Sansa had fallen unconscious, after Shiera drank her blood. She woke, to find Elaena holding her, while Shiera dressed her wound. She felt desperately weak. Elaena produced a hip flask, from which she drank greedily. Sitting up, she asked what had happened. They told her of the victory over the Great Other, and the deaths of Kinvara and Val. When she was strong enough to stand, they led her towards the exhausted dragon. All of them were drained by the fighting, and spent the day resting. The following day, they bade fairwell to the Night's Queen, and started back for Kings Landing, flying by easy stages, and camping in the evening. She had been left unbound, after pledging to make no escape attempt. In truth, Shiera would gut her without difficulty if she did, but even without that, she realised there was nowhere to escape to. On reflection, she thought that offering herself for sacrifice might have been the best way out her predicament. It seemed she would be spared the worst forms of torture, and that was a relief, but there was surely no way she'd be permitted to live out her days.

During the course of the journey, she had spoken several times to the others. She learned that Jon was on Dragonstone, and her sister was now a commander in the Imperial army. It was a relief to learn that Arya was safe, and had been promised the rule of the North. At least a Stark would remain at Winterfell, even if she was to be a vassal to Daenerys. She longed to see her sister after all these years, yet dreaded that meeting too; she knew full well what Arya would think of her deeds. She hoped that the wildlings had kept their word, and that Robyn, Myranda, and Mya Stone were safe.

They arrived at the Red Keep in mid-afternoon, Targaryen banners already flying over the buildings. She could see that the city resembled a charnel house, the smell of putrefaction everywhere. The palace, however, was largely intact. Then the nightmare! She had known that her brother was truly dead, but to have that thug wave his head in her face! Shiera had offered her some comfort, before she had been separated from the others, and led under guard, to the Maidenvault. Her chamber was spartan, but spacious and had its own privy, and she was allowed to make use of the gardens, watched by guards who were correct, but cold. She was allowed meat and wine and fruit, and provided with books when she requested them. In a moment of honesty, it occurred to her that she would probably not have treated Daenerys so well, were she her prisoner. She learned that Arya and Jon remained on Driftmark, but would come to the city shortly.

Over the course of the next weeks, she was interrogated at length, by her captors. The questioning was not brutal, but it was intensive. She gave them a full inventory of her lands and castles, which would be forfeited to the Crown in due course. On their instructions, she wrote under seal to the remaining Northern lords, releasing them from their oaths of fealty to her, and to her garrison commanders, instructing them to surrender to the Imperial forces. She was granted permission to make her will. She would be allowed to retain her personal effects, which she divided between Arya, Robyn Manderly and Myranda Royce, assuming the latter were still alive. She asked after her friends, and was promised that enquiries would be made. She only saw the Empress three times during this period, first when she was led into the Great Hall, to formally abdicate as Queen in the North, and to renounce any claim on Winterfell, before the assembled magnates, the next time to give evidence against Tyrion, and finally, to witness her coronation. Ironically, she watched from the very gallery where she had witnessed Joffrey ending her betrothal, all those years ago. Fate was inexorable. She had not been asked to join the others in swearing fealty; presumably, there was little point in someone doing so who would shortly be condemned as a traitor. She had cried when told of the death of Brienne, who had been her sworn shield, but was relieved she had died like the knight she had always wanted to be. She felt a growing weight of guilt for her actions.

Finally, she was roused, one dawn, and led under guard, to the Dragonpit. A considerable crowd had already gathered. The onlookers seemed in festive mood, a real sense of anticipation in the air. A reviewing stand had been constructed in the centre, which was already crowded with dignitaries.

A short distance away stood a pyre, a stake atop it. She gasped. So, this was it then? Daenerys had changed her mind, and intended to subject her to the full horror of a traitor's death, after all. If she was to burn, she had hoped at least the sentence would be carried out by Drogon. This would take far longer. She knew that scores of servants and officials of King Brandon had been executed already. Sensing her thoughts, the commander of the guards reassured her.

"Have no fear, my lady, you are here to witness justice being done." She was led on to the reviewing stand. Both Jon and her sister were present, and nodded to her. At the front, she saw Daenerys Targaryen, who glanced at her briefly, thoughts unreadable behind her silver mask. Next to her stood Grey Worm, Yara Greyjoy who glared at her, Lady Shiera, and Princess Elaena. Completing the party were Lord Hightower, and a group of Archmaesters from the Citadel. Then to her surprise, she saw Samwell Tarly's paramour, Gilly, a look of fierce satisfaction on her face. A servant offered her wine and pastries. She took the wine; she doubted if she could hold down food after watching someone being burned. She blushed, as she overheard Gilly talking to Arya, presumably about Tarly "… an' it was really 'orrible in bed with him. He just lay on his back like a beached walrus, an' made me do all the work, while he grunted and groaned, and pulled at my tits."

She heard a great howl from the crowd, accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets and drums. A pair of horses were pulling a hurdle, to which the condemned man was tied. Two burly guards untied him, and then dragged him towards the pyre, holding him under each arm, as he seemed incapable of walking. Then she recognised him. Grand Maester Tarly himself, wearing his robes of office, now badly torn and soiled. She heard him screaming as he looked up at the pyre.

"He should save his screaming for later" remarked one of the Archmaesters, drily, and the others laughed. The guards dragged him up the steps of the pyre, and briskly chained him to the stake, around his waist and chest, the man still raving and crying. The crowd fell silent, expectant. Princess Elaena addressed Tarly.

"Grand Maester Tarly, you have been condemned for treason, murder, enslavement, breach of your oaths to the Nights Watch and Citadel, and theft. Further, you have published gross slanders against Her Majesty, in your so-called "history." You have alleged that our dread sovereign sacrificed children to the infernal powers; that she fled from the Night King at Winterfell; that she tortured men, women, and children to death for her own pleasure; that she murdered her brother. You are a false liar and a snake. In the name of the Thrice Exalted Empress, Daenerys of House Targaryen, I sentence you to be burned to ashes, those ashes to be cast into a common sewer. The Lord Paramount of the Reach, Leyton Hightower, and the Conclave of the Citadel, have concurred with this sentence. Your sister, Lady Talla, has also concurred, and she has been confirmed as the Lady of Horn Hill, subject to her agreeing to maintain your paramour Gilly, and her children, who will be legitimised as Florents, by Her Majesty's decree. Your mother, Lady Melessa, has disowned you. Henceforth, your sister will be known as Lady Talla Florent of Horn Hill.

"You have proved a disgrace to your family, to the Realm, to the Nights Watch, and the Citadel. You have demonstrated that your father's judgement, that you are a craven and a cur, was correct. The Tarly name dies with you. You have offended rich and poor, great and small alike, and they cry out for justice against you. You are a pariah and a hissing." He gave a loud wail in response, before babbling for mercy. Gods above, imagine being loathed by your own mother and sister so much that they want you burned at the stake! Arya and Jon surely would offer her some comfort, before she was put to death. Mother would have held her tight, and cried with her. She noticed one of the Archmaesters whispering urgently to the young woman.

"Your pardon. Archmaester Valyn has reminded me that you have never qualified as a Maester, and therefore you can not bear the title of Grand Maester. Novice Samwell, your name will be struck from all official records. Remove his robes of office", she commanded the guards. Two of them sprung up on to the pyre, and cut the garments from Tarly, leaving him in just his small clothes. To Sansa's disgust, she noted he had lost control of his bowels, with brown stains running down his chubby legs. Elaena turned to Gilly and nodded. Gilly stepped down from the platform, and walked towards the pyre. She saw the most wonderful look of astonishment on Tarly's face, before he cried out "Oh, thank the gods, Gilly. Save me, Gilly!" She gave him a long hard stare, before turning to the guards, one of whom handed her a burning torch. "Gilly, no!" he shrieked, "I've always been good to you!"

"Sam, you're a sack of shit" she heard the woman say. "You're more disgusting than my father was. I've dreamed of this for years. I know your father and brother were traitors, but the Queen's Grace told me they died bravely. But you! Thank the gods my children will never know what a cowardly piece of shit their father was. My children, Sam, not yours." Tarly broke down in tears, as Gilly nodded, smiling. She bent forward, applying the torch to the kindling, underneath the logs that supported the pyre. "Go now, to your fate; traitor, evil man, slaver. Go now to your own justice, murderer, thief, oath-breaker, false liar!", proclaimed Elaena, as the crowd roared their approval, cries of "burn him, tear him", echoing round the Pit. Another fanfare accompanied the sentence.

For a time, nothing seemed to happen. Smoke rose from underneath the pyre, but it was fifteen minutes at least before the logs started to blaze. Sansa forced herself to look, as Tarly howled and sobbed, dancing from foot to foot, no doubt scorched by the heat. She guessed that the heat must have travelled up the iron stake, as well. And how the crowd cheered and laughed at his antics! At last, flames emerged through gaps in the platform, licking up round his legs and stomach, and making his small clothes smoulder. Sansa winced, as she imagined his private parts being burned away. By now, the sounds he made were scarcely human , as he struggled fruitlessly in his chains, which had begun to glow orange, grilling his flesh. Worse, a smell like roasted pork began to waft from the pyre. She looked away, unable to bear the sight any longer, although she continued to hear his shrieks, above the roar of the fire, briefly growing in intensity, before subsiding to choked moans, and then silence, as ashes drifted down among them. She stole another quick glance, seeing the platform now burned away. Tarly's charred corpse had slid down among the burning logs. Guards continued to feed the flames, determined to carry out the sentence to the letter.

She looked at the faces of her companions. Fierce satisfaction for the majority, including her own sister. Gilly wore a broad grin. Jon, she noted, looked sick. Tarly had once been his closest friend after all. Sansa hoped she would show more courage than Tarly when her turn came, but she had no doubt she too would be screaming by the end, if she were sentenced to burn.

"So perish all traitors, my lady" murmured the commander. "It is the only way with such scum, would you not agree?"

She had given up trying to make sense of it. She was hailed as the Princess of Dragonstone, the Heiress of the Empress. Courtiers offered her their services. She was in command of the garrison of the city. And she went home at night to her apartments in Maegor's Holdfast, and slept with a man she despised.

If he was a husband, that might have been all well and good. One did not have to like their husband. And she was certainly capable of sleeping with him. He had a certain earthy charm, but was not a perfect boor. The combination had gotten, dare she admit it, fun. Some of it early on had been the pure pleasure of teasing him with the fact that she was so much more experienced than she was at almost absolutely everything when it came to making love. By the standards of a High Caste Volantene woman, she had personally been a prude…

Well, by the standards of the North, she was rather obviously an Essosi, and there was a certain measure of fun in taking advantage of that. It still made her uncomfortable. Daenerys wants me to do this. Daenerys is the one who set this up. She has a purpose, a mission for me. It was easier when she had absolutely hated her mission. Now, well, she was sleeping with Jon, there was no way around that. Even when she was doing it by the Empress' command, she felt like it was something of a betrayal.

She shifted the tea pot, and watched the leaves from distant Yi-Ti swirl. That, the sour Dornish reds she had come to associate with Lys and Maekar, and silken nightclothes were her three real luxuries she allowed herself, with her austere presentation as the warrior heiress of the Liberator. Elaena certainly could have access to more if she wished. But she was living in a city that didn't even have adequate sewers or baths, and was acutely conscious of her image around others.

Straining the leaves from the pot, she poured the first cup for herself. Her apartments were atop the Kitchen Keep of the Holdfast, with their own small solar. The servants had told her that the beast, Tyrion, had once occupied them, years before. They had been rarely used since, and a cascade of leftover fine furniture from various half-ruined sets had been pieced together for her use. Someday, all the streets of King's Landing would be paved, and an entire industry would again be kept alive by the court, of skilled craftsmen making fine things.

But reaching that point would be long and difficult. She set the cup down for a moment, and picked up a document that contained the initial surveys of a course for an aqueduct, to the northwest. A second one to the southwest could also be built, but would require a bridge on the Blackwater to be successful. The northwest aqueduct would have to be first; Elaena was a Volantene at heart, cities had bridges as far as she was concerned and she wanted a bridge on the Blackwater, but to allow the critical passage of ships upstream, it would be a very great work indeed. The northwest aqueduct would come first.

There was a sound of a door opening, and she glanced up. "...Jon."

"Elaena." He was comfortable around her now; she wasn't sure what to think of that. "I was in the Godswood." These days, he had the freedom of the Red Keep, but was still not permitted to leave it for the city generally.

"I'm sure…"

"I know you're a follower of the Lord of Light, but the Gods—they matter to us, in the North. I can't give that up."

"We will have religious freedom in all of Her Majesty's domains," Elaena rose, feeling a moment of bemusement, though. "It's good that you get worked up about something, however. I like to see some boldness from you." She gestured to the chair in front of her. "Have a seat, Jon."

"It's hard to be bold when you're a prisoner in a gilded cage," he answered.

"I suppose you're right. I'll ask Her Majesty for permission for you to go out on the town, on your word that you won't try to escape."

He nodded.

"Do you want any wine?"

"It wouldn't be terrible."

Elaena flashed another smile. His dourness could be charming, in small doses. She called for the wine, and drank it, regarding Jon for a while. He didn't seem like he had been dead, in the slightest. But, Elaena was not yet pregnant, so she wondered if Daenerys' plan would even work out in the end, or if it would all be for not.

She hoped not. She did, still, very much want to continue Daenerys' family for her.

In a certain way that she found mildly disturbing and yet also pleasant, Jon was growing on her. Seized by the impulse of conflicting emotions, she got up, and he looked at her for a moment, as she stepped over, and with a gentle smile, sweetly planted a kiss on his forehead.

Arya was saluted by the guards at the Maidenvault. Despite her position, she was dressed as usual, like a senior servant. She had no interest in the trappings of rank. She had come to Kings Landing a week previously, to watch some of the trials, and the execution of Tarly. Now, the most difficult meeting of all lay ahead of her. The reunion with her sister, more than three years after they had last met. What did she feel? Fury, grief, disgust, but despite everything, some semblance of love. Oh, but it was hard! She had sent word that she would be meeting Sansa, earlier in the day. A maid greeted her, and then withdrew.

Her sister sat before her. She had lost weight, since she said goodbye to her, in Winterfell, now gaunt, drawn. And ashamed. Unable to look Arya in the eye. There was a long silence. Then eventually, Sansa began;

"I'm sorry, Arya, so sorry."

"Sorry for what? Sorry that you lost your crown? Or sorry for what you did? Selling slaves? Butchering your own folk. Failing to tell Jon about the Vale Knights? Pitching him into a conflict with the Empress for your own benefit? Chucking him into the wilderness, once he'd served his turn. Breaking an oath before a heart tree? Lying to me that she was a threat? Serving a monster? Tell me if there's anything I've left out?"

"There is", Sansa replied softly. "I knew what Varys intended. I helped him." She had suspected it, but still she felt a wave of disgust to have it confirmed. Without thinking she said it:-

"You deserve to die!" Sansa's head snapped up. Then she said, softly,

"Yes, I suppose I do." There was a long pause.

"I'm very sorry, I should never have said that, but for the gods' sake, what do you think Mother, Father, and Robb are thinking, if they can see you?"

"I imagine they must despise me, utterly."

"Can you at least explain why you acted as you did? And, don't pretend to me you were upset about the deaths when this city fell?"

"Of course I wasn't. These people cheered when father was beheaded. They chose Cersei, and they chose wrong." She sighed, and then began, "All my life, I've been afraid of being in the power of another person. You know what Cersei, Littlefinger, and the Beast were like. You know I fell in love with Joffrey, who turned out to be a monster; after that, I fell in love with Margaery Tyrell. I thought she loved me in turn. She said when I married Loras, I'd become her lady in waiting, and we'd spend the rest of our lives together. I suppose Mother might have been shocked at the thought of it, but I thought I'd be safe and cherished. It turned out she and that vile bitch who ruled her family were just framing me for Joffrey's murder. What did I know? I was seventeen at the time, and had no idea she was just using me." She then continued at length, making many of the same points as she had to Wolkan, all those years ago. Arya found her own expression softening as she listened. She choked in disgust when told of Ramsay's plans for Sansa after she had given birth. She had known that the man had abused her sister, but Sansa had not disclosed the full extent of it, when they were at Winterfell.

"You were a victim, too," she said at the end. "And, it's not like I've got clean hands, either. I've committed murder. And I urged Jon to kill the Empress,"

"But, you've proved your loyalty to her, since then, I imagine. I don't think she'll give me that chance. And, why should she? I don't know what, exactly, she has planned for me, but she can't allow me to live, I know that. I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want to die like Tarly. Having people laugh and mock as I burn."

"Despite everything, I don't think that's going to happen. I've spoken to Princess Elaena. She's made no promises, but I'm pretty certain of it. You were a Queen, you are a woman, and Jon and I are speaking up for you. And, I'm told you begged for the lives of your followers and your women, rather than your own. I mean, Tarly was so despised, even his own family wanted him to burn. His sister agreed with the sentence. Gilly actually lit the pyre. She enjoyed doing it. Imagine being burned alive by your own lover!"

"She didn't think much of his prowess in bed", remarked Sansa, drily.

Arya laughed, then "Well, she's a wildling. They're not people I'd want to cross. But, there was a whole lot more to it than that. She felt very strongly that Tarly had betrayed her trust, and she hated him for his crimes. Not to mention that he had made her his whore, and their children bastards. What was he thinking? Claiming the position of Grand Maester, when he'd never even qualified? No wonder they hated him at the Citadel."

"He got greedy. Like me. If I'd stayed loyal, I'd have almost all the power of a Queen, if not the title."

"You were corrupted by the Three-Eyed Raven."

"At least you'll rule the North. Thank the gods you picked the winning side."

"I imagine I'm going to be looking after a horde of our relatives from the Vale and Riverlands. They're all having their lands confiscated. " Sansa winced. "I've news of your lady in waiting, Myranda Royce. She's being sent to Winterfell with the other prisoners. Her family's been attainted, so I guess I'll have to look after her, too. Lady Mormont's been put in charge for the time being. She marched down from Deepwood Motte. Her family will be given White Harbour. "

"And, my squire, Robyn Manderly?".

"He's with them too, along with Wolkan and Mya Stone. Is he more than just your squire?"

Ayra laughed as she saw Sansa blush and nod.

"Tell me of your adventures since we last met," said Sansa. So, they talked for hours. the ice between them gradually thawing.

After Tarly's execution, and the Imp's condemnation, the tenor in the palace changed. Some men were jubilant, for justice was finally being done. Others were, of course, struck by their own morality. The execution of Bronn had, in a concession for his opening the city and not forcing a battle in which the smallfolk would suffer, been a quick and relatively painless affair, been done early on. Tarly's execution marked the beginning of the parade of the most prominent traitors, following a trial, and thus marked an entirely different kind of affair.

It was a reminder that this was not all a dream of a midsummer night, a mere liberation. There was an accounting, too. An accounting of the wrongs and crimes which had been committed by the regime which had first stopped Daenerys from taking her rightful throne, and then oppressed the people of the land.

Few understood exactly why the Three-Eyed Raven had done what he had done. It was only from Shiera that they began to understand in full the idea that the monster itself fed off of war and death and destruction. In the context of its acts being intentional for the express purpose of spreading chaos, so much more of the past years began to make sense.

Perhaps she should not have been surprised, as the consequences of decisions made in years past came home to roost, that Jon came to talk with her. The subject of the conversation certainly made sense.

Sansa Stark. The woman he knew as his sister, the woman was in fact his cousin. His kin.

"She was there, to witness Sam's execution," he continued, haltingly, after broaching the subject. "You know, Sam was once my friend."

"Was he?" Elaena cocked her head. "Then you have a terrible choice in friends, Jon."

His face flared with a rare expression, frustration and anger. "Please, Ela. He was my friend. When we were both in the Black Watch. I had precious few of those in my life, even if he did betray me in the end. It's all right for me to be upset at his death, I'm sure of that."

Elaena groaned softly and reached for a goblet of wine. "My dear Jon, let's be clear about this. Scurrilous bastards like Samwell Tarly being your friends are exactly why you're presently not allowed to leave the Red Keep for a very good reason. A man who could never control his own appetites or uphold his oaths, a cowardly self-promoter. He served the Three-Eyed Raven most willingly."

Jon glared at her for a moment, but in the end sighed and backed down. "I acknowledge that his fate was Just. None would argue that a traitor and a servant of a monster like the Three-Eyed Raven should live. I will thank my Gods until my dying day that we put an end to his power."

Elaena was feeling particularly irritated with Jon that day, even as they'd drawn closer. You had a very small part in that, compared to us. "Alright, so. Your sister. Witnessed Sam's execution."

"Is she next for the flames?" He asked bluntly when Elaena re-centred the conversation onto Sansa.

"No. She will be well-treated until we get around to a trial, and during and after it as well. There will be a trial, and much will depend on what the Small Folk of the North say about her, I think, because that is the opinion that Her Majesty cares the most about. But it's not an urgent matter, compared with all the other matters we must address."

"She deserves to live," Jon begged. "Let her go to Essos even as a commoner, she could find her way as a seamstress somewhere. I'd gladly face my own punishment for her and everyone. Arya could give her …"

"Don't speak for your sister. I like to think I'm friends with Arya, and she's disgusted with Sansa's conduct." In fact, Elaena was Arya's friend, even though Arya's attitudes sometimes scared her—the woman seemed shockingly uncaring of any morality at all, and liked to play games with those she hated. But she had been scarred by her experiences in the wars, just like Sansa, as Arya had relayed, had suffered so terribly in the Game of Thrones which had played out in Westeros before Daenerys' fateful arrival with her Army of the Free.

"That doesn't mean that she wants Sansa to die, Ela. And I don't either. We have something, and I don't know what and I don't know why, but we do. Let's – Isn't there anything you can do for her? Intercede with the Empress?"

Elaena sat her goblet down slowly, and looked up at Jon. "Sometimes, one can't escape the consequences of one's choices. Sansa was a Queen, and she's suffered greatly, and the Empress is very much aware of both of these facts. She regrets the choices that Sansa made in her life, and wishes that she could have claimed Westeros as Queen when she first arrived, with the support and succour and friendship of the House Stark. The situation could have been greatly better for all the people of this land, and of course for Her Majesty, who suffers each day in pain from the consequences of the wounds you inflicted upon her, Jon."

Jon recoiled at that, a visible flinch.

"She deserves some consideration. I will make sure of that. Her punishment is much dependent on the circumstances of her life, in consideration for what the consequences of her actions will be. But the Empress will punish her in some way, if her crimes against smallfolk were egregious. She could pardon the conspiracy against her own person, because her heart is still that great," Elaena looked significantly at Jon, "but she will not pardon savageries against the common folk. That is not part of who she is. And I cannot change that, just because she made me her heir. Nor, Jon, whatever we have, would I want to. Rare is the ruler who cares about her people as much as Daenerys the Stormborn. I am a better woman for being under tutelage, and I cannot forget that."

Notes:

1. Elaena's speech somewhat resembles Sir William Trussel's judgement on Sir Hugh De Spenser the Younger, hated chief minister of Edward II, in 1326, just before he was emasculated, then hanged, drawn, and quartered, in Hereford Market.

2. Many thanks to Sploot for the wonderful "beached walrus" metaphor. Hopefully, Gilly will enjoy better sex from now on.

3. Sam Tarly's mother is a Florent by birth.

4. Despite Jon's anger towards Sam Tarly, (Chapter 21), it was still hard to watch him burn, as the crowd laughed and cheered. Medieval executions were not invariably a form of public entertainment, contrary to popular belief. But, the brutal execution of a hated minister, like De Spenser, or Tarly, would be greeted with joy by the spectators. De Spenser probably suffered even more than Tarly did, as a skilled executioner could keep his victim alive for quite some time while disembowelling him.

5. For tea to survive long transport as in these days, it was compressed in heavy bricks.