a meter or so behind the tall man leading her. They walked in silence for several minutes, Sansa replaying conversation ideas in her head to beguile Joffrey. I'm so looking forward to riding with you, your grace. Do you have a favorite horse? How long have you been riding? I remember how fun it was, riding with you in Winterfell. You looked so handsome that day... Sansa felt a cold shudder ripple through her as she added, before you drew blood out of little Mycah and then called my sister terrible, horrible words. She mentally shook herself. No! Stay focused on what was good. Make him remember you then, when you loved him, before it all went so wrong. Before he took away your maidenhead, made you worth nothing. She couldn't help but let her thoughts spiral out of control now. She could even feel a pulse, a pang, from where his hardness had filled the gap between her legs. Will he really want me again? What if he has me killed because he's bored now? Shae says he'll want me again, but when?
"Show me what's under the ribbon."
Sansa jumped as Ser Clegane wheeled around, his mussed up hair covering his eyes, canine teeth a wet, twisted smile. He was suddenly inches from her face. "I told you, it's-"
"Show me or I'll rip it off you," he wheezed, and she smelt a faint whiff of old wine on his breath.
Her heart racing, she clasped her throat as the Hound reached out a scarred, gnarled hand toward her face. Unlike Joffrey's clean, white fingers, the Hound's looked course and cracked and they were caked in dirt. "Don't touch me!" she asserted, her voice high.
He laughed, even sounding like a dog. "Was the king doing a bit of sucking there, Lady Stark?"
"No!" Sansa shouted, going as red as her hair, she could feel it- she was mortified, she wanted to run.
"Too bad," the Hound grinned savagely, "I was about to say perhaps he's more normal than I thought. I won't touch you. I like my head." He narrowed his eyes and turned back around, marching toward the dining room entrance. "And don't accuse me of treason again, little bird. I serve his majesty with all my rotted heart. I'm only looking out for his young lady." As she walked past him to enter, he gave her a crooked wink. "Who knows? You might need me one day."
Sansa made a noise of exasperation, and with a roll of her blue eyes she entered the dining room and plastered on a smile for her future family. The Hound was nothing to her after all; he was only trying to scare her. She took a deep breath, smelling roasts, pies and puddings. Soon, her nose was free of Ser Clegane's pungent, raw scent. Myrcella and Tommen greeted her excitedly, and Cersei motioned for her to sit. But where is Joffrey? she thought worriedly. Somehow, his absence was more worrisome than his presence. Quickly, she curtsied and took a seat beside the queen.
"Good evening, little dove," Cersei greeted, looking gorgeous in green silk that brought out her ivy eyes. "My son wishes to give you his deepest apologies. He wasn't feeling well today and has opted to take supper in his room. He does hope you enjoy your food."
It took everything out of Sansa not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. Her artificial beaming smile was quickly replaced with a wide-eyed look of concern. "Oh, my poor Joffrey!" she found herself saying almost too easily, "has he fallen ill? Is it serious? Should I still meet him in the morning to ride?" Is it a plague? Will he die? she thought hopefully, trying not to grin.
"You sweet thing," tutted Cersei, snapping her fingers for wine. "It is not that sort of affliction. His grace was in a hot temper today, one that can only be remedied by time alone and a hot bath. He should be just right in the morning, though I shall send word to you if he is still out of sorts. Sometimes even kings have their moods." Cersei made a pained smile in a way that suggested to Sansa she wasn't exactly thinking about Joffrey. Sansa refrained from asking when Joffrey wasn't in a mood, though it took some effort.
Tommen popped several grapes in his mouth before saying, "I don't like when Joffy is in a bad mood. Bad things happen." Sansa looked up from her plate in curiosity. What was Tommen talking about? Did he know something?
"Do not speak with your mouth full!" Cersei snapped, her goblet of wine poised in midair. "Would you rather eat in the stable with the pigs?"
"No, Mother!" said Tommen, hanging his head blond head down, and swallowed.
"What did you say, Prince Tommen?" asked Sansa in a quiet, sweet voice.
"When my brother's in a bad mood, the bad things happen," said Tommen earnestly with a good-natured shrug of his shoulders. "But sometimes when he's happy, the bad things happen, too-"
"Oh, stop this nonsense. Don't speak about Joffrey in this way. He is your king now, and besides, he's had a difficult few weeks," Cersei said off-handedly, taking a delicate bite of lamb pie. But Sansa noticed the queen's gaze was growing as icy as Joffrey's could be, her green eyes flashing like a cat's.
Sansa's attention was no longer focused upon her plate of food at all. "Bad things?" she asked carefully, attempting to sound clueless so that the queen would not raise an eyebrow at her questions. Had Joffrey told his brother plans he had in store for her? Joffrey's cruel enough to Tommen, always poking fun at him and insulting his sword fighting. But I've never seen him do anything worse than taunt him.
Tommen nodded, apparently eager for an audience. "Yes, the bad things happen when Joffy gets you alone." Sansa felt her stomach give a jolt.
"Tommen," Princess Myrcella suddenly hissed, and very obviously kicked her brother under the table.
"This is quite enough!" Cersei announced loudly and cast a solemn look at Sansa. "Do not ask the prince anymore questions tonight. His lies are going to get him into trouble soon enough!"
"But Mother, I'm not-"
"Stop it!" Myrcella shouted. Sansa had never seen the princess so distraught; her cheeks were pale and she was shaking. Sansa replayed what had just happened in her mind, trying to make sense of it. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. But... Was there anything good about Joffrey, anything she could use as a means to look forward to seeing him? Beyond his looks and his deceiving way of kissing tenderly, Sansa could find nothing right about him. He had invaded her, and though Shae pressed the fact that Sansa was not ruined, she definitely felt like it. He was her first time, and he'd likely be her only because she had no doubt he'd kill her before she could escape, before she could find her true prince charming and fulfill her wishes.
. . .
To Sansa's regret, there was no message indicating that the horse ride would be canceled, and so she choked down several bites of porridge and a hunk of brown bread with cheese before plunging her face into the basin of hot water that Shae brought up for her. She thought about staying in the water forever, opening her mouth and letting the water fill her lungs. Arya would smack her for such a dramatic thought. At least she would have years ago, Sansa mused darkly. Now maybe Arya would see the hopelessness in the situation and let her kill herself instead of reprimanding her for being weak. Maybe, maybe not. When Sansa emerged from the water, beads of liquid dripping off her face, she was sniffling. Even the water droplets could not mask the tears.
"What's all this?" Shae asked with a frown, handing Sansa a soft cloth to dry herself. "Why the crying so early?"
"My sister," Sansa wept lightly, feeling even more like Arya would find her stupid for being so emotional on a day when she needed to take complete charge. "I haven't seen her in months- she could be dead for all I know, and she-"
"Stop this," Shae said, not unkindly, but not in the gentlest tone she could take. Sansa looked up, baffled. "I don't know the king personally but I wager he doesn't want you crying today. You must be in control. A queen. His queen. There is nothing you can do for your sister. Not today, at least. Understood?"
Sansa snorted through her tears. "You shouldn't talk to me in such a way- you're my servant, you're-"
"I can be silent, then," Shae interrupted in a curt tone. "Come, we'll do your hair. And you should wear the green gown King Joffrey bought you after his Name Day. It says, I am Beautiful, I am strong, I am Taller than You! "
"Shall I really say that? He'd love that," Sansa giggled, wiping her face. It was funny enough that she forgot to tell Shae she wasn't being silent in the least. Sansa wondered if the handmaiden even knew the definition of silence. "He can't stand that I'm taller than him, he absolutely hates it."
"Of course he hates it," Shae laughed, "his neck likely hurts from looking up at you."
"At least he's taller than the little lord. I can't even imagine," Sansa said, another chortle escaping her lips as Shae paused in tugging her curls. "Can you?" Sansa asked, when Shae said nothing for a moment.
Shae shrugged. "He seems an interesting fellow, that one."
"I was afraid of him at first," Sansa went on. "His looks are rather shocking. But I suppose he is nicer than many here."
"I wouldn't know," Shae said, pulling Sansa's hair back. She stood up and crossed to the dressing area. "I haven't ever met him." Sansa couldn't help but notice that Shae was no longer meeting her eyes, but she decided it meant nothing. Sansa had more important things to think about. They spent the next half hour perfecting her hair and bodice, making sure that she looked her best for her king.
. . .
Sansa had to admit to herself that she looked very beautiful and even a bit grown-up. The gown Joffrey had gifted her with was of a form-fitting deep green variety, and it did not leave much to the imagination when the bodice was pulled tight. It reminded Sansa of something Queen Cersei might wear. Today, Shae had set Sansa's locks in loose curls that fell just over her cleavage line and she wore the new riding boots that the late Robert Baratheon had given her when she had first arrived in King's Landing. At that time, Sansa had expected she'd be riding with Joffrey weekly, but they'd gathered dust in the lonely months since. She'd had them shined this morning and was glad they still fit. The sun was shining and even the Hound's gruff attitude did not ruin Sansa's positivity that today would go smoothly. When she was dropped off at the stables, King Joffrey was already there. He turned around, and she saw happiness on his face. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he would be in high spirits. Her prayers had worked.
"My lady," Joffrey greeted, with a formal bow, "I'm very pleased to see you. Have you had a good morning so far?" He was riding a deep blue velvet riding coat and brandishing a crop in his outstretched hand. Glistening black boots were on his feet, adding several inches to his height.
"Yes!" Sansa said, almost forcefully as she curtsied. Blushing, she noticed Joffrey's eyes immediately fixing themselves to the plunging neckline of the gown. "It's lovely outside-"
"I didn't invite you out to talk about the weather," Joffrey said bluntly, but he was still smiling. "I like this on you. It's not red, but I like it-"
"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot- I wore it because you bought it for me!" Sansa immediately put in, mentally cursing Shae for suggesting the green frock, if I catch it for the dress, it's all her fault, if she gets me in trouble I'll-
Joffrey snorted, striding forward. "I said I liked it. Don't be stupid, Sansa. If I bought it for you, it means I wish to see it on you. You do like it, don't you?" he asked, and stopped just in front of Sansa, grasping the material of her sleeve between his fingers. Sansa's heart pounded in her chest and she was relieved when he pulled his hand back. "I had it made specially for you. Mother helped with the design. She has good taste, doesn't she?"
Ah, so that is why it reminds me of the Queen. Exposed neckline and all, thought Sansa, remembering her mother's negative opinion of Cersei's outfits and in contrast how gorgeous Sansa had thought Cersei was. It was once Sansa's aspiration to be just like the queen. She nodded several times. "I love it," she said.
He beamed and put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer to him. Please, no, no, she thought, but all he did was plant a soft kiss on her lips. Despite herself, Sansa's legs still went a bit weak with the kiss. When he wasn't biting her and shoving his tongue in her mouth, the king was actually a decent kisser. This made Sansa feel even worse; she wished everything was despicable about Joffrey. It made her sick that she actually liked his kisses. "Well, we should get on to it," the king went on, pulling off her and gesturing to a large black stallion that was pawing the grass and whinnying just outside the stable door. "We're going to ride Death's Door." Joffrey gave a little laugh and smiled excitedly. "I named him."
Clearly. "''We', your grace?" Sansa asked tentatively as Joffrey clomped up to the horse and gave it an unneccessarily heavy-handed slap on its side. Death's Door whinnied loudly and reared up, and Joffrey laughed again, a cold, high sound. Despite the warm morning, Sansa shivered, thinking of how Joffrey had laughed while he'd taken her maidenhead, and the sound of his private parts slapping inside of her.
"Yes, I'd like you to ride with me," Joffrey said importantly. "Why shouldn't we share a horse? I can show you how fast I can ride. Likely you wouldn't be able to keep up!" He put his boot in the stirrups, and swung up onto Death's Door. "Hound, help my lady onto my horse!"
"As you wish," the Hound grunted, but Sansa shook her head.
"I can do it myself," she said, and at Joffrey's darkening glance, she added, "I can at least get halfway up, but your grace may need to help me so I don't fall."
Joffrey nodded, looking important. "Very well. You are dismissed, Hound. We don't need you." As Sansa slipped her boot through the stirrups, she raised up her hand and Joffrey caught it in his own, gripping her strongly. He hoisted her onto Death's Door and she settled behind him, trying to arrange her dress in a ladylike manner. "Put your hands on my waist!" Joffrey snapped, and Sansa instantly complied, gingerly doing as he wished. "Here we go!" Joffrey shouted and, without a second's thought, he brought the riding crop down with an enormous snap! Death's Door panicked, rearing up slightly and then pounding the ground, taking off into a gallop.
Sansa shrieked and had no choice but to cling to Joffrey with all her might. He laughed maniacally as they went, the gardens zooming by in an emerald green golden blur. "Please, please, please, your grace! Please slow down! It's too much!" she cried out, closing her eyes. She felt naseous and the last thing she wanted to do was to get sick in front of King Joffrey. She figured he wouldn't like that.
But Joffrey responded by digging the spurs of his boots into the horse's sides and though Sansa didn't think it was possible, they went even faster. She buried into Joffrey's velvet coat, her head spinning. Her fingers were sore from clutching the king's waist and she finally wrapped her arms completely around him, so sure they were going to fall. At long last, Joffrey shouted: "Woa! Woa!" and Death's Door came to an abrupt halt. "That was fun," commented Joffrey lightly as Sansa whimpered into the soft material of his coat.
Her eyes fluttered open. They were in unfamiliar territory to Sansa, on the outskirts of the kingdom's vast gardens. The trees and shrubbery were thicker here, and shadows hung over them. "Where are we?" she whispered, and then, as an afterthought, "your grace?"
"I told you I'd show you around today," said Joffrey in what sounded like an irritable tone. He gave a chuckle spiked with maliciousness. "Were you really that scared?"
"You were going so fast, your grace," she responded, head still spinning slightly. There was something off-putting about their location; Sansa disliked how secretive it felt, how closed in. It was like a maze in a fairytale.
Joffrey's voice dropped into a low sound and he placed his own hands over Sansa's, gently interlocking his fingers in hers. "Or did you want to be closer to me?"
How does he expect me to answer? Say 'no' and I'll be in trouble for saying I didn't want to be close to him. Say 'yes' and he has grounds to accuse me of being improper. I'm anything but improper! Sansa bit her lip, cheeks flushing as she was struck with the memory: I'm no longer a maiden, I let him take me. I'm not as proper as I once was, I've gone against my parents' wishes and I'm not a lady at all.
"Answer me," Joffrey snarled, and he gripped her hands hard.
"Yes, your grace. I wanted to be close to you, but I was also scared. Thank you for stopping the horse," she mumbled, her hands pulsing in pain until Joffrey loosened his grip.
Joffrey did not respond but instead let out a long sigh and shifted his weight on the saddle. "Have you thought about me? About what we did?" he asked, and he sounded sweet. Like the boy Sansa had first met in Winterfell. She tried with all her might not to let her mind wander. She had to keep focused.
"Yes, your grace-"
"Joffrey," he said. "Call me 'Joffrey', unless I say so. So, you've thought about me, then?"
"Yes," Sansa said, shutting her eyes once more and trying to lose herself in the swirls of color she could see in the darkness. "Yes, Joffrey, I've thought about you." Her voice was low, a whimper. She was afraid he'd be angry at her nervous tone, but he did not seem to notice or care. His grip on her hands grew strong again and he pulled her right hand in his own and slid it down the front of his trousers. Sansa shuddered and shut her eyes tighter, her thoughts racing. Do as he wants, you must do as the king wants, the king does as he pleases, please him, that's what Shae said, Shae said men only want one thing, only I don't want to give it but I have, I already have, think about something else- names of flowers, roses, hyacinth, poppy, orchid, Septa Mordane said the orchid was her favorite, her head high on the castle wall, Father's head, Father, don't think of father-
"Faster," Joffrey commanded, and Sansa broke out of her hurried thoughts to the realization her hand was positioned over the king's groin and she'd been stroking him. For how long, she was not sure. Despite her horror, she was pleased with herself. She'd done as Shae had advised, if only for a bit of time. She'd left reality.
Sansa felt her heartbeat begin to race again and all of the spit in her mouth dry up. She was going to be punished for this but there was no way out but to please King Joffrey. Before he could reprimand her, Sansa did as he had instructed and pulled her fingers up and down the material of his trousers. She could feel his hardness there and she was all too aware now of what it meant. Wordlessly she stroked, working up a fast motion. Her hand began shaking.
Joffrey sighed again, and his breathing quickened. She could feel his chest rising and dropping, and he let out a soft moan. Unsure of what to do, Sansa kept going faster until he wrenched her hand off his trousers. "That's too much!" he whined. "Listen to me when I tell you what to do!"
"I'm sorry, your... I'm sorry, Joffrey," Sansa gasped, tears forming in her eyes.
"Are you okay, my lady?" he asked suddenly, his tone sugary again. He swiveled his head to look at Sansa, a look of concern on his face. His cheeks were slightly pink.
"I'm fine," she whispered, afraid to make another mistake.
"Let us walk about for a moment," Joffrey said, and swung off the horse, sticking the riding crop inside his coat and holding out a hand. He helped Sansa off the horse in such a gentlemanly way that she tried with all her might to forget he'd just made her touch him. "Take my arm," he said politely, and Sansa complied but took care not to squeeze too hard.
He's the boy you loved, the boy you wanted, he's good and pure and you love him and you'll marry him one day.
Joffrey gestured to their left. "There's something I want to show you."
Sansa followed his grand gesture off the green path but saw nothing but a mound of dirt. It was a large mound of dirt, but a mound of dirt nonetheless. It stood about one and a half meters off the ground admist several large shrubs. Joffrey wasted no time in leading her closer to the pile, and Sansa was displeased when she saw a mass of flies buzzing dully around it. "What is it, your grace? I mean, Joffrey."
"It's been here quite some time," Joffrey went on in a cheerful tone, thankfully not angering at her misstep in calling him by his formal title. "It's where they've instructed the servants to bury my kills. My parents, I mean."
"Your kills?" Sansa asked, furrowing her brow.
"Yes, my pets. My siblings' pets. Animals I find and want to play with when I'm bored," Joffrey explained, still in that gleefully upbeat tone.
Sansa stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. "Your.. pets?"
"Well, yes, what else am I supposed to do when they displease me? Sometimes they bite me. Or I get tired of them. Others can be hunted and skinned but some are just fun to play with," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. To Sansa's great disgust, the boy-king kicked at the soil and laughed as a group of flies took off into the sunny sky. "I call it Kill Hill!" he announced proudly.
"Oh-oh, my Gods, why-"
"You look upset," Joffrey said, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I think it's funny. Why don't you?"
"Because-" Sansa stopped herself, but she knew she'd already done it. How could I possibly think this is funny? How does he expect me to react? "I'm a lady, Joffrey," she said quickly, trying to evade his wrath and hoping he'd take her away from this horrid place as soon as possible. "I don't like death."
"I know," he smiled. "But if you're going to be my queen, there are some things you should get used to." And with that, King Joffrey gave Sansa a slight shove (if this were anyone else at any other time, she might even call it a playful shove) and Sansa tumbled right on top of Kill Hill.
To Be Continued.
