SANSA
She was still on the ground, along with the other captives, the lords and ladies. And of course Cersei and Joffrey. Sansa was in pain, her leg still hurt, even after the brief attentions of their captor, the lady in black. She had put on a brace, held in place by the cloak taken from one of the kingsguard. She forgot which, as they, the ones who had died, had walked away. Joffrey had protested against this, claiming that he deserved her attention, as the king. Her reaction had been horrifying, Sansa had seen and heard it even through her pain. The lady had smiled, and said: "Do not interrupt ladies as they are enjoying each other's company."
She walked over to him, and lifted his bound hands. Sansa had almost smiled, she had never seen him so afraid. And then she dragged him over to her, "It would be most civilized if you would apologize."
He stammered that he was sorry, and then she did it. She took the little finger of his right hand, grasping it in her own gloved hand. And she squeezed, while saying: "Just as a reminder to never be impolite to me again."
He screamed, louder than she had ever heard anyone scream. It made her a little sick, but at the same time she felt that he deserved it. Moments later the lady let go, and Joffrey was still screaming, just like the queen. Tears ran over his face, and his finger, it no longer was one. Only shreds of flesh still hung from his hand where it had been, and the lady wiped some bloody mess from her hand.
Thinking back to it almost made her smile. Finally someone treated him as he deserved. But at the same time she was mortally afraid of these wights. Even if they had a wolf banner. It was not that of her family, and her family did not make the dead rise. Only sorcerers did that. Silently she was praying, like she thought many of the others would be doing. And she was wondering about who the lady was. She had marched on with most of her force after the brief fight, leaving only silent skeletal guardians behind for the bound group of captives.
Joffrey was still whimpering, lying in his mother's lap when one of the skeletons just fell to the ground, falling apart into bones, no more fire in its eyes. One by one others followed, until all of them were on the ground. But no one could move, tightly bound, and also bound together by the dead. Then smallfolk started appearing from the houses, coming towards the royal party. And again Sansa was afraid. She remembered the riots all too well.
They were wary as well, even as some of the knights were trying to gain weapons from the fallen dead. Finally Ser Osmund managed to grab hold of a rusty sword, and started cutting himself loose. She was almost praying for him to succeed, but also for him to fail. She feared both the king and the mob in equal measure.
But the mob disappeared back into the smoke, at the approach of more men. They were led by a knight, mounted on a great armoured steed, with a cat's head on his helmet and clad in steel plates. He advanced calmly, carrying a sword and a shield. He came closer and closer, followed by footmen. She looked at his shield, wondering who he was. It was blue, with a golden cat on it. Strangely, the cat had black dots over it. She did not know any such house. He wore a cloak of yellowish fur, also with black spots on it. He seemed wealthy, but Sansa couldn't remember any house with such colours.
Then she noticed the men who followed him. They were no men. They were skeletons, dressed in the remnants of armour and brandishing spears. She swallowed, the dead were coming back. But not in an endless tide this time. Maybe only a hundred. Ser Osmund was cutting loose the queen, but he froze when he saw the dead. The strange knight spoke, softly, monotonously. As if the voice came from a great distance: "COME OR DIE"
From the southern edge of the small square another force arrived, led by one she knew. The lady's standard bearer, but she herself was nowhere to be seen. The dead walked towards the bound men, and Ser Osmund turned and ran as fast as he could.
"MY LADY, YOU MUST NOT WALK", the knight spoke from his high horse, which she could now see to be skeletal, and he dismounted. He lay his shield on the ground and sheathed his sword while kneeling down next to her. He then lifted her up in his armoured arms, letting her lie over the horse.
"Thank you", she muttered despite the pain flaring up in her leg. Lying folded over the saddle was far from comfortable, but she admired the knightly behavior of the man. She wondered if he was the black lady's husband. He was silent, no command was given and still the dead cut the bindings on the legs of the others. They were surrounded by a few of the armoured skeletons, while the knight led the horse that she was on. She asked: "Excuse me, ser, but might I, aw, ask you your name?"
"ANTONIUS VON GREIF", he answered, after a short silence. She saw the others dragged to their feet by the skeletons, and they left, no faster than a leisurely walk, not the brisk pace of marching men.
