I'm glad you liked Chapter 6. I didn't want it to be too cheesy or whatever, therefore I was happy to read that many of you were hoping for the same thing. In my opinion, SanSan is unique.
Nota Bene: This CHAPTER is by far the LONGEST. But I could not cut it in two, I could not do that to you, my dear readers ;)
The Starks' Keeper, Chapter 7
Jaime knew his turn would arrive soon. Sansa Stark had come to him the evening before to tell him he would be judged today. She had told him Tyrion would be judged the same day but had voluntarily hidden the exact hour. Even though he hated to admit it, he owed her a lot, for he knew she had looked after him after his captivity. He knew she hated him – and in a way, he could understand. After all, he was Cersei's brother and lover, the man who had fathered Joffrey Baratheon, one of the most sadistic kings to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and therefore, one of Sansa's worst memories. Knowing all the wrongdoings he had committed against House Stark, he knew he could not blame her for her hatred. Eddard Stark had been a man Jaime had loved to abominate, but he was far from feeling the same for his daughters. Arya and Sansa were now accomplished women. They had risen from the ashes. One had managed to kill the Night King, the other had crushed the last living Bolton.
Sometimes he wished his father was still alive just so he could see how the Stark children had managed to crush all the things Tywin had struggled to establish.
As he tried to get up, he winced in pain. His leg was still hurting him considerably. Thanks to Maester Ilmon's expertise, the wound was almost completely healed, and he still had a leg. But deep down, Jaime knew he would not be able to use it as easily as he did before. He tried to move his leg again but let out a loud gasp of pain.
"Looks like the lion's paw makes him wail," he heard a voice say from outside of the tent.
He felt anger grow in his mind as he heard two other soldiers laughing at him. This had been his everyday life since he had regained consciousness in this bloody white tent. Many of the Starks soldiers were taking advantage of the small thickness of the tent to hurl insults at him. He had heard Lady Sansa had given the order to never directly address him. At first, he had thought it was to annoy him, but in fact these orders were a real blessing. Sansa Stark had tried to protect him by doing so, knowing how angry her brother's men were against him. She really made him think of her mother. He assumed it was for this reason he could not hate her. He had always secretly admired Lady Catelyn Stark.
As he was about to try again, someone entered the tent. Jaime fell his blood boil as he recognized who it was.
"Well well well, they did say you were hurt, but I had no idea you'd look like that."
"Bronn…" Jaime spat, his teeth clenched.
"It's Ser Bronn, my lord. Of the Blackwater. But that's fine, I know you're out of words because of the happiness you're feeling right now."
Jaime sighed loudly.
"If you want to know, I'm happy to see you too," Bronn added with an amused smile.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. I came here to bring you to your trial."
Jaime squinted, visibly dubious.
"Have you forgo'en about it?" Bronn asked.
"I have not. I just wonder why the Members would send you to fetch me. Are you a Member yourself? I truly doubt it. Your birth is not high enough."
Jaime saw his words angered Bronn, and it made him smile a little. The last time he had seen this man, it was near Winterfell. Bronn was ready to kill him and his brother just to honor the promise he had made to Cersei. This man had been so many things to him. A loyal comrade, a friend, a confident, the man who had saved him from a dragon's fire, but also the one who had tried to kill him. He was not someone to be trusted. And yet, they had chosen him. Bronn finally got a grip on himself and declared:
"Well, I'd love to spend some time with you and to tell you the story of my arrival, but since I know I don't have much time, I'll simply tell you this: I arrived two days ago. Heard a Council was gathering. Met your brother in a dark cell and heard you were crying in a bed like a little girl calling for her mom. I pledged my loyalty to the Council and since you're not a prisoner of the Unsullied, Lady Stark named me to bring you in front of the Council, whether you like it or not. Don't worry, she made sure I came accompanied. This is why there are two Stark lad waiting for us outside this tent, so I suggest you move your fucking ass before I lose patience."
Jaime could not help but laugh. This man was really a master at changing sides.
"And how do you suggest I move my ass?" Jaime asked. "I can't even stand."
"Oh, don't worry about it. They already knew you couldn't. Guys!"
Bronn shouted this last word and the moment after, a Stark soldier entered in the tent, pushing a large wooden wheelchair. Jaime's smiled disappeared as he realised he would come to his own trial sitting on this chair like a disabled old man. He felt hatred rust in his heart as the urge to punch something grew in him. He hated to appear so weak, but knew he had no other choice.
"Ser Jaime Lannister, you're about to meet the King," said the Northern soldier.
Jaime suddenly lifted his head.
The King?
Tyrion could feel all the eyes on him as one of the squires announced the arrival of his brother. He could not realise what was about to happen. Everything had happened so fast. This morning, he was nothing but a traitor, and now he was a Hand again. How had he managed to convince all of the High Members? Now, Westeros had a new King. Brandon Stark, the boy who had fallen. Everyone had given his accord to name him King of the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion automatically recalled there were not seven kingdoms anymore, but six. Lady Sansa had stood for the Northern cause, stating it would remain an independent kingdom. She was now about to be a Queen, and as she had spoken, Tyrion had realised how magnificent she was. She had been born to be a Queen.
King Brandon had named him his Hand, for a reason he still could not understand. But now here he was, about to make his first political move as a King's first man. Tyrion suddenly realised how hard this task would be, but he understood why King Bran had chosen him to lead his brother's trial. It would be a way to prove his loyalty. But Brandon Stark was the Three-Eyed Raven now, therefore he already knew Tyrion would not betray him. Suddenly, the truth appeared in Tyrion's mind as clear as it really was: leading Jaime's trial would not be a way to prove his allegiance to the new ruler, but to show it to all of the Members. Tyrion blinked as he looked behind him and met Bran's eyes. The King silently observed him, and Tyrion could tell he knew about his thoughts. He had only been named Hand of the Seven Kingdoms a few hours earlier, and yet, in his heart, he could not help but already feel admirative for his King.
What a mastermind.
As he turned back, he felt his heart miss a beat. Here, in the middle of the arena, he saw Bronn pushing an old wooden wheelchair. What he saw on it broke him. Jaime. His brother was sitting here, covered by a woolen blanket. He was looking at him, his eyes wet. Tyrion fought the urge to hug him. He knew he had to remain as strong and neutral as he could to avoid any suspicions, knowing many Members were still looking at him with dubious eyes. After all, he was still a Lannister.
Jaime looked miserable. They looked at each other silently. Sansa noticed the emotions in their eyes. She knew how much Tyrion loved his brother, and now she could see the reciprocity. It was as if they were silently telling each other how much they had feared to lose one another. This was a feeling she knew perfectly now. Each time she was seeing Jon, Arya or Bran, she felt it. The feeling to be completed.
Jaime managed to hold back his tear. On the way to the arena, Bronn had had the courtesy to describe him the result of his brother's trial. Tyrion had managed to convince the Members to vote for Bran, and they had followed his advice. He was not surprised. Tyrion was a great orator. He had always been one.
Now Bran was the King. Jaime looked at him and felt his shame grow even stronger in his thoughts as he realised the boy was also in a wheelchair. It was as if their respective fates were mirroring somehow. Bran looked at him with placidity, and Jaime could not help but admire him. He had got the most beautiful revenge someone could get in this world. And Jaime had paid for what he had done to him. He was paying right now.
A Lannister always pays his debt, he thought desperately.
Bronn gave quick reverence to the assembly and turned back, leaving Jaime alone. Grey Worm approached him and stood right next to him, straight as a ramrod. Jaime understood the Unsullied would stay here in case of a try to escape. As if he was physically able to move a finger.
He suddenly heard a small chuckle on his left, and as he turned his head, he realised who was laughing at him. Edmure Tully. The last time they had seen each other was during the siege of Riverrun. Jaime was a golden war leader at that time. He was nothing more than a cripple now. And Edmure was also getting his revenge as he looked at him with hostility and disdain. Jaime observed the other Members and felt their hatred for him. He was surprised enough to see that the only ones who were not showing any hostility were the Starks children. Arya was looking at him with a certain modesty, and what he thought was admiration – he suddenly realised it was because she knew he had killed Cersei, one of her enemies. Sansa was observing him with her piercing blue eyes. She was as beautiful as a she-wolf, stunning with her red braids which emphasized her gorgeous features. There was no hatred in her glance, only well-hidden memories. He saw her look on her right and rise up:
"Uncle," she addressed Edmure, "I think you've laughed enough. This is a serious gathering. Please behave as the High born you are."
Jaime saw Edmure's smile disappear, and it was only then that he noticed how long the Tully heir had laughed at him. He did not care anymore. All he wanted was to be done with it. He could not even stand to be alive right now and to see all of these people looking at him as if he was an outcast. He looked at Sansa and thanked her with a silent nod. She did nothing and looked at her brother.
"You can start, Lord Tyrion," Bran said slowly.
Jaime's brother nodded to his King and clasped his hands.
"Ser Jaime of House Lannister, you are in front of King Bran of House Stark, first of His name, The Broken, Defensor of the Six Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the First Men…"
Jaime smiled as he noticed his brother's effort for not using the word "stand". He observed the King Tyrion was mentioning. Bran the Broken. He knew why the boy had this nickname now; he was the reason for such a name. The boy could now play with his life as he liked. Jaime interiorly begged to be sentenced to death. He could not live without Cersei, not because he missed her – even though he missed the woman she used to be – but because her ghost was haunting him, torturing his thoughts, growing in his mind like a disease.
"… The charge against you is the one of lese-majesty," Tyrion pursued. "You deliberately left the camp of Daenerys Targaryen to –"
"Queen Daenerys Targaryen", Grey Worm barked.
Tyrion looked at him with a painful glance, noticing the hatred in his eyes. He turned towards his King and silently asked for his approval. Bran simply nodded.
"Queen Daenerys Targaryen," Tyrion repeated, visibly moved. He then focused on his brother. "You left her ranks to join Queen Cersei's during the Great Fire. Do you deny it?"
"I do not," Jaime declared.
"That makes you a traitor," declared Yara Greyjoy with anger.
"I'm sorry, I did not see you," Jaime answered carelessly. "Perhaps it's because you weren't there when the facts occurred."
Yara jumped out of her chair before being summoned by Tyrion to stay right where she was. Feeling the assembly's attention on her, the girl listened. Tyrion looked at his brother and they both shared an amused glance, although Tyrion was reprimanding Jaime for his gibe.
"You managed to leave your cell thanks to your brother," Grey Worm said suddenly, not even looking at Tyrion.
Jaime could tell the Unsullied leader was angry to see his little brother standing as a Hand again. Life was unfair sometimes.
"Indeed," he admitted. "But seeing Lord Tyrion was appointed Hand of King Bran, I can tell his doings were finally forgiven."
Grey Worm did not even look at him, his eyes focusing on something invisible right in front of him, but Jaime saw him clench his jaw.
Sorry, mate.
"Can you tell us why you decided to join your sister?" Sansa asked.
"We all know why," Edmure spat. "We all know what he did with his slutty sister for years."
"Lord Edmure," Bran said blankly. "Please hold your tongue."
All of the three Starks were looking at their uncle with a cold glance, as cold as the air in the North during a snowy evening. Jaime was speechless.
Sansa turned her attention towards him again, raising her eyebrows to make him remember she had asked him a question. It was now time to confess:
"I left the Dragon Queen's ranks because I knew my sister was in danger. I knew we were marching on King's Landing with a dragon, I knew Daenerys wanted to get revenge. I… I wanted to save Cersei from an abominable death."
"If you wanted to save her, why did you kill her then?" Arya asked, visibly surprised.
"Because… because…"
It was so painful to talk. Jaime could feel Cersei's presence near him, he could see her beautiful face laughing at him. He was unable to make a sound, trying his best not to remember what had happened this afternoon. The memories were intact, he knew they were, but he had managed to hide them in a part of his brain, to protect himself from the violent images he had seen, from the horrible act he had committed.
"… Because she lied to you," Bran said mysteriously.
Tyrion frowned as he looked at his King. He turned back to look at Jaime and saw the shame and the pain on his features. He knew Bran could see anything – everyone knew. Therefore, it was true. Cersei had lied. Jaime looked at the ground and nodded with sadness.
"Lied? Lied about what?" asked Ser Davos.
"I… I can't…"
Jaime was incapable to answer. It was as if the words had escaped from his throat. He was fighting the images in his mind which were assailing him.
"Ser Jaime," he heard Sansa say as she rose from her chair. "There is no use to fight your thoughts. Your charges are serious and we need to know everything. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you need to answer us. Don't fight. Just tell."
Just tell? As if it was easy to do!
"Trust me, my lady, I wish I could get rid of these things right now."
"You're addressing the future Queen in the North."
He shivered as he heard the voice in front of him. He had managed to avoid her glance and had begged not to hear her voice.
Brienne.
She had been the first one he had looked at. Not even Tyrion had had this privilege. But he did not want her to see him like this – to see him at all. She had never visited him since he had woken up in the Stark's tent, and he knew how angry she was at him. He had been a selfish man. He had brought her in his life, charmed her and loved her only to succumb to his old demons. He was not a good man, and he had proved her his unworthiness.
He lifted his head and looked at her again. How beautiful she was in her silver armor, her golden hair emphasizing her cold eyes. She was looking at him as if he was nothing, and it reassured him. At least, she had understood he was now a broken man. There was nothing to expect of him. Although, deep down, Jaime felt the urge to kiss her and hold her against him.
"Please forgive me," he said before turning his head in Sansa's direction. "Your Grace, I understand your words. Please hear mine. Everything is still fuzzy."
"I understand," Sansa said. "But we still need to know. You said you'd like to get rid of it. This is the only way."
Tyrion observed his previous wife, and then looked at Jaime with begging eyes. He knew what he was silently telling him.
She is right, brother.
Jaime took a deep breath and started his tale:
"I left the Unsullied camp with Tyrion's help because I wanted to save Cersei – that is correct. I knew she would be killed. I also knew I would be the only one she would listen to. Tyrion accepted to free me with the condition that I would ring the bells to show King's Landing was surrendering. I honored this part of the deal."
He's the one who rang the bells? Sansa could not believe her ears. This made sense now. Tyrion had thought of the people's life before anything else. He truly was a man of honor. Although Jaime's tale was full of illogical statements, she could tell he was not lying. She had seen men lie. There was nothing but honesty in Jaime's sentences.
"I reached the Red Keep as soon as I could and ran towards the royal apartments. I knew my sister would be looking at her favourite balcony. I realised the dragon hadn't stopped, but it wasn't my priority. It was her."
Jaime was now talking slowly, not looking to anybody, as if he was telling all this to himself and the others were nothing but collateral witnesses.
"I found Cersei there. She was with Qyburn, but The Mountain wasn't here. I don't know why…"
He had run towards her as if she was a star. He had felt his heart bump with joy and love as he was holding her against him, feeling whole once again. The dragon was roaring outside, but it did not matter anymore. It was far away anyway. All that mattered was them – him and her, the soulmates of an entire life.
He had even tried to kiss her, not caring for Qyburn's presence, but she had repelled him.
"Cersei, it's me!" he said, surprised. "You're not safe anymore. We need to leave."
"Leave?"
She was looking at him with anger and repugnance, as if he was the most despicable creature.
"Can't you see the dragon?" he asked, trying not to care about her behaviour for now. "The city is losing!"
"My men will protect me. Euron Greyjoy's fleet will protect me."
"He's right, my Queen. We need to leave," Qyburn said.
"I did not ask for your advice, Hand. I'm the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I'll do as I please."
Jaime frowned. She had sounded exactly like Joffrey. Had she gone mad?
"Please Cersei, if you don't do it for me or your people, do it for our child."
She had laughed at him with arrogance. Jaime had looked at her womb, seeing it was not swollen, and then back at her.
"Our child?" she chuckled. "You truly believe I kept it?"
He had opened his eyes wide.
"Do you think I would have kept your child in my womb after what you've done to me? I told you to never turn your back on me, and you did it anyway. You said you didn't believe in my warnings. I wasn't warning you about The Mountain the night you chose to leave me. I knew you didn't care to live or to die. But I knew there was one small thing you would care even more about…"
She was smiling at him with all her pride. Jaime knew her well, he knew what she was capable of. But he could not believe her.
"You… You could never hurt one of your children."
"Oh, but I can. And I did. I only had three children, Jaime. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. I loved them with all my heart. I had so many hopes for our next child, my dear. But you chose to leave me. So I punished you."
Jaime felt his world collapse. This was the coup de grâce. Outside, the dragon was raging fire, approaching the Keep, spitting hellfire over thousands of buildings and people. Cersei's eyes were as hot as the dragon's fire, her lips were smiling around a burst of devilish laughter as she looked at her Hand. Qyburn curtsied, and Jaime understood what they had both done to his child.
They had killed it.
All he could remember now was the rage he had felt. He had been betrayed in his flesh by the woman he had considered as his soulmate, by the girl he had loved passionately since his most innocent years. He had done everything for her. And she had killed their baby.
"How could you?" he asked, tears going down his cheeks.
The woman in front of him was looking at him with great disdain. It was not Cersei anymore. It was Tywin and Joffrey looking down at him, amused by his miserable sobs. Maybe she had been the perfect mix between Joffrey and Tywin since the very beginning.
How blind he had been.
"HOW COULD YOU?" he shouted with all his voice.
"My Queen, we need to leave…"
Qyburn's voice was full of worry, and Cersei looked at the balcony, suddenly focusing on the situation. The moment after, Qyburn was on the ground, his blood flooding it, his body pierced by several stab wounds, trying to breath as his life was leaving him. Jaime had gashed him from behind, shouting his rage as a lion would roar on a gazelle while gutting her with his canines.
"Ser Gregor! Ser Greg –"
Cersei had tried to call for the Mountain but was suddenly stopped by a heavy hand violently holding her throat.
"You took everything from me…"
Jaime was not himself anymore. Cersei had awoken something that had been sleeping in him, deep within.
"Jaime… Jaime… Please…"
Cersei was trying to get rid of his grip, but her voice was nothing but a smothered growl. Jaime looked behind and realised Drogon was arriving.
Therefore, he would die as well.
He suddenly noticed a green light surrounding some of the buildings, exploding in the air. Wildfire. The image of King Aerys yelling at him to burn the city came back in mind, infuriating him even more. He was now living once more the moment when he had killed the Mad King and realised his hand was holding tight another Mad Queen's tiny throat.
"You killed these people…" he said.
"Jai –"
"I HATE YOU!"
He was crying, his vision blurring with his tears. He almost closed his eyes as he let his rage control him. He needed to let go. He punched somewhere with his golden hand, hearing Cersei's painful shouts, and finally, she stopped moving between his fingers.
When he opened his eyes, she was dead, her mouth open, her eyes red as blood. Exactly like Joffrey the moment he had joined the Gods.
And then, after the quick relief he had felt, the reality hit him. He had killed her.
"Cersei! Wake up! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!"
The last thing he could remember before feeling The Mountain's fingers tearing him apart, was that he had sat somehow and was holding her body against him, crying and shouting his pain to a world that was about to disappear.
A silence. Nobody was able to speak. Jaime had told them everything he remembered. It was done now. Some tears were going down his cheeks, but he did not care. Sansa looked at Bran and the latter nodded – confirming the tale was true. He had seen it too.
"Do you know why the Mountain wasn't here?" Sansa asked finally, knowing Tyrion was unable to speak for now. She could tell he was feeling guilty for his brother's fate, although it was not his fault at all. Cersei had always been mad and sadistic, it was just a shame the people who were closest to her did not realise it earlier. She had got what she deserved in the end.
"I don't know. He almost killed me. And I wished he did."
Tyrion lifted his eyes towards the sky in anger. How blind they both had been.
Fuck you, Cersei. Fuck you.
"Why did he leave you then?" asked Samuel Tarly.
"I don't know. I remembered he stopped suddenly – I think he has heard some noise coming from the stairs. He left me here to go down, and I don't know how I managed to find enough strength to flee and reach the shore. I lost too much blood to recall it."
"Maybe the Gods wanted you alive," Arya said with what Jaime recognised as compassion.
"This man killed Queen Daenerys' worst enemy," Grey Worm stated indifferently. "He needs to be rewarded."
"I didn't do it on purpose", Jaime winced.
"You did it anyway", said Bran. "Grey Worm is right. You deserve a reward.
"I don't want any reward," Jaime declared. "I just want this life to end."
He heard a gasp and realised is was Brienne's. He looked at her and felt his heart melt when he noticed the redness of her eyes. Gods, she was the only one here – aside with Tyrion – to make him feel alive.
"And I didn't want to be King", Bran answered. "And here we are. Thank you, Ser Jaime, for your testimony. You can leave us now. The Council needs to debate."
He felt the wheelchair move and realised Bronn had come back. He silently thanked the fate to put this moment to an end.
Hours later.
Sansa felt her heart jump in her chest as she approached the Hound cell. Today had been an awful day, and she knew it was only the beginning. The Council had judged both Lannisters, but the deliberations about Jaime's fate had been so long they had all decided to postpone Jon's and Sandor's trial. Arya volunteered to tell it to Jon, knowing Sansa could not see him without feeling the urge to free him. Therefore, Sansa had agreed to tell the Hound. The afternoon was ending, she needed to hurry, but she could not help but feel impoverished. If she had managed to get a grip on the multitude of thoughts she had felt in the morning after waking up, all of them were going back to her as fast as the wind blew.
She had kissed Sandor the night before and as she had tried to sleep after this brief moment of softness, an image had reached her mind. The image of Littlefinger kissing her in the snow. Littlefinger had been the second man she had ever kissed, and she knew he had feelings for her, although he was using her as a lever. Petyr had kissed other women – including her aunt Lysa, probably her mother too in their youth – only to control them, to get in their minds.
And now, Sansa could not help but think she had done exactly the same to control Sandor. As if she had always known, deep down, that he would never repulse her. As if she had known her kiss and soft words would make him change his mind about Gregor.
She had sat up as she was slowly realising Petyr Baelish had managed to teach her how to corrupt any soul with her charms. He had told her any woman had this power. And he was right.
She could hear his broken voice congratulate her:
Well done, my love. You've managed to train the dog.
She had thought Sandor was the last time she would see him. But it was not. And now, the door was opening to her, leading to shadows.
She entered slowly, as if she was entering a cage with a wild animal. This was how she felt: she had no idea how Sandor would react at her sight. The door closed behind her and she looked around, trying to decipher his silhouette, but saw nothing.
"You shouldn't be here, Little Bird…"
She shivered and closed her eyes as she heard his familiar raspy voice right behind him. She turned around and looked at him, plunging into his dark eyes. His face was lightened by the candles, dancing on his features. He did not seem angry.
"Your judgment has been postponed."
He sighed loudly, and it broke her to realise he wanted to be done with it. He really was an animal in a cage, too proud to beg for his freedom, but still needing it. Craving for it.
"I'm sorry."
He lifted his eyes to meet hers, as if surprised to hear her pronounce these words. And then, he realised the loveliness of her face, surrounded by several braids that seemed to dance around her face like little flames dancing in the dark.
They looked at each other again, silent. Sansa broke this moment as she stepped back, without letting her eyes leaving his.
"I hope you'll manage to withstand it."
"Don't worry, I will. I feel fine in the dark."
She simply nodded and finally turned around, silently making her way towards the room as if she was visiting it.
"I thought about what you told me yesterday. About Gregor."
His voice was as calm as lake water. It was so sad to hear him talk like that. Sansa felt the urge to kiss him again, but something blocked her passionate thoughts. Petyr's voice:
Well done, my love.
No. No! She had not kissed him to get an advantage on him. She perfectly knew that was something she would have been capable to do, but now it was different. With Sandor, it was different.
"I still want to kill this cunt."
"I understand."
She was now looking at the wall, her back in front of him. What was wrong with her?
Sandor wanted to caress her face, to kiss her lovely shoulders. Of course he had thought of her words. But he had also thought about her entire visit. All-day, he had relived her kiss, as if it was a dream he had just made, feeling her soft lips on his rough ones. He wanted to take her, here and now, to kiss her again, to see her naked and caress her scarred body that he considered now as even beautiful than before.
But he could not move. She was probably realising her mistake right now. How could such a wonderful creature care for a monster? How could a wolf stop his race to run just next to a hound?
"Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime were judged today," she declared, still looking at the wall.
And you think I care?
He said nothing instead, preferring to let her continue:
"They were both pardoned."
"So I've heard. (She turned around, frowning, and he explained:) Ser Davos came right after Tyrion's trial. He was already dubious about my judgment. Told me everything."
"Everything?"
He slowly nodded.
"Your brother. What he did was pretty amazing. Becoming a cripple to finally end as King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Six Kingdoms," she corrected.
Now, it was he who frowned.
"I see Ser Davos didn't tell you everything. My brother declared the North an independent kingdom."
"But your brother isn't even –"
"I will be the Queen in the North."
She had pronounced this sentence with a wild pride enlightening her features, her chin lifted with fierceness. Sandor had never seen her as beautiful as she was at this moment. She was shining, like a goddess, not even hiding her haughtiness.
Gods, she's stunning.
He had said Bran had done something amazing, but now he was speechless. Sansa. Sansa Stark. The worried girl. The stupid girl who had suffered a thousand pain. The Little Bird. His Little Bird. She would be a Queen now, the Queen in the North, the only one. She had obtained her power and her freedom on her own, fighting for herself and her family like a she-wolf would vividly fight to protect her pact.
The woman he had in front of him, this woman he had not known very well, was now arousing him in a way he would have never suspected. It was hard not to push her against a wall and kiss her greedily. But he did not want that anymore. He wanted to honor this body, to make love to it.
Because, here, right now, he was in love.
"Your Grace," he said seriously.
He inclined his head and Sansa remained silent, not knowing how to name the several emotions she was seeing on his face.
"Queen-to-be," she corrected.
"Aye, but a Queen anyway. I wish I could drink glasses of wine to that. I wish Joffrey Baratheon was still alive so he could witness how you finally managed to get what was rightfully yours in the end."
She was speechless. It was one of the rare times he had complimented her.
"I… thank you."
Suddenly, he thought about Arya. The girl would be so proud right now. The Starks had got their revenge in the end.
"What did you chose to do?" Sansa asked all of a sudden.
He frowned.
"With Gregor."
"I still ask for a trial by combat. This, I can't change."
"I see. You made up your mind then."
"Please, don't tell me you care. My life's done anyway. If I die, I die fighting against him."
"If that's what you want, then I wish you'll die fighting him."
I simply wish I wouldn't have to witness your downfall, she thought.
She wanted to tell him, but nothing came out of her throat. She was paralysed.
"After all," she added, "that's the only thing that would make you happy."
He squinted, visibly shocked by her use of words.
"What did you say?" he asked as he made his way towards her.
"That's what you told me after the Battle of Winterfell. That there was only one thing that would make you happy. I simply assumed it was killing your older brother."
"You assumed?"
She could see she had angered him, but she could not tell why. The more she was observing his features, the more she realised he seemed to be angered against himself instead.
"You think you know me enough to state such things, Little Bird?"
His voice was now a heinous growl.
"I never said that," she answered, staying straight as he stopped in front of her, his eyes glancing down at her incomprehensibly.
"You know nothing about me. Nothing."
This last sentence had been said in a weird way; as if the Hound had realised she knew nothing about him – or not enough – and was now telling it to himself.
It was enough. Sansa had an horrible day, she needed to be alone, and although she was not sure the Hound was mad at her, she felt her patience decrease.
"If you say so", she declared. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to leave."
She past through him to reach the door, not even caring about his words anymore. Suddenly, she turned back and let her indignation speak:
"You must think I'm presumptuous, and you're perfectly right. But I'm sorry, I think I know you enough to think your revenge has been the only thing you've held on to in your life. I don't judge you for that, I understand, you know. Now you can be mad at me if you want, I don't care anymore. You'll probably die tomorrow anyway."
Sandor reached her as fast as he could.
"You're right, I'll be dead tomorrow."
The next moment, his lips were crushed on hers, kissing her violently, his hand put behind her neck. This kiss had nothing to do with the word "slightly". It was only roughness, it was wild, it was him. Sansa felt her heart jump in her chest and felt something hot and wet behind her legs as she felt Sandor's tongue try to enter her mouth.
She managed to repulse him and slapped him in the face, tears of anger growing in her eyes. Sandor's angry eyes looked at her again, but it did not stop her. He caught her forearms and was about to kiss her again, but Sansa fought back like a lioness.
"Stop it! Stop it!" he whispered, suddenly knowing two Unsullied soldiers were guarding the cell.
He also noticed she was not screaming for help even knowing how well-guarded this prison was. He finally let go of her and received another slap, making both of his jaws burn as if his flesh had been branded.
"How dare you?" she asked as she slapped him once more.
He saw the tear in her eye and did not even think about reacting.
"How dare you?" she asked again.
"You said it yourself, I might die tomorrow."
"And that allows you to behave like this?"
He could tell, thanks to the weakness of her voice, that he had failed her miserably.
No use to care about it anymore.
"First you rage against me because I dare to say that I know you, and then you treat me as if I was a whore," she rasped. "Do you think I'm a whore?"
"No."
"You fucking bastard." He looked at her, visibly shocked.
"Well, what a filthy mouth you have."
She slapped him again.
"I am Lady Sansa of House Stark. I'm about to rule the North. I'm about to be a Queen, and I won't let you address me the way you just did."
He could not answer her. Could not she see that he did not care about anything now? He had disappointed her. He had failed her. Now everything was pointless.
"Why did you do that?" she asked.
Her voice had suddenly turned softer. Her eyes were full of incomprehension.
"Do what?"
"That."
"Because I wanted to."
Because this is the only thing that'd make me happy.
"You're crazy", she said.
"Aye, probably. But you're the one who kissed me first."
She lifted her eyes towards him, visibly offended. It made him chuckle:
"Forget about it. One day, shortly enough, it all will be nothing more than a bloody memory you'll be easily able to erase from your mind."
It broke her heart to hear him say that, and she realised that no matter how angry she was at him now, he would never be just a "simply memory".
"I won't forget you", she said more for herself than for him.
I'll never forget you, Sandor Clegane.
For a moment, he thought she would cry, but she rapidly regained consciousness of the situation and lifted her head with her cold habitual fierceness.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," she said quickly as if it was almost impossible to apologise. "I guess you're right. I've never known you."
"You're the offended one, Sansa. Not me."
She shivered as she heard her name coming from his mouth. Why did she have to this strange in his presence?
"I won't touch you again," he declared.
She nodded and made her way towards the exit, feeling dizzy and internally swearing against herself for not asking Brienne to come with her. Now she doubted she would be able to reach the camp.
She stopped suddenly. A question was burning her lips:
"What is it then?"
Sandor frowned. She looked back at him.
"What is the thing that would make you happy?"
He let out a long sigh as he felt his blood boil; Gods he wanted to tell it, just for once.
You.
She looked at him, waiting.
It's you.
He could not find the courage to pronounce the answer, and yet it consisted in only one word.
"I'm sorry", Sansa said after shaking her head. "I'm being silly again, forgive me. I'm sure enough it has nothing to do with me."
Something pierced Sandor's heart as he saw her leave his cell without a goodbye. Here he was. Alone at last, with his old demons.
Told you this chapter would be long… I really wanted to show you Jaime's trial, for it was the only way I had to show Cersei's death and unveil the mystery. Jaime's one of my favorite characters and that's why I decided to make him survive in this story. I'm a Braime shipper…
Please, please, please let me know what you thought about it and what you'd expect to see.
Next Chapter: Sandor's trial.