Chapter 26- I am Not the Rabbit

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SANSA
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She woke up with a smile on her face as sunlight flooded into her window. It came seeping into the transparent white canopy and it made her remember how beautiful she'd thought King's Landing was way, way back in the beginning. Before everything went wrong. You mustn't think about that, she reprimanded herself, pulling her untidy hair back and combing it through her fingers. Old Sansa would, and you can't be simply Sansa anymore. Queen Sansa cares not for what happened back before anything mattered. When Queen Sansa sits beside her handsome and good King Joffrey, she won't think about anything except her future with him. If Queen Sansa acts very good, he might even allow her to see her family. And perhaps she can persuade Robb to quit acting so foolish. Then maybe she can lay eyes upon him again, even persuade him to stop fighting, and Rickon, and Bran—they aren't traitors. Arya, too. She's a brat, but no traitor. Joff might realise that. He might.

Maybe it will all be fine. This could be the very best time of Sansa's life. She must think to the future.

I must think to the future.

Between her legs, she still ached, and when she used her chamber pot, she could feel it—the tender twinge mixed with wetness. It did not burn. It smoldered and throbbed, making her red, making her sigh aloud. Something had been utterly different last evening. When Joff had used his fingers, it made her want more of him. It was different than when she stuck her fingers inside her core, or even when he did it. When fingers danced on that place at the hood of her privates, Sansa felt good. The best part was, the guilt was fading. She actually continued smiling as she combed her hair, and hummed to herself.

It was all becoming a reality. They'd have a gorgeous, huge wedding and they'd dance until they were dizzy. There would be amazing desserts (even lemon cakes, perhaps!), lively music, and she would wear a breathtaking dress. And Joffrey, as much of a monster as he'd been in the past, would look simply dashing as her lord husband. For all his antics, he knew the customs of court, and Sansa had absolutely no doubt Joff would look his best and make certain everything was perfect. If anyone else in the world had Sansa's eye for splendor, it was King Joffrey. She imagined him in red and black velvet, a golden collar on his throat, twirling her in his arms, his breath in her ear. She squirmed pleasantly. Almost as if she was meeting him for the first time in Winterfell (don't think of Lady, don't think of the butcher's boy), Sansa's heart was all aflutter.

It was like she had told the Hound before he had disappeared: If she did not have to love, Joffrey, then she would not. But, because she had to love Joffrey, she would love him, with all of her soul. After all, what did she have? Whenever she had thoughts that were against him, whenever she imagined other realities in his presence, he could smell it like a fox sniffs out a rabbit. And Sansa did not want to be a rabbit. Not anymore.

When Shae thrust open the door, holding a tray of scones and tea, Sansa greeted her with an enthusiastic smile. Her excitement was not returned. Shae, in contrast, looked a bit harried.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Shae plopped the tray down upon the vanity in front of Sansa. "My lady," she burst out, and then lowered her voice, "I am so very sorry—"

At once, Sansa turned to face her handmaiden, her mouth turning down. "What do you mean, you're sorry, Shae? Why would you be sorry? Joffrey has won! King's Landing still belongs to him!" She cleared her throat and turned back to the mirror, to the tray of scones. For the first time in weeks, she was absolutely famished. When she took a bite of the moist bread filled with sweet berries, she felt her senses near the verge of overload. She wondered if Joff was eating the same break fast, if he was getting the same sensation. She wondered when she'd see him again. She wanted to feel what she'd felt last night.

But then again, perhaps it would not be proper, now? They'd gone as far as they had with no one but the Hound and Shae knowing they'd been intimate. Maybe now that their destiny was certain, they could wait a bit. They could recapture their innocence, and when they had each other on their wedding night, it would be new. And perfect. Taking another bite of scone, Sansa grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She thought of Joffrey's looks at her last night. She knew he looked at her with want in his eyes. She was his. His beautiful queen.

(Don't think about Arya or Father or his threats or his hand inside you when you were a maid, making you shriek and pretend. Don't, don't you ever think about those things again.)

Behind her reflection, Shae's was solemn. Her black eyebrows jutted upward.

Suddenly, Sansa remembered. "Gods, Shae!" she said, and whipped around. "Lord Tyrion! Is he—"

"He lives," said Shae, but she did not look altogether happy. "He is badly deformed. His face was torn to bits as if he was ravaged by wild dogs—"

"Oh, Shae," warbled Sansa, trying to deliver empathy. However, she was too caught up in trying her best to make do with King Joffrey. At least Lord Tyrion was alive. He was already badly deformed. Would this really make that much of a difference? Shouldn't Shae be happy? "I'm sorry to hear of his wounds! He must have fought bravely—"

"He did," Shae said, her voice choking up. "At the moment, he is in very poor condition but he is awake. They've stripped him of his titles. He is no longer the Hand. Lord Tywin has stepped up to that task—"

"Lord Tywin?" Sansa questioned shakily. She'd heard the name, surely, but not in some time.

"Tywin Lannister. My lord's father—"

Another Lannister, thought Sansa, a swirl of panic in her stomach. She chocked it up to hunger. "Joff's grandfather," she said, turning back to the breakfast tray. "I'll have to make a good impression for him. I hope he likes me."

"I don't think Lord Tywin likes anyone," Shae said.

"Well, I want him to like me," Sansa said, putting on that smile again.

"My lady…What we discussed yesterday… You seemed… Balanced. Today, you do not seem yourself."

Sansa's light brows drew up to rival her handmaiden's. "Balanced? And what does that mean, Shae? Joffrey had won. Don't you see? I'm going to be queen. I'm going to be Joffrey's queen." Her voice became an excited whisper. After all, she had to make Shae understand. "He came to see me last night, you know. To tell me of his victory. Imagine. The battle had just gotten over with and I was the first he thought of. My beautiful queen, he called me. We—well, we were so happy, Shae. You wouldn't believe it."

"No," said the handmaiden loftily. "I wouldn't."

"Well. What is that supposed to mean?" Sansa challenged lightly before taking a sip of tea. "Are you doubting our king?"

Shae's voice dropped to a whisper and she dropped beside Sansa. At once, Sansa hated that she was trying to appeal to her, trying to make her see sense, and she turned red even before Shae began to speak. "Tyrion—" (She whispered the little lord's name as if it were an affliction, which Sansa supposed she would do if she was cursed to love a man as disgraceful as the Imp)—"he was blindsided during the battle. He thinks he was plotted against. He thinks they meant to do away with him. But before that idiot Moore tried to put a sword to his neck, he was there with the king in the barracks. Listen to me, Sansa and listen to me hard. King Joffrey did not win the battle." Shae's whisper was hot and violent in Sansa's eardrum. "He stood like a foolish little boy and whimpered the entire time. He cried, Sansa, while men were dying in the dirt and muck. At the first excuse he got to leave, he ran off, and his men suffered. King Joffrey did nothing. My little lord tells me. Your king ran for his mother while others died—"

"Oh, Shae, I can't care," Sansa snapped, sounding like the girl she'd been when she'd first met Shae, when Shae had helped her dress her wounds after getting beaten by Meryn and Boros. 'By Joffrey's orders, nitwit!' called Arya's voice into her mind.

Sansa sat up straighter. Arya had not cared to speak to her in weeks. Shut up, Arya. You don't do me any good. I'll be queen now and I mustn't think silly thoughts like that! Meryn and Boros beat me, and that's that. Imagine, and I was thinking of bringing you back here for a visit. You're always just too rude!

"Lady Sansa?" Shae questioned dubiously. "I beg your pardon. I was not intending to be rude, I simply-"

"Rude?" Sansa asked, confused. I never called Shae rude. I called Arya rude, and not aloud, either. "I said nothing about you being rude!"

Shae's eyebrows rose further up her tan forehead. "You said so just now. You said I was always so rude. Again, I'm sorry to offend you, my lady, but I—"

"No," Sansa argued, shaking her head. "I didn't say that." Instead of thinking anything more about it, she took another bite of scone. "These are delicious today, Shae."

Shae pressed her warm hand to Sansa's head. "My lady, are you quite alright? You seem changed. You know, you can still talk to me openly, even when you marry the king. You know, I told the other girls I must come back to you. I know what is happening and I'm the only one you can speak to truthfully."

"The truth is, I love Joffrey," Sansa said at once. "And I believe that's all there is to say on the subject. After all, you only have Lord Tyrion's word about the battle. Do you believe him?"

Shae's dark eyebrows furrowed further. "Of course I do." She lowered her voice again. "Do you believe King Joffrey?"

"Is that treasonous speech?" Sansa asked sharply, and turned around to face her handmaiden with an indignant look in her eye. It was almost as if she could not plan which words were flowing out from her throat. All she could do was remember her Joffrey, at long last adroitly flicking her privates and then driving himself into her, his kisses passionate and deep.

"No," Shae whispered, and she looked serious. "It is a very real question for you, sweet Sansa. You were on the verge of going along with the king. I do not blame you. I helped you. You had to. Then, yesterday, you came back when you thought Stannis would conquer. Now, what? You blindly follow King Joffrey again? What are you doing to yourself? You can marry him and keep yourself."

As much as Sansa wanted to hear Shae's tone as loving and not judgmental, her eyes flashed. "What am I doing?" she sputtered out. "I'm being Joffrey's queen!" she spat. "And besides, what you hear from Tyrion does not count unless you were actually there!" She did not mention Joff's unsoiled armor, nor did she speak of his clean sword. She did not mention his slim shoulders that shook when she held him close. "Joffrey won. He won. And I can't believe anything else, don't you see?"

When Shae brought a hand to Sansa's hair, Sansa wrenched away. But still, Shae's voice was calm as she spoke. "You may be doing the best for yourself that you can. I will be silent about it, for that is my place. Though I hope, with all my heart, that the king will treat you better when you sit beside him at court as his queen."

"Shae, please believe me," Sansa said, turning back to the tray of food, her heart feeling lighter. "Please. Gods be good, Joffrey has been showing his trueness of late. I will not give so many details but it's begun…" She struggled, reddened and smiled with the thoughts she was struggling with. Shae will not judge. She has said she was a whore. She has experience. Shae cannot judge. "It has begun to feel good. To feel right." Her eyes flicked up, searching in Shae's reflection to see a sign of understanding. Please don't make me explain. Please accept my future, as I must.

"You must do what you can. But please, Lady Sansa, keep your head," Shae said, placing her hands on Sansa's shoulders gently.

"I have my head," Sansa said firmly. "My father lost his because he questioned the king. Don't you see? Before, I blamed Joffrey. I can't think like that anymore. It has not helped me. Being good to Joffrey has helped me. You see that, don't you?"

"Yes," Shae said, and she bowed her head, her voice so quiet Sansa could barely hear her. "Yes, I see it very clearly."

Shae said hardly anything at all as she prepared Sansa's bath and got her ready for the day. She did not even question the bite marks on Sansa's neck and shoulders, though Sansa saw her eyes fall upon them. The silence was actually welcome. Silence meant Sansa need not justify anything. Silence was easy.

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JOFFREY
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"Ah! All together at last," said Uncle Imp in a derisive sort of voice, and he raised his golden cup of Dornish wine as high as he could manage.

No one else followed his move to make a toast. Mother stared at her silver bowl of cream and chicken soup, Grandfather Tywin worked at cutting off a piece of roast duck, and Tommen played with his peas. Only Joffrey made eye contact, sneering at his uncle's hideous injuries from the battle.

Apparently, something had gone on after Joffrey's departure that had resulted in Tyrion's face being horrible scarred. And I thought he could not get anymore ugly. I was wrong. Look how chopped up he is! It's like someone took a great knife and sliced him up like a little sheep for slaughter. I can't bear to look at him. He's vile. Absolutely vile. Though, he gives me something else to think about besides Sansa. I feel very odd about the decisions made this morn.

King Joffrey and his queen… Margaery? It does not roll off my tongue so nicely.

Joffrey grasped his own cup, draining the sweet red wine in seconds. He snapped his fingers and the blonde handmaiden hurried over to refill it.

"Yes, yes, you have the right idea, your Grace!" Uncle Tyrion said with a smile and a nod. "Come. Father, sister. Let us drink to the victory of my illustrious nephew, his Grace, the brilliant and skilled King Joffrey." Instead of waiting, he drank deeply from his cup and set it down with a thud. Joffrey did not appreciate the tone of voice he used. He was about to say so, when Grandfather spoke.

Tywin winced. "Must you talk so much? I have only been in your presence for mere hours and I grow weary of your voice—"

"Father, you simply can't imagine how it has been without you. Thank the Gods for your return," Mother said. "Every day, I prayed you—"

"Yes, yes, all back to normal now, isn't it?" Tyrion cut in with a little laugh. "Father, you have your pet Cersei, and now you can become acquainted with your king, and all is right with the world. On that note! You have not said much about our king. Didn't you think his performance during the battle was simply invigorating? This one definitely takes after his father. You should be proud of that, Cersei." Tyrion clicked his tongue and there was a short, albeit thick silence. "He has all of Robert's bravado on the battlefield. I know, because I saw it myself."

"I did not see his Grace when I arrived into battle," Tywin said, and for a second Joffrey was almost worried. Tyrion was worth nothing to him, and Tyrion's word was worth even less. But Grandfather was still someone Joffrey very much wished to appease, despite his rudeness earlier today. "I was much too occupied winning the battle to worry about where King Joffrey was; perhaps you should learn something from that?"

Joffrey and Cersei mirrored each other with long, thin grins of satisfaction.

"Father, I planned that battle for months," Tyrion said, and he was suddenly gritting his teeth. "If I had not taken the chance with Wildfire, there would be no kingdom, and the men fought bravely, and—"

"So what is the issue, my son? Let us all toast to the victory that was had last eve, and leave it at that," Tywin said with a tight-lipped smile and he raised his goblet high. Joffrey, Cersei, and Tommen followed his lead. Tyrion merely snickered joyously into his goblet. "Drunk already?" questioned Tywin in a chilly voice. Tyrion gave a small shrug and drank again from his cup.

Joffrey smirked, twisting a curl of his hair around his ringed finger as he settled his half-empty cup to the table. "He's always drunk, Grandfather. I'd like to send him off. I can scarcely look at him. He was ugly before but look at his face now!" He gave a high giggle. Tywin smiled tightly again.

"Forgive me, your Grace!" Tyrion said solemnly. "Some of us do not fight as primly as you. I suppose though, if I had a face like yours, I would have done the same. Alas, I am hideous." He ruffled Tommen's hair, and Tommen giggled in a nervous way. "Though I was hideous before, so I care not! My father is right! I do not need to task myself with battles or meetings now! Bring the wine in buckets!"

Joffrey glowered and drunk from his cup.

Tywin looked sharply at the handmaiden. "Do not." He turned to look sharply at Tyrion. Joffrey was interested in this relationship; it was splendid to watch the Imp get bested at every turn. "You may not be the Hand of the king, but you are the Master of Coin now. You will need to have your head on straight and your merriment shall be done in private where I do not have to see you make a damned fool of yourself."

"My merriment," chirped Tyrion, swirling the wine in his cup. "My merriment indeed."

Three cups of wine later, and Joffrey could think of nothing but Sansa. Prior to supper, he'd wondered whether or not he liked the idea of giving her up despite Margaery's poise and beauty. He still cared deeply for Sansa, which troubled him greatly. He wasn't supposed to love her. He was not supposed to love anyone and so he'd vowed he'd punish her for her idiotic behavior in the Red Keep and leave it there. But now, as his family chattered and bickered around the long table, Joffrey was musing about his marital situation. Just as wine had helped him before the battle, it was assisting him now.

"Uncle!" he called out suddenly, and Tywin and Tyrion stopped their debate to look at him. "Did you hear? I've a new betrothed. I decided to toss Sansa away, isn't that funny?" He was smiling widely and his face felt warm.

Tyrion squinted and looked to Tywin, and then Cersei. "What is he speaking about? Throw her away?"

"But I like Sansa," Tommen pouted. "Please don't throw her away, Joffy!"

"Stop calling him Joffy," hissed Cersei. "You are much too old for that now!"

Joffrey snorted. "I can do what I like with her, you'll see."

Tommen's eyes widened and he closed his mouth.

"Is this the truth? Who is he marrying?" Tyrion questioned, actually looking a bit interested in something Joffrey had to say, for once. When no one answered, he sighed and looked to Joffrey. "Your Grace, could you please share this merry news with your horrible dwarf of an uncle?"

Excited to be in the center of attention, Joffrey crossed his arms and laughed. "Wait until you cast your eyes upon her, Uncle. Lady Margaery Tyrell—"

"Renly Baratheon's widow?" asked Tyrion, dumbfounded.

"She was his widow and now she is my betrothed," Joffrey snapped impatiently, uncrossing his arms and instead drumming his hands on the table. "Anyway. She's a sight to see. Dark curls of hair and the sweetest of faces."

Tyrion looked to his father. "The Tyrells came to our aid last eve. And so is this their payment?"

"Indeed, it was," Joffrey answered, drinking more wine and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I would have given them anything, but Ser Loras asked for me to wed his dear sister and I agreed at once. She is a real lady, a picture of elegance!"

"Well," clucked Tyrion, throwing a glance at his father. "It is lucky she was pretty, then. Of course, Sansa is also very pretty."

"Tyrion," Tywin began, but Joffrey went on talking.

"She matches Sansa's beauty but in a different way. Sansa, of course, is very good to look at, and that is why I shall keep her," chattered Joffrey.

"When will Sansa be told of this new development?" Tyrion questioned.

Joffrey sniggered into his cup. "Oh, she'll see it for herself when Lady Margaery and I confess our affection to each other at the decree tomorrow. I hope she cries. Don't you think she'll cry, Mother? She so wanted to be my queen, you know—"

"I am sure she will cry, Joff," Mother replied. "Sansa may be a traitorous little girl, but she is very dutiful. And sensitive. My, how that girl is sensitive."

"Yes, sensitive is a good word for it," commented Tyrion in a light voice. "Traumatized is another."

"When Father announced our betrothal, Sansa was so happy, she could not stop blushing," Joffrey continued, eyes flashing, his smile widening. "Remember, Mother? She fancied me the first second she saw me, when I rode in on my horse she smiled like her lips would fall off. And when we walked to the Hall, she clutched onto me and she was shaking." He drew a breath. "And when I called her beautiful, she looked like she would wilt." He forced a laugh and took another drink. "I hate her," he declared. "I hate her so! I'm glad to be rid of her! Margaery is so splendid!"

"Joffrey," said Mother, touching his arm. "Should you perhaps retire?"

"Not me," Joffrey said at once. "I'm enjoying this day! I'm only thinking about how glad I am to be rid of Sansa."

"And what will happen to the poor girl next?" Tyrion asked, a bit loudly. "What new horrors should she have to endure?"

Grandfather Tywin raised one silver eyebrow. "Suddenly you have deep worries for this Stark? Please, Tyrion. Who are you attempting to impress? The girl will stay with us, as the king has decided, and she will be useful to us in other ways. We can marry her suitably, and benefit all the same."

Marry Sansa off? I suppose I should have seen that coming. I don't want her out of the castle. If she marries anyone, it will be right here, and I'll see her whenever I wish!

"Yes!" Joffrey shouted, and he suddenly felt jittery, like he could not be still for another instant. "Yes, I can marry her off to anyone I please and enjoy the look on her face when she realizes she cannot be with me! This will be fun!" His voice came out in a panicked sort of yelp.

"I think it is I who needs to retire," Grandfather said gravely, "for I have not the energy that the king does this eve. I am happy to see he is fully rested."

Tyrion had his head in his hands and was slowly shaking it from side to side, but Joffrey took no care in what he was doing. His only focus was Sansa, and how excited he was to see her sadness when she learnt her true fate, how satisfying it would be to keep her in King's Landing for the sake of punishment.

And speaking of punishment, Joffrey thought, pretending to be gleeful, I must go to her tonight and find out if what my mother says is true. But first, I think, I should have another cup or two of wine.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sansa's playing the game in the only way she can and Joffrey is getting a bit, well, mad with desire- despite his resistance. Thanks for your support, reviews, etc.