A short chapter from Sansa's perspective in King's Landing.

SANSA IV

She tried to pray to the Old Gods, but she couldn't. She looked at the face of the weirwood several times to remind herself why she was here, but no matter what she did and how hard she focused, she couldn't set her mind on the prayer. Her conversation from yesterday with Joffrey came back to her repeatedly. She could hear his words as if he was saying them right in front of her.

Her prince had come to see her in the end of the afternoon, bringing her a necklace and asking her forgiveness for being rude to her lately. Things had indeed been tense between them ever since they arrived in King's Landing. Ever since the day Lady died. She still missed her friend, she missed giving bacon to her while she hid under the table during breakfast, and she missed walking her. Lady would have liked the capital. Sansa knew Joffrey wasn't responsible for what happened, but the accident made him distant with her. Arya hadn't helped either, blaming the prince for Lady's death, but he seemed to hold her responsible for what happened. She couldn't blame Joffrey for that either. She had gotten out of it without a single scratch while Nymeria almost tore his hand off his arm. The queen was right. Joffrey would bear scars on his arm for the rest of his life.

Her first weeks in the capital had almost been an ordeal, with Joffrey ignoring her. Without the tournament, there would have been no solace for her in the city. The final tilt opposing Ser Gregor Clegane the Mountain against Ser Loras Tyrell had been a true fairy tale, the Hound coming to the rescue of the Knight of Flowers after the Mountain tried to kill him for defeating him in the final. Although the Hound still scared her, Sansa had come to pity him after Lord Baelish told her the story about how his face was burned and after he saved Ser Loras.

Sansa hadn't been sure of what to expect from Ser Loras Tyrell when she heard he would come to the tournament. She knew she had been wrong to trust Lady Margaery Lannister in Winterfell, but could the same apply to her brother as well? It didn't. Ser Loras was a knight like those out of the fairy tales. When she first saw him ride against Ser Meryn Trant, she was struck by the resemblance between him and the Lady of Casterly Rock. They were kin for sure. He defeated three kingsguards in the first tilts, then he faced Robar Royce. Before every tilt, he gave a white rose to a fortunate fair maid in the assistance. When the time came to face Lord Royce's son, she had been the one to who he gave the white rose before riding, and he won. Sansa felt this rose was special. He chose her for the tilt before the final, from all the young women in the assistance. For the final tilt, he gave a red rose to Princess Myrcella. Sansa envied the princess, but she didn't resent her. Sansa had Joffrey, Myrcella had Ser Loras. They didn't need to fight over the same knight. Sansa had her own prince.

She felt butterflies in her stomach. Joffrey had called her my lady when he visited her. Not a common lady. She was his lady. One day we'll be married in the Throne Room. Lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come, from the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore in the south, and you will be queen over all of them. I'll never disrespect you again. I'll never be cruel to you again. You're my lady now, from this day until my last day.

She could still feel the kiss he planted on her lips. He loved her. He wasn't spoiled like Lady Margaery tried to have her believe. Everything she thought of Joffrey when they met was true, and that was the only truth that mattered. All her thoughts, her whole mind, everything in her was directed toward her betrothed, the future king to who she was destined.

Sansa opened her eyes and looked at the tree. "I'm sorry," she muttered. She couldn't pray today, not with all that was going on in her head. She stood up and walked through the godswood. The one they had in King's Landing was very beautiful, more beautiful than the one in Winterfell she would say. She came there often these last days, to pray for her lord father. Lord Eddard Stark had been gravely injured by some criminals who ambushed him in the streets of King's Landing. She didn't know what her father had been doing in the city with only three men, but they all died and her father had been severely injured. He spent many days asleep and had only awoken yesterday. They didn't allow her to see him before he woke up. She had prayed to all the gods, Old and New, to save him. However, all her prayers wouldn't bring back those who died. Jory, Ser Rodrik's son, was among the victims. She and Arya had both gone to the godswood to pray after they learned that their father could be in danger. The Grand Maester assured them that he was safe now, but still, Sansa was afraid. Joffrey's visit yesterday had lifted her mind, but she was still worried for her father. First Bran, now him. People said one of his legs hurt very much. She didn't want her lord father to lose the use of his legs like Bran did.

Everyone had been very kind with her since her father was injured. The queen came to offer her sympathies in person, and so did Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen. Even King Robert muttered a few condolences when they crossed paths in the Red Keep. She heard he and her father had a great disagreement not long before, a few hours before he was assaulted by criminals, but now he seemed to regret it.

Sansa and Arya had put aside their differences as well. They prayed together, both in the godswood and in the sept. Arya also behaved better at dinner and for breakfast. There were no more quarrels between them. Arya is your only sister. You won't get another one. Sansa didn't want to lose Arya when they could both lose their father, so she ignored the small misdemeanors she displayed from time to time. They even spent a night together in the godswood, as some sort of watch for Father, just like they did when they received the news that Bran would never walk again. Father had been with them back then. That night, she had dreamed of Bran. This night, however, none of them slept. Their lord father wasn't with them.

She knew Arya would be following her dancing lessons right now, so she headed that way to find her. Arya never liked dancing in Winterfell, but strangely she hurried to her lessons here. This was a clear day, without a cloud in the sky. Everything would have been perfect if it wasn't for her father's state. Why did he have to be wounded right now? Things weren't like they should be. Her father would heal, she knew it. The gods wouldn't make things worse all of a sudden just when they began to improve. Everything would be fine.

As she approached the room where her sister usually followed her lessons, Sansa heard strange noises. It was as if someone was hitting something with a stick, or several sticks. She stopped for a moment to listen to it, then slowly resumed to move to the room. The sounds only kept growing stronger as she got closer and closer. When she stood before the closed door, she realized it came from the other side. She carefully and slightly opened the door and looked inside. First, she only saw the floor and heard the sounds. Then she saw her sister, wearing pants and jacket, a wooden sword in her hand. She saw another sword emerge, in wood as well. It attacked Arya and she was parrying it.

Sansa flung the door open. "What are you doing?"

Her sister looked at her and the next moment the other wooden sword hit her on the arm. "Ow!"

"You were disturbed, boy. Tsss."

The man who just hit her sister wasn't a butcher's boy like on the Kingsroad. He was dead. The Hound had killed him. This time, it was a man with brown frizzy hair and a moustache.

"What are you doing?" Sansa repeated.

"I'm practicing," her sister retorted.

"Young lady." The man bowed to Sansa. There was a strange thing with his accent. He didn't seem to come from Westeros, just like Jalabhar Xho.

"I thought you were practicing your dance," Sansa said to her sister.

"She is, but not the dance you are used to, in Westeros. This is the water dance of Braavos."

Sansa looked at the man. Was he Arya dancing teacher? Syrio Forel? She looked back at her sister who seemed amused by the situation.

"Father organized me dancing lessons," Arya offered as an explanation.

Sansa had never understood why her father allowed Arya to behave like she did, but she never thought he would actually give her someone to teach her how to use a sword. That was worse than everything she imagined. However, she didn't wish to start an argument with her sister. She didn't come for this, and the time wasn't to quarrels.

"I'm going to visit Father. Would you like to come?" Sansa asked her.

Arya seemed to hesitate a moment. "I'll finish my lesson. I'll go and visit him later."

"Very well." Sansa turned on her heels and left, quietly closing the door behind her. She would see Father and wait for Arya with him, and they would all spend time together.

As she walked way to the Tower of the Hand where they resided, Sansa mused on her sister's dancing lessons. It wasn't fitting for a lady to carry a sword, or to learn how to use it. Knights did this, but not ladies. How could she try to get along with Arya when she didn't even try to act as a lady should? She did no effort at all. Why didn't she have another sister?

She climbed the stairs of the Tower, her father's men greeting her when she entered. On her way, she crossed the path of Grand Maester Pycelle who was slowly coming down. with an empty flask with traces of a white liquid inside. His chains were clicking. It reminded her of the same sound Luwin was making at Winterfell whenever he moved.

"Excuse me, my lady," the Grand Master said in a ragged voice as he walked past her. He looked exhausted.

"How is Lord Stark?" Sansa asked, remembering how to ask a question properly about the Hand of the King.

"He is well. Quite well. He needs rest, but he will recover. Don't worry, my lady."

He resumed his path, and Sansa resumed hers. When she arrived at her father's room, the door opened when she was only a few paces away. Ser Kevan Lannister came from her lord father's room with something that looked like concern on his forehead. He smiled however when he looked at her. Sansa didn't get to see the Master of Laws very often, but he was always kind with her whenever their came upon each other.

"Lady Sansa," he said as he closed the door.

"Ser. I only came to see my father," she said for him as much as for the guard at the door.

"I must warn you that your father is sleeping, my lady. He's drunk milk of the poppy. Pycelle said he would need some."

Deception filled her heart. She wanted to talk with her father. She didn't get to talk to him ever since the accident in the streets. She may have been able to talk with him if she hadn't gone to see Arya first.

"Your father needs rest, my lady," the knight resumed. "If you permit, I will escort you back to your chamber."

"Of course, ser." She wouldn't turn him down. So they walked together.

"Do you enjoy your stay in the capital so far, my lady?" he asked her.

"Yes, I do."

A thin smile appeared on his face. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm afraid you lord father doesn't share your liking of the capital, but who could blame him after this accident with the criminals?"

"Is he all right?"

"Yes, his life is not in danger. He should be able to go back to his duties very soon."

She felt relieved to hear it not only from the Grand Maester, but also from Ser Kevan. "I prayed for him every day."

He nodded. "You pray a lot, my lady, don't you?"

"Yes, to the Seven and the Old Gods."

"My wife, Dorna, prays a lot as well. Seven prayers each day, but only to the Seven."

"I never met her."

"No, she's not here. I left her at Casterly Rock when I was appointed on the small council, along with my two youngest sons and our daughter. I miss them," he added at the end.

"But your son Lancel is here?"

"Yes, and I'm glad to have him close. Still, I miss Dorna and our children. I suppose you must miss your brothers and your mother as well."

"Yes," she recognized. She missed them, but not horribly. "But I like the capital. And Prince Joffrey is very kind with me."

He looked back at her. "I'm glad to hear it. You get along well?"

"Yes, ser. He gave me this yesterday." She showed him the necklace she was wearing.

"You see me delighted. I was a little afraid about how Joffrey would behave with you, after what happened on the Kingsroad." His expression turned soured. "I'm sorry for your wolf."

"Thank you, but I'm well. Joffrey was wounded, and I don't blame him for being distant with me for a time."

"Was it your fault if your sister's direwolf bit him?"

"No, ser."

"Then he had nothing to blame you for. It's normal to be upset, still. Joffrey seems to be kind with you."

"Yes, he is." She thought about the kiss he gave her, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

"I'm glad he is. Of all the children my niece and the king had, Joffrey was always the most difficult. But he seems to behave well with you. That's encouraging. He's not like this with everybody."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned his head on one side for a moment. "Oh, everyone has his flaws, the prince like everyone else. Sometimes it seems a wife's duty is to refrain her husband's flaws. You'll have a lot of work when you marry my grandnephew."

Sansa was confused. "I don't understand."

"You know who my brother was, Lady Sansa?"

"Yes, Tywin Lannister, Lord Tyrion's father."

"Yes. He was Hand of the King long before Lord Stark, and for twenty years. I suppose you never met him."

"No."

"I'm not surprised. You're still quite young and he died three years ago. My brother was a hard man. Hard but just. Some say he was cruel, but he only was because he had to. He did what he had to do, just like your lord father. He wasn't an evil man deep inside, but he had his flaws all the same. People didn't like him. He never smiled, or almost never. But the day of his wedding, he was smiling, and the day his two first children were born, he smiled as well. My sister-in-law made sure that his faults didn't get the better of him. She prevented him from making terrible mistakes quite a few times. When she died, my brother was destroyed. He was never the same afterwards."

"How did she die?" Sansa asked.

"She died bringing my nephew, Lord Tyrion, into the world. A very sad event. My brother never recovered from this, and sometimes he put the blame on his last son for that." He sighed. "Sometimes I look at my nephew with his wife and I have the impression to see Tywin and Joanna back to life again. Tyrion completely changed after he was married to Lady Margaery. She made him a better person. And she loves him."

They arrived before the door of Sansa's chamber and stopped. "Make sure Joffrey remains someone good, my lady. As his wife and his queen, that will be your main duty, and maybe the most difficult," he declared. "I wish you a good day."

He bowed and left. Sansa didn't see how it would be difficult to make sure Joffrey would remain a good man. He was her charming prince, and she didn't see how he could turn into an evil man. The words threatened to burst into her mind, but she chased them immediately. She wished Ser Kevan hadn't mentioned Lady Margaery. Whenever the Lady of Casterly Rock came back to her mind, the cruel words she said about Joffrey came back. The prince deserved her love, and she would give it to him, just like he gave it to her. Sansa went back into her chambers and began to write a poem for her prince.

We go back to longer chapters, don't worry. The last two ones were quite short, but the next will be longer. There is even one that will be longer than any other in this fic up to now.

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Next chapter : Jon (at Casterly Rock)