Sansa after her father's death. As you can expect, this isn't a very joyful chapter.
SANSA VI
Steel cut through the flesh. She woke up. The sound repeated in her head. She was hearing it again and again, day and night. When she was awaken, she dreaded the sleep for she knew it would be worse than when she was awaken. As soon as she was asleep, in her dreams, she only wanted to leave this world, but once she woke up, she realized that the reality was just as horrible as the dreams.
She couldn't take refuge in the dreams, or in the songs, or in her imagination, for every time she tried to escape the reality, all she saw and heard were the images and the sound of her father's sword falling on him. And the moment it cut through his flesh, it ended, but it started all over again soon enough. She couldn't escape it, for it happened, and there was no way to do as if it wasn't the reality, for reality, dreams and nightmares were now all the same. And they were all horrible, a hell she wanted to escape but couldn't escape.
Sansa did like she always did lately. She cried, hidden under the sheets, her face buried in the pillows, unable to move. She was a mountain covered with snow, melting under the sun. When she left Winterfell, she thought that she was a beauty who was only waiting to be taken away from her dark castle surrounded by ice to a kingdom bathing in the light, to shine like gold under the sun, her sides blooming with green and lush grass, but now she realized that she was wrong. She wasn't supposed to be exposed under the sun. It melted the snow covering her, destroying what made her so beautiful, and killing her slowly. The snow turned to water would cover her with mud, and when the water would dry under the heat, she would be as arid as the desert. The grass wouldn't grow. She would be all sand and rock, unable to bear life.
Her tears were the melting snow. She had tried to convince herself that the sun was good for her, but now she couldn't deny the truth anymore. She was all ugly because of the mud that the snow and the water left behind. She hadn't washed or bathed for days, and she barely ate anything. The sun burned her, reduced her to a lonely hill without anything of interest. The grass that should have grown would die when her tears would dry, and she would die with it. She was all alone in this world.
My father is dead. She saw him die. She stood on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor as he confessed betraying Joffrey and acknowledged him as the one true king. He recognized that he was wrong, and Joffrey had promised that he would spare him. But that wasn't what he did. Instead, he said that as long as he was king, he wouldn't let treason go unpunished. And he ordered Ser Ilyn to bring him her father's head.
Sansa had begged for him to not do this. He couldn't do this. Joffrey promised her. But he did it all the same. He didn't look at her a single time after he said the sentence. Sansa watched powerless, trying to reach her father or her prince, but failing. Someone was holding her. And when the sword came upon her father's throat, everything went black.
She didn't know any longer when it all took place. Nothing made sense. Joffrey wasn't supposed to kill her father. He promised that he would show him mercy. A great damp spot of water was on her sheets. She cried so much, there didn't seem to be an end to it. She thought that she recalled people bringing her food, but she didn't touch it. She didn't want to eat. She didn't even want to move, or to live. She felt that she could stay in that bed forever, waiting for her death. It had a romantic side, that a daughter would die of fasting after her father died in front of her, executed on the order of the man she loved. Perhaps they would make a song out of this. She didn't feel any better thinking about it.
Sansa heard the door open. She kept her back turned on it. She saw no reason to look at the maid who entered. Heavy footsteps approached.
"Time to get up, little bird," a rough voice said. A chill traveled her body. She knew that voice, and she was afraid of it almost as much as she was of Joffrey now.
A dress appeared before her, with two hands joined. "Lady Sansa, King Joffrey asked for your presence at court today. We must prepare you," a feminine voice said.
She didn't answer. Sansa wouldn't go at the court. Why would she? The people there would only look at her with indifference at best, and Joffrey killed her father. She wouldn't go to court.
"Save yourself some trouble, little bird. The king asked for your presence, so get up," the Hound said.
"I don't want to see him. He's a monster. He killed my father!" she snapped.
A new whimper escaped her throat she cried more than before.
"Get out. All of you," the Hound said.
"But the king…" another voice protested.
"Get out! Let me handle this."
The girl who stood before Sansa left, and she heard other footsteps walking away. As soon as the door closed, a big hand seized her shoulder and she found herself only an inch from the Hound's face. "Do you want to die?" He scared her. "Answer! Do you want to die?"
He shook her violently by the shoulder. She didn't say anything. She just continued to cry. She closed her eyes to not see him, to not look at him. His scarred face was among the most horrific things she ever saw, and it reminded her of Joffrey. She could feel his breathing, an unpleasant smell of alcohol, on her face.
He pushed her back on her bed and she heard the sound of steel scraping. He was going to kill her. She prayed to the gods, Old and New, to make it quick. She waited for the sword to enter her belly, but nothing came. Finally, she opened her eyes to see the Hound standing in front of her, looking at her with the same angry expression that he always displayed. However, there was something slightly different in his eyes. They were hard, like they always were, but less hard than usual. They were not softer, just less hard.
"If you want to die, then do it yourself now," he told her.
She realized he held his dagger in his hand, but from the blade. The handle was in her direction, for her to take. She looked at him, tried to understand what he was trying to do, why he was doing this, but she couldn't find any reason. She could only see that he wasn't as angry as he usually was.
She looked at the blade. How many times did she think that she would rather be dead these last days? How many times did she wish that she was dead? Now she had the chance to make it real. Why did she hesitate? She would see her father again. She would be free of this place that changed from heaven to hell within a few days. She had no wish to live anymore, and yet, she hesitated. She didn't dare to take the dagger. What stopped her? To kill herself with this instead of leaving the absence of food slowly take her away wouldn't make any difference to singers. They would find a way to sing about it one way or another. And she would leave this world. Wasn't it what she wanted?
She didn't take the weapon. After a moment, the Hound seemed to realize that she wouldn't seize it, and he returned it to his belt.
"That's what I thought. You don't want to die. You think you want, but you don't. I know what it is. So listen to me. Look at me." She dared not to disobey him. With a great effort, she looked to his face with the torn flesh and his angry eyes. She forced herself to not look away. "If you don't want to die, or worse, then do what your king says. Wash yourself, dress, and come to the court."
"What does he want from me?" she asked with a weak voice.
"He wants you to smile and smell sweet and be his lady love. He wants to hear you recite all your pretty little words the way the septa taught you. He wants you to love him, and fear him. And he doesn't want to know that you said something against him." He turned his back on her and opened the door. Two maids were waiting outside. "Get the lady ready for the king. Make sure she is perfect."
The two handmaidens walked in as the Hound closed the door behind him. Sansa kept looking at the door for a very long time. He was right. She didn't want to die, because she was a coward. She wasn't like those fair maids in the songs who were ready to die for their family or the man they loved, or at least to die with them. All she wanted was to live somewhere everything was sweet and perfect, with a strong lord and their children. When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you, someone who's brave and gentle and strong. Her father also said that Joffrey was no prince or knight, and she refused to listen. She refused to listen to many people who warned her about Joffrey, and here she was, betrothed to a man who killed her father, forced her to come to court even if she didn't want to, even if she didn't feel well enough for that.
"My lady?" one of the handmaidens asked. Sansa didn't know her name. She never saw her before.
"Prep… Prepare me a bath."
And so began a long process of scrubbing, cleaning, perfuming, dressing and combing. Sansa made sure that she was presentable. She realized the sorry state in which she was when she looked at herself for the first time in the glass, and she made all of this disappeared. When she was done, Sansa looked just like she used to before her father died. There was only one thing she couldn't make like before. She couldn't smile, or reproduce any of the expressions of joy she always did while looking at herself before. No matter how hard she tried, she failed. She would have to make do without it.
The Hound was waiting for her outside when she came out. He didn't say a word. He just looked at her with the same hard eyes. She avoided his stare as soon as her own eyes met his, and walked past him. She heard him following her behind. Joffrey surely sent him to escort her. Once, he had her escorted back to her rooms by the Hound when she asked him for an escort. She thought he would offer to lead her himself, but Joffrey gave her his dog instead. She hadn't found it very gallant at the time, but didn't question the gesture further. She should have.
She took place in the gallery, the Hound only a few steps from her. She didn't know if it was because of him or because she was now the daughter of a traitor that everyone stood away from her and tried to ignore her. It was as if she didn't exist for anyone. Anyone but the Hound. She could feel his eyes on her in permanence. Joffrey sent him to watch her.
The great doors opened and the herald proclaimed. "All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm."
Sansa looked at the one she used to call her prince. She used to find him more handsome than any other man she ever saw, and to dream of the day they would marry. Now she hated everything in him. She hated his satisfied smirk, the way he twitched his fingers, the way he wore the crown and his costly clothes. She hated the way he walked, his smug lips, his childish face. Arya and Jon were right when they said he looked like a girl. How could she fall in love with him? How could she believe he would spare her father? Joffrey is not who he seems to be. Lady Margaery had been wrong. Joffrey was exactly who he seemed to be, only she didn't see it before.
He looked a very brief instant in her direction, a smirk on his lips. How could she love this smile before? Joffrey wasn't brave, or gentle, or strong. He was a monster, and this monster took place on the Iron Throne. His mother, the Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, sat by his side. She looked regal, but Sansa didn't feel any adoration for this woman anymore. She did everything the queen told her, and her father died. She was just like her son. The small council accompanied them.
As the cases were laid before Joffrey and his council, Sansa could see a pattern in their reactions. Joffrey seldom took care of the cases and left most of them in the hands of his mother and the councillors. When it happened, all the members of the small council conferred around Cersei, and she was the one to give the verdict. The Grand Maester was to her left, always quivering, and his voice, that he didn't always succeed to keep at a whisper, was shaky. Lord Varys stood in retreat somewhere behind the queen and Joffrey, and always whispered in such a low voice that no one could hear it. As for Lord Baelish, he sat at a lower level with his ledgers spread over his knees, taking notes, but he took part to the deliberations with the queen all the same. Strangely, Ser Jaime, now kingsguard and Hand of the King, stayed away from these discussions, at Joffrey's left.
Janos Slynt never discussed either. He stood down the steps of the dais, with some of his men, and always seemed to approve any decision Joffrey made. Ser Ilyn Payne swung the sword that killed her father, but Sansa would never forget how Lord Janos forced him on his knees, exposing his neck to her lord father's own sword.
Sansa missed the presence of Ser Kevan Lannister. He was always kind with her, and she remembered that her father spoke of him with respect. She also remembered how he stood up before Joffrey and Cersei, contesting their decisions. He had been the only one to behave like a true knight at this occasion, and now he was gone. All the knights in the attendance stood silent, especially the seven kingsguards whose faces were hidden under their helmets. She knew that Ser Barristan Selmy was among them. Her father always called him a man of honor, and yet he did nothing right now.
Whenever Joffrey decided to take care of some matter, no one dared to speak against it. The first time was when a baker from the Street of Flour came to complain about a group of men from the City Watch who ransacked his shop.
"There were about twelve of them. The man leading them said he was Allar Deem, your Grace. He said I had to pay a toll to sell my bread. I paid all my taxes when I arrived last week, your Grace. I fulfilled every requirement for me to sell my bread in the city, and this man said that I was to pay him so I might continue to sell. I refused, and he ordered his men to take everything they wanted, then to destroy my shop. I used all the money I had to start my trade, and they took it from me."
"Your Grace," Janos Slynt intervened, "Deem is my best man, the most loyal among the City Watch. He played a vital role in securing your rightful place on the Throne, and commands her Grace's personal guard. This man… is a peasant, a commoner, a mindless idiot. Deem was only taking what is asked from every owner of a shop in King's Landing for the royal treasury."
"I paid all the taxes that were asked of me by the Crown's officers. They told me everything was in order…"
"You refused to obey an officer of my City Watch?" Joffrey cut the man.
"I paid everything…"
"Except for the money you should have given to this man. The City Watch serves the king. To refuse to obey a man of the Watch, is to refuse to obey the king. To refuse to obey the king, is to refuse to obey me. And to refuse to obey the king is treason. Wouldn't you agree, Mother?"
"Of course, my son," Cersei replied after a moment.
"Your Grace. You must say, your Grace. I am your king."
A longer moment passed. "Yes, your Grace."
Joffrey turned back his attention to the man. "You are a traitor. Have him executed."
"No. No! NO! I did nothing! I am a loyal subject…" the poor man cried as he was carried away by two gold cloaks.
"Slice his throat. I'm tired of hearing him."
One of Slynt's men executed the order and blood covered the floor of the Great Hall within seconds. The other cases where Joffrey intervened didn't go much better. A woman came begging for the body of a man who was executed as a traitor. She said she loved him and that she wanted to bury him. Joffrey declared that if she loved a traitor, then she was a traitor too, and had her dragged to the dungeons. Two thieves had their hands cut in front of everyone. Another man was accused of rape, and gelded in the presence of all the lords and ladies as well. Two knights who disputed a land were forced to fight to death for this land tomorrow.
The last case that Joffrey took care of was a singer named Marillion. He had been reported to sing an inappropriate song about the late King Robert in the taverns of the city, and he had to perform the song in front of the whole court. When he was done, Joffrey applauded and offered the singer a choice between losing his hands or his tongue. Sansa watched in horror as the bard said everyone needed their hands and Joffrey ordered Ilyn Payne to cut the poor man's tongue. Joffrey then left the other cases to his mother and the small council.
He walked away from the dais with Ser Meryn Trant. It was only after some time that she realized he was heading in her direction, his repulsive smirk still on his face.
"You look quite nice," he told her as he climbed the steps leading to her.
Again, she wondered how she could ever love anything about him. He was no Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and no Ser Florian either. The way he cruelly smiled made her think of the tales of Maegor the Cruel, or even the Mad King, who had her uncle and her grandfather murdered. Her parents never gave her too much detail about it, but there had been a day when she had ben talking with Arya about Ser Arthur Dayne.
Sansa had been talking about the great knight and the tales of his bravery and his honor, but then Arya had snapped at her, saying that Arthur Dayne held their aunt prisoner at the Tower of Joy, and also that he was there when their grandfather was burned alive by the Mad King while their uncle was strangled trying to save him. After the initial shock of her sister's rash words, Sansa had argued that Ser Arthur Dayne had no choice but to obey the king and the prince.
"If a knight obeys an evil king, then he is no true knight," her sister had said.
"What did you say?" She realized that Joffrey was talking to her.
"I beg your pardon, my lord?" she asked.
"Your Grace. I'm king now. What did you say?"
"Nothing, your Grace."
"You're lying. You just said that knights following evil kings were no knights."
She gulped. She must have said her sister's words without realizing it. "I'm sorry. I… I recalled something that my sister Arya said one day. She didn't know what she was talking about."
"Your sister is a traitor, and you are the daughter of a traitor. Don't mention her again before me, unless I ask you."
"Yes, your Grace." The minstrel kept screaming as Ser Ilyn Payne approached the hot dagger. Sansa tried to not look at him, but she couldn't help but hear him.
"Now, I said you were nice. What do we say to a king who compliments you?"
"Thank you, your Grace," she replied reluctantly. The sound was foreign in her mouth.
"Walk with me. I want to show you something."
He walked away, and just as he left, she saw Marillion's tongue go out. It was replaced immediately by the face of Ser Meryn Trant. She didn't know if it was scarier that the Hound's half-burned face. He seized her arm and forced her to turn back and follow the king.
"Do as you're bid, child," the Hound told her in an almost gentle way. "Let her be, Trant."
The knight looked at the Hound hostilely and free her arm. She followed Joffrey in fear that Ser Meryn would put his hand on her again. They walked in a gallery that was close to the battlements.
"As soon as you've have your blood, I'll put a son in you," the king told her as they walked. "Mother says that shouldn't be long."
They arrived to a drawbridge, and as soon as Sansa looked at what was over it, she looked away. "No, please no!"
"This one's your father. This one here." He didn't stop to speak as she turned away her head. Two hands held her by the shoulders, preventing her from running away. "Look at it and see what happens to traitors."
She refused to look. "You promised to be merciful."
"I was. I gave him a clean death. Look at him."
"Please let me go home. I won't do any treason, I swear."
"Mother says I'm still to marry you. So you'll stay here and obey. Look at him!"
If you don't want to die, or worse, then do what your king says. Very slowly, Sansa raised her head. Every inch of movement was painful. She kept her eyes closed until the end, and finally she opened them, to see her father's head planted on a spike.
"Well?" Joffrey asked.
"How long do I have to look?" Every moment she spent looking at it threatened to bring new tears to her eyes, and she couldn't weep, not here, not before the king.
"As long as it pleases me. Do you want to see the rest?"
"If it please your Grace," she said hollowly, trying to look at her father's head without seeing it, something that was impossible.
"That's your septa there." The head he pointed had been eaten by worms. Maybe it wasn't really Septa Mordane. Maybe she managed to survive, maybe she escaped just like Arya. Joffrey lied to her before, he could be lying again. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to give you a present. After I raise my armies and kill your traitor brother, I'm going to give you his head as well."
She didn't believe him. "Or maybe he'll give me yours."
She looked at him and put as much hatred as she could in her gaze. He looked at her, furious. "My mother tells me a king should never strike his lady. Ser Meryn."
The kingsguard forced her to turn to look at him, and he hit her hard twice on each cheek. She felt blood on her lips as well as a strong pain on each side of her face. So much for powdering and making herself pretty for today. When she looked back at Joffrey, he wasn't looking at her, but at the heads over the battlements. She then noticed the drop under their feet. No one would survive such a fall.
Maybe she wasn't ready to kill herself, but she was ready for someone to kill her. And if she was killed for murdering the king, then so be it, at least her father would be avenged. She looked at the boy she once called her prince. He killed her father, he killed his men and all the people she knew from Winterfell. He ordered his kingsguards to beat her. He was a monster. He didn't deserve to live. He wasn't a king. He wasn't her king. She wouldn't be his wife, and she wouldn't carry his babies.
She slowly walked to him, ready to push him to a certain death. He would die under the gaze of her father.
An arm seized her, and she panicked. But when she was turned, it wasn't Ser Meryn Trant who was about to punch her again or worse, but the Hound, with something in his hand she never expected.
"Here, girl." He used the cloth to wipe the blood on her lip, almost in a tender way.
"Will you obey now? Or do you need another lesson?" Joffrey asked above her shoulder. "I'll look for you in court." And the king left. Once he was far away with Ser Meryn, Sandor Clegane looked at her and whispered.
"Save yourself some pain, girl. Give him what he wants." She nodded and gave him back the cloth, but he refused. "You'll be needing that again." He left too.
Sansa was alone on that drawbridge. She looked at what was left of her father. She failed to kill Joffrey. Would she try again? She didn't think so. She didn't have her father's courage, or Arya's. She looked away and walked back to her chambers. The idea of throwing herself down from the drawbridge came to her mind, but she walked away all the same. The Hound was right. She didn't want to die.
As soon as she was inside, she sent her maids away, and threw herself on the covers of her bed. And there she cried even more than before. She held back the tears while she appeared at court, but here, alone, without anyone to see, she had no choice but to give to her sorrow. She was a prisoner. Her father was gone. Septa Mordane was gone. Arya was gone, her mother and her brothers far away from her. And the only person who showed some kindness to her today was a dog.
Water ran on her cheeks like a fountain. The maids had replaced her bed's sheets, but her tears spoiled them once again. They would have to replace these ones too. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything. Her world was shattering all around her. Everything she believed, everything she loved was gone. She had been wrong about everything. She believed that Joffrey loved her like the stupid girl she was. She was warned about it. Many people warned her about her prince, but she didn't listen. She knew that he was cruel, but she looked past it. And now her father was dead. All these times she marveled at the idea of marrying Joffrey, she was longing for her father's murderer. Another great wail escaped her throat.
She felt so tired, and yet she barely moved for days. Mourning and sadness exhausted her. She remembered a poem she read a long time ago, back at Winterfell. She only read it once, but it remained in her mind. She could recite it by heart. The poem was beautiful, and its words were so sad that she wept while reading them, and she chose to never read it again. She heard that this poem was made into a song in Highgarden, but it was decided to never play it again in public after the first performance. The song was so sad that it was judged unfit for feasts and public events. Still, Sansa remembered the words.
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
This was only the beginning of the poem. In her actual state, she didn't think it could make her feel worse than she already felt. Other poems and songs, all which were sadder than the others, kept coming back to her. She had always been proud of how she could recall the lyrics of a song, but now she regretted it. She should have learned to fight with a sword like Arya. Then she could have killed Joffrey, at least, and that would have been the last thing she did in her life. She wondered what happened to Arya's dancing teacher. Did Arya escape with him? She hoped she did. Her little sister would need help outside. Perhaps she should pray for her, but she didn't feel strong enough for that.
She kept wailing and crying, the image of her father's head refusing to leave her alone, and when it did, it was to see Joffrey's horrible smirk, and his glee as he watched people's tongues and hands being chopped. She had a vague conscience of sounds at her door, but gave it no mind. The world was crumbling all around her.
Someone opened the door and closed it. Like previously in the day, Sansa had her back turned on it. She didn't see who came inside, and she didn't want to know it. It was probably one of the handmaidens who brought a tray for dinner, or for supper. She didn't know, and she didn't care. She didn't want to eat.
"Place the tray on the table," she said, not looking at the intruder. She only heard the footsteps of someone approaching her. "I'm not hungry. Leave me alone."
"Sansa."
She frowned at her name. She knew this voice. Ever since she left Winterfell, she had been hearing it all the time. Only this time, it said something different. She turned her head and, against all odds, she saw Lady Margaery Lannister of House Tyrell standing before her.
"I'm glad to see you," she said.
How was that possible? She didn't see the Lady of Casterly Rock since her departure from Winterfell. It had been months, maybe a year ago, and yet here she was in her rooms, in King's Landing.
"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked. She straightened herself a little, managing to sit in her bed. Somehow, the manners Septa Mordane taught came back, but to a lesser extent than before. She forgot to stand up.
"We just arrived, Tyrion and I. We came as soon as we heard about… I'm sorry, Sansa. I'm so sorry."
Unlike the queen, Sansa saw that Lady Lannister was sincere. Cersei told her to not trust this woman, but Sansa saw for herself where the advice of the Queen Regent led her. If she had followed Lady Margaery's advice instead… Joffrey is not who he seems to be. For your own sake, I hope you'll realize it before it's too late. Lady Margaery tried to warn her, and she didn't listen.
Unable to hold anymore, Sansa burst into tears. She couldn't control it any longer. She felt a weight adding on her mattress, and the next moment a pair of arms wrapped around her head.
"Here, here," the lady whispered.
Sansa buried her face into her chest, and let all her sorrow, all her guilt, all her tears go. Hands tapped and rubbed her head. It was the first time someone tried to comfort her since all this began. And words began to flow.
"He killed him. He killed him! Joffrey killed my father."
"I know," the Lady of Casterly replied softly. "He shouldn't have done this. Your father didn't deserve to die."
"He promised he would spare him. He promised he would show him mercy. He had him killed." Emotions threatened to drown her mouth, making her unable to speak. All the emotions she didn't dare to let go surfaced all at once. "He forced me… to watch his head on a spike." A knot in her throat stopped her for a while. "He's a monster. You were right. He's a monster! HE'S A MONSTER!"
All her hatred for Joffrey came out with this.
"I wish I had been wrong." That was all Lady Margaery said.
Sansa wished it had been the case, but she didn't see how it couldn't have been. Joffrey was a monster, and he always was a monster, only she didn't see it. Joffrey is not who he seems to be. For your own sake, I hope you'll realize it before it's too late. She realized it, she knew the truth now, and it was too late. Too late for her father.
I recycled a lot of material from the show and the books in this chapter. The original content is mostly the discussion with Sandor before Sansa goes to see Joffrey, which adds some more depth to her relationship witht he Hound, and of course the reunion with Margaery at the end. I admit that the goal of this chapter when I wrote it was mostly to reunite Sansa with Margaery. The most important part of this chapter is the end, though the discussion with Sandor Clegane also matters.
The poem Sansa thinks about is, of course, the lyrics of "My Immortal" by Evanescence. A very beautiful song, but I never heard one that was sadder. I think it goes very well with Sansa's emotional state.
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Next chapter : Tyrion
