A/N: The end of the chapter may differ a bit from a scene in the show, but I figure we have all seen the show and so I'd like to give a new perspective. Nothing will change much, but I'm not a fan of writing show lines word for word, unless the dialogue is brief. It's exciting because there are some pivitol scenes coming up and it's been a fun puzzle to work this entire story together, wrapping it around show/some book canon, and seeing how all my ideas are playing out on the page. I want to thank Tobiume for lengthy discussions and feedback, and also all of you who review/follow this fic. I write for my own enjoyment but it adds to my motivation when others like what I'm putting out there.

Also, *dark laugh*, it's all about to get very miserable for some of these characters. One of my main goals is creating a believable dark romance while keeping Joffrey and Sansa completely in character (with some liberties, of course). There are hints (and MORE than hints) of the lengths of Joffrey's madness/cruelty in the books and obvious evidence of insanity/sadism both in the show and books. It irritates me when these things are removed for the sake of making a character "look better" for fanfic. Joffrey will hopefully be a bit more empathetic as the story goes on but this does not mean he's forgivable.
Anyway, I look forward to hearing what people think.

Chapter Fourteen: No Children

..

SANSA
..

"Lady Sansa!" burst out Shae in a hushed voice, rushing to the bed. Her eyes were wild with question, questions Sansa already knew she did not wish to answer.

Sansa's cheeks were tinged pink and her body pulsed with emotion: she was reeling over Joffrey's frivolous mentioning of her father's beheading but also ashamed, and confused and… Something else? She was unsure how to pinpoint just what it was. When Joffrey had asked Sansa to describe the scene of him rescuing her from her assailants, she'd realized just how important it was for him to be the hero of the tale rather than the Hound. It was almost sort of sweet. Well, she corrected herself, it would have been sweet months ago. Before Father. Before everything went so wrong. Though, as she'd questioningly watched him touch himself, Sansa had discovered how very easy it was to imagine Joffrey in the hero's role. After all, she'd spent much time in Winterfell idealizing Joffrey, fantasizing about her sweet blond prince with the emerald gaze and kind heart. Though Joffrey's request to hear about the blood was a bit off-putting, he'd also fashioned them a story where he'd promised her loyalty, romantically clutched to her and lifted her onto his horse for them to ride off together back to their castle. He'd even called her his queen. This kind of tale always put Sansa's heart aflutter, and just moments ago she'd been in bed beside her betrothed king, sharing fantasies together and touching each other in a manner Sansa did not dislike. And when he'd entered her, it had been different, entirely different. There was something in his touch that was more appealing. He had not been so harsh or hasty until the very end when he'd looked at her as if he was furious with her. Sansa had no idea why and she had no time to dissect the scene because Shae was staring at her in expectant concern.

"I had no idea, I mean—of course I did not know, but it was not my intention to walk into that," Shae said quickly in a whisper. "He knows you have servants! How did he think he could keep it from everyone?" She spoke in a very quiet voice that Sansa had to strain to hear: "He is as stupid as they all say, isn't he!"

"That is not it," Sansa found herself saying, "he's not stupid, he likely did not even think about anyone else being here!" Why am I defending him?

Luckily Shae did not seem to notice the slip. "I'd be so sorry if he comes down harder on you for it but he cannot really expect to keep this hidden from everyone forever. Did he hurt you, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa felt her eyes slightly glaze over as Shae was talking and very slowly shook her head in response to the question. "It was—" she stopped herself, and tried to think of how to answer. "No, he did not hurt me," she finally said. Her face felt on fire; she was certain Shae was going to see beneath her red cheeks, see how she'd actually enjoyed her time with Joffrey, all things considered. It could have been much worse. He was not kind but he was not cruel. His teeth and the way he gripped my hands—that hurt, it hurt very much, but it was a different sort of hurt than a riding crop or having me beaten. It was… It was a nice sort of hurt. Sansa bit her lip at this bizarre thought, trying to make sense of it. Joffrey had had repugnant moments while in her bed—the blood, his loud commands, his assertion that he was the only person who could make her hurt—but in contrast with the other times they'd spent together, Joffrey had actually shown a more favorable side of himself.

When he'd kissed her, Sansa was able to imagine everything was as it should be. This only lasted so long, but it was a welcome state of mind to live in, better than the reality of the situation that made her sick and ashamed. She'd been horrified at first at Joffrey's rough fumbling but it had improved drastically as they lay side by side. Sansa had been able to fashion a story in her head, that she'd been at the mercy of four very bad men and her heroic King Joffrey had ridden in on his horse, Valyrian steel sword swinging high in the air. The thing was, once they'd got to talking, it was not so difficult to imagine. When Joffrey kissed her with tenderness and slowly touched her tongue with his own instead of shoving it down her throat, he'd been like Sansa's ideal suitor. When he'd put himself inside her and stared into her eyes, she'd lost herself in his gaze, staring up at his handsome, boyish face. Sansa knew this was not real, yet it felt so good to wish it was.

"If you need me to stay away for a bit, I will," Shae was saying, "I just do not want you to be blamed. I do not want to leave your side, believe me—but I will do what is best for you. Especially after today! You have been through far too much in this place—"

"Shae, it is not your fault," Sansa said quickly, her body tensing up as she held the coverlet over herself. She was still pulsing and tingling slightly between her legs where Joffrey had been, and frantically trying to ignore it.

"I can help you," Shae said strongly, and she reached out to grip Sansa's shoulder but Sansa shrugged her off, disliking the contact. "Forgive me," Shae said, drawing back. "But—please, I offered before, when this all started happening, I can tell someone and he can help you. I know he can. He is close to the king, and while the king might not listen to him he could at least try—"

"No!" Sansa hissed, shaking her head. "No one can know! You heard Joffrey! He'd have you murdered—"

"He could try," Shae said quietly, and Sansa was irritated with her handmaiden's confidence. "Let me help you, Sansa. Let me do something."

"You can draw me a bath," Sansa said, "and stay with me until I fall asleep. That would help me, I think. Sometimes I just lie awake and I can't stop thinking of all the terrible things I cannot change. I try to pray but mostly I just try to piece together how it all went so wrong."

Shae gave a gusty sigh, her facial expression wholly empathetic. "You are only thirteen, but sometimes you seem to be much, much older."

Sansa looked at Shae and offered a slight smile. Years ago, she would have considered this a compliment, a quality to be cherished. "Thank you," she said in her best imitation of earnestness.

"I would not wish that on anyone, my lady. My childhood was robbed of me," Shae said quickly and she sat delicately on the edge of Sansa's bed. Sansa was mortified, she wanted to tell Shae she was not decent, wanted to exclaim that the king had just had her there, but she did not have the words. Shae went on, lightly fingering the bedspread between her pointer and thumb. "When I look at you, I see a beautiful and kind girl who sits trapped in a room all day. A prisoner."

Get this bird back to her cage, the Hound had said.

"It is not so bad," Sansa said, voice cracking slightly as she held the coverlet to her still, with trembling hands.

"No need to pretend with me," Shae said, and her warm, kind tone sounded alien to Sansa after a long day spent with Joffrey and Ser Clegane. "You are safe with me. That I can offer you, if nothing else. I will help you bathe and I will brush your hair, and if you would like, I'll talk and if you don't like, I'll listen. I would offer to sing you a song, but you might throw me out the window when you hear my voice."

Sansa's brows furrowed slightly, slowly working out that it was a joke. A true smile blossomed on her lips and she allowed herself to laugh, to really laugh. Shae laughed, too, a musical and comforting sound. Sansa continued to laugh, breaking away from Joffrey, away from the fake story of her rescue, away from his piercing stare and pinching fingers, away from the possibility of being thrown to a man who terrified her for the king's amusement, away. And suddenly, Sansa was laughing and crying all at once, and she leaned toward Shae and let the woman take her into her arms. As Shae wrapped Sansa in a hug, Sansa felt present for the first time that day. Shae cared about her enough that she would not hurt her. At this thought, Sansa wept with joy as Shae gingerly stroked her hair. This is real, she told herself. This. Is. Real.

. . .

The week flew by and Sansa played all of her parts accordingly. She remained indifferent toward Ser Clegane as he delivered her about the castle, despite his ugly scowls and silent treatment. Her suppers with the Lannisters were fairly uneventful, which Sansa was deeply grateful for. Joffrey wasn't overly thrilled with her, that much was obvious, but he was not hot-tempered either. His mind seemed to be occupied with other matters that Sansa did not wish to inquire about. Cersei asked Sansa dozens of questions about what she'd been busying herself with, and Sansa was ready with the kind of answers she figured the queen wanted to hear: Oh, I've been studying poetry. I wrote a sonnet. I attended court and watched his grace's rulings for the day. I admired the tapestries in the east wing—they are ever so grand! I walked about the godswood and prayed the war will be over soon. When Cersei asked why Sansa wanted the war to be over, Sansa already had an answer prepared: Because I wish to marry my beloved Joffrey as soon as possible. At this, the king had tilted his head to the side and smiled thinly, giving a very boyish look to his smooth face. Sansa had been the picture of ladylike and had bowed her head, smiling serenely, until she felt his eyes cease to dissect her movements. The queen had nodded her own golden head in approval.

Of course, the truth was that Sansa was praying as hard as she could that her brilliant brother Robb would triumph, that he'd slaughter all of King Joffrey's armies. Then, Sansa had ruminated, he'd appear in King's Landing, valiant and victorious as he always was in the North and he'd slay the few who remained between him and the Iron Throne. Was Joffrey really not the rightful heir of Robert Baratheon? It was something Sansa had given little thought to; she didn't care about the logistics. It had not even crossed her mind, as she could not imagine what this meant. It simply did not matter. She wanted Robb to defeat the Lannisters with all her heart, whether Joffrey was a Baratheon or not. Although Sansa could imagine Robb triumphing over Westeros and usurping King Joffrey, Sansa could not truly picture seeing the Lannisters slain in front of her. She remembered her words to Joffrey so many months ago, when she threatened that Robb would bring her his head—her only retort to Joffrey before he showed her exactly what he'd been waiting to use his new power for. But Sansa had thought about it again and again though in sincerity she did not want Joffrey's head. It might please her for one moment, the meaning behind it, but it would make her sick more than anything. She wanted no one's head. She only prayed for her family and freedom.

Lately, Sansa was attempting to find the things about King's Landing that did not make her wish to die. This had been another urging from Shae on the night she'd given Sansa much needed company in her chambers after Joffrey had departed. Sansa had begun to make a list for herself, a list of the good things, and the places and people that kept her strong.

Things and places were easiest. Sansa still enjoyed the release that drawing and sewing allowed her, and she did find distraction in her studies. Her favorite places were limited. She had come to detest most of the castle grounds because they reminded her so much of her father's demise and of Arya's disappearance. She supposed she enjoyed the gardens: the breeze and flickering sunlight could be somewhat comforting in comparison to her quarters and the dusty darkness of the throne room she couldn't help but associate with Joffrey's immense cruelty. But the godswood brought Sansa more comfort than any place in King's Landing. She could clear her head and take in the beautiful scenery while pouring herself into her prayers.

People were even more difficult to list. There was Shae, who topped the list, of course. Sometimes, Sansa would see Ser Dontos, Joffrey's fool, and she was also happy for that. Ser Dontos had been kind to her and had told her he owed her his own life. But Sansa thought that was silly. She had not stepped in to stop Dontos from dying for anything in return. It would have quite horrified her to see the man drown himself in wine. She could count Ser Dontos among the few people she truly liked. Varys, the soft-spoken and extravagantly dressed man on Joffrey's small council, made Sansa feel some unease though he was not unkind. Sometimes she felt he was watching her. She would feel eyes on her back and turn to look, finding herself in Varys' focus. He'd smile slightly and tilt his head respectfully before ducking away. Sansa also had Lord Baelish, her mother's old friend. Sansa quite liked him (if only because he gave her a tiny shred of hope she would see her mother again soon) but his astuteness was a bit unnerving.

If Sansa really stretched her definition of "good", she could include several other people who were related to her captors, though not responsible for Father. Lord Tyrion was polite to her, for a Lannister. Tommen also brought Sansa cheerfulness. He was a kind-hearted boy but timid around his mother and Joffrey, which made Sansa's heart twist in a knot. Cersei said despicable things to him, seemingly taking joy in remarking upon what she considered babyish behavior and weakness. She was constantly comparing him to Joffrey who would smirk intensely anytime the subject came up. Why, the other night, Cersei had even scoffed that it was fortunate Tommen was not king for it would be mortifying to have a ruler who had only recently stopped "wetting himself." Cersei and Joffrey had enjoyed a good laugh at that while Tommen sat silently staring at his plate. Sansa went out of her way to be kind to Tommen. After all, she could not imagine someone saying such things to Bran, who was around the same age.

"Are you really going to marry Joffy?" Tommen asked Sansa the following day. He'd located her in the garden where she was sketching the winding roses, as his nursemaid sat stitching across the walkway. She admired the crimson color but couldn't help wondering if when Joffrey looked at them he thought of blood.

Sansa set her artwork down, thankful for agreeable company. "Yes," she said and put on the placid smile she'd perfected for the queen regent, one reminiscent of Cersei's own expression. "I will marry King Joffrey as soon as the war is all done—"

"What will happen to you after?" Tommen wanted to know, and inspected Sansa's painting brush with curious eyes that lacked the severity of his brother and mother's gaze. "May I see?"

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked softly, flipping the pages of parchment for the curly-haired little prince to look at her drawings. He admired them loudly, making Sansa laugh happily. Tommen was a little boy but he was kind and friendly. Sansa did not care what the queen said about him. She'd rather her betrothal had been to Prince Tommen in a heartbeat though she expected it would be a much different sort of union indeed. Sansa had long wished for a handsome husband, but at least Tommen had the potential to grow into a good man, and that was far better than Joffrey. Despite her strange new relationship to Joffrey, Sansa was trying hard to hold onto the truth.

Tommen ran a finger carefully over the outline of Sansa's depiction of the throne room, all chalky blacks and jagged lines. "Is he going to hurt you?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Sansa blanched and gathered her drawing utensils back into her lap. "He wouldn't hurt me," she said stiffly, doing a quick visual sweep of the courtyard. She was never confident she was alone; someone's eyes were always on her. "He's very good to me and I love him with all my heart." He is like Ser Tomas. Or Prince Urik—he rode horseback straight up a tower to save his Lady Amelia. Yes, when Joffrey marries me, I pray he will change. He'll be more like our last night alone together, and less like a grotesque beast.

"I love my Joffy, too," said Tommen earnestly, "but he usually hates me!" He shrugged. "He only says he loves me when my septa is there. Or Mother. And even then sometimes he calls me names."

Smoothing her skirts, Sansa tried to decide how to approach this subject in the most diplomatic way possible. "Sometimes brothers fight. I know, because mine did all the time. And I don't only have one brother. I have four. And Theon—he is practically the same as a brother. He teases me enough to be one."

"Four brothers?" Tommen asked, an eager tone to his high, sweet voice. "My!"

"Yes, four. And Jon and Robb often argued but I always knew they did not hate each other. When you are older, you and Joffrey may get on quite well. You'll see," she smiled, trying to believe this, for Tommen's sake. At least when I am queen, Tommen will have me. I will not be able to do much for him, but I will be there.

"Maybe," said Tommen a bit wistfully. "It's all so different now that he's the King. He doesn't come to lessons with me anymore, and Myrcella and me got a new septa. Before Myrcella had to go away, that is. I do not see him as much though sometimes that's not so bad." He paused, looking up to Sansa as if he'd said something wrong. "But I still love him!" he put in quickly.

"Of course you do," Sansa said gently, thinking what a good boy Tommen was, and how much strife Joffrey must have put him through. At least the worst Robb and Jon ever did was squall and, very rarely, come to blows. They were two young men, matched in combat. Tommen was absolutely no match for his older brother.

"I am glad, though, that he does not wake me up anymore," Tommen went on, lowering his voice and still tracing along Sansa's drawing. Sansa flipped the parchment to show him an illustration of Death's Door, pawing at the ground, his black mane flowing in the wind. "Ooh, I like this one! You did well! You did very well, Lady Sansa!"

"Then it is yours, Prince Tommen," she said. "You can have it." The prince's plump face brightened as she handed over the drawing and he clutched it to his heart. Sansa turned to the next parchment, one of a great bouquet of roses with doves all around it. "Why did Joffrey wake you up?" she asked.

"To play games with him in the dark," Tommen responded offhandedly, still admiring the sketch of Joffrey's stallion. Sansa's gaze flicked to Tommen's septa, who was still sewing and paying them no mind at all.

Sansa was about to ask what kinds of games Tommen was referring to, when a noisy voice cut the quiet:

"Faster, Dog! I'm going to test this on the first enemy I see! Stannis won't stand a chance! Ha!"

"Joffy!" Tommen exclaimed, and Sansa was bemused by the actual joy in his voice.

Joffrey jumped into the walkway, Ser Clegane on his heels. The king was brandishing a handsome hunting knife with a gold hilt. He swung it carelessly to and fro in the air, and Tommen's septa nervously stashed away her sewing. "Oh, look, Dog! Good! Three enemies!" shouted Joffrey merrily, and swished the knife. His tone was merry and he wore a happy grin instead of a sneer, for once.

"Two ladies and a babe," grumbled Clegane with a wry smile. "Some enemies indeed, my king."

"I suppose you're right!" Joffrey said agreeably, and Sansa wondered what it was that had him in such a fantastic mood. Still, she couldn't expect it to last long so she'd certainly enjoy the moment while it lasted. "You'll all be lucky I'm around when Stannis invades! I'll save each of you!"

"Indeed you will, your grace," said the septa, still fretfully eyeing the blade.

Sansa stared, wondering exactly what Joffrey was on about. She'd heard the name Stannis Baratheon thrown about, knew it was Robert's brother they were speaking of, but she hadn't known he was thinking of invading. "Invading where?" she asked tentatively.

Joffrey's eyes looked wide with excitement, and he puffed out his chest. "Oh, you hadn't heard!" He practically skipped toward them and shoved Tommen aside to sit beside Sansa. She tried to ignore the fact that his scent set her legs to wobbling and instead tried to focus on his words. "Stannis sails in as we speak. He thinks he's going to overthrow my reign! He's jealous, you see! What he does not know is I will stick him, just as someone did my Uncle Renly!" Joffrey made a jabbing motion with the knife and laughed. "I'd knight the hero who did that deed!"

"Renly was a coward," barked the Hound, shaking his head. "You might as well knight a sheep."

Joffrey burst into slightly manic giggles, jabbing the knife in midair even still.

"But what's to happen?" Sansa pressed, her tension rising a bit. "What will Stannis do?"

"He'll try to throw me off the throne. He wants to be the king, but I'm the king! He wants to take over the castle but I won't let him!" Joffrey said, a hint of snappishness springing into his voice. "I'll cut him!" Joffrey said, and made like he was going to impale his blade into Tommen's brain.

"Oh, please be careful!" Sansa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. Stupid! Stupid!

Joffrey's eyes flashed. "What?" he snapped acidly, and his teeth looked sharp and bright in the sunlight. Monster.

"It's just—he's a little boy," Sansa said, attempting to sound relaxed. "You don't wish to hurt him." Suddenly, she got an odd feeling, almost a flash of what the future might be like with the king. She could imagine this scene playing out exactly the same in a few years, except with Sansa defending their children from Joffrey. It was such a profound vision that Sansa felt weak with the weight of it.

"No, but I will cut Stannis. Here." Joffrey very lightly touched the tip of his knife to Sansa's throat. "And here, too," he said in a low mutter, the very voice he used in the candlelight in her chambers, making a motion of sawing at her stomach. "Until all of his guts spill out."

Sansa set her jaw. She had some faith Joffrey wouldn't really kill her; she wasn't certain he was capable of it, but felt her heart race all the same Tommen looked straight ahead, not making any movement and the septa stared down at the ground, feigning interest in the cobblestones. Ser Clegane rolled his eyes and strode forward.

"I thought you were done with picking birds apart. Let this one fly away," he said gruffly. "You can test your new knife on far more satisfying targets than sparrows who can't even chirp." He raised his eyebrows at Sansa. She reddened at the obvious insult and pressed her legs together tighter but was relieved when Joffrey removed the blade from her skin.

"My Hound is correct. Mother gave me permission to take a short hunting trip. When I return I'll be ready to slit a hundred throats!" he announced, sounding upbeat again. He leapt off the little stone wall and in one move, he thrust his knife across the plants and knocked the heads off a assemblage of roses. "Like that!" he shouted. Sansa felt on the verge of tears, watching Joffrey destroy beauty in such a way.

Ser Clegane let out his signature wheezing guffaw. "I was told by the queen regent you would be hunting, not gardening."

"Gardening! Ha ha ha!" Joffrey erupted into loud laughter. "Good one, Dog." He threw Sansa a last look-over before bounding down the walkway, destroying all the roses he could manage.

. . .

Fast asleep, Sansa rolled back and forth under her coverlet with sweat surfacing upon her temple. She was in the midst of a terrible nightmare, one where she was back in the midst of the King's Landing riot. This time there was no one there to save her. Not Ser Clegane and not even King Joffrey. She ran from the men, their hands pawing at the skirts that trailed behind her, greedy and angry. She was screaming but no sound was coming out. Please, no, no, no, don't! Finally, the inevitable happened. She was overtaken and slapped, then thrown onto the hard ground and one of the men pulled out a knife. The knife changed in her mind's eye, looking much like Joffrey's new blade, and-

Sansa reared out of her covers, out of breath and gasping for air. She ran her hands through her damp hair, feeling terrified. The light that seeped through the windows of her room felt eerie and much too bright and her legs, her legs felt sticky. At once, she threw the covers off herself and let out a mortified cry.

"No!" she said aloud, for there was a dark blot of blood between her open legs. Her thighs were coated in the red mess and it was spreading; she could tell it had already sunk into the sheets and perhaps even the mattress. "No, no, no!" she whispered, out of bed in a flash. She was trying to cut out the bloody stain out of her bedding as fast as she could when Shae came into her room.

"What's this—" Shae's expression was clouded with confusion until she spied the blood, perking up a bit. "Oh! It's only—"

"No!" Sansa cut her off, her voice a curt hiss. "It means I can bear his children! If we... if we...are together again, I could become... and, I'll be dead, Shae! I'll be dead if I am with child before we are to be wed!"

Shae's face instantly became stoic and she rushed to Sansa's side, and together they worked at pulling the blankets off. Sansa felt even more panicked as it was confirmed that yes, the blood had seeped through into the mattress. They'll know! They'll know and I'll be wed to Joffrey straight away and it's going to come true, what I thought about Tommen. It's going to happen sooner than I ever thought and I can't do it! I can't!

"Focus!" Shae urged. "We must find a way to burn this! We'll get rid of it!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa caught a glimpse of another woman, a handmaiden she'd never seen before. She let out a strangled cry, pointing. Shae whipped around.

"I must tell the queen!" the fair-haired woman exclaimed, and turned to run but Shae took off after her. Sansa heard their footsteps clattering down the hall and hoped this might buy her time, that she could hide the evidence she was finally ready to be Joffrey's queen. She'd been hoping, somehow, that she'd get out of her betrothal—Robb was supposed to have won by now! And Stannis was to invade! Perhaps a few weeks more, that was all she needed! She wrenched the blankets off and set to work at the mattress, stabbing at the stain.

"It's no use, little bird. You can stop that now."

Eyes widening, Sansa slowly turned around to see Ser Clegane hovering over her. Her face burned and she couldn't help but burst into tears. "Please, please, please," she murmured in a sob, rocking herself back and forth and trying not to think about the fact that he'd likely seen the blood, seen the stains on her legs. Somehow that was worse than the fact she'd very obviously been planning to tell a huge lie to the Lannisters.

"There are some tasks a Dog takes no pleasure in. Try to know that, girl," Clegane said, and his voice was neither dry nor sullen. On the contrary, it was quiet and dismal and may have comforted Sansa if it weren't him. But it was him, it was Joffrey's firsthand guard, and so Sansa wept quietly into her hands until the Dog made her get up, his gnarled hand remarkably soft on her shoulder. It was time to tell Queen Cersei about the news.