The Starks' Keeper
Chapter 8
Hi everyone! Sooo… I really loved to write this chapter, but it won't have any SanSan "key-moment". I preferred to focus on the plot and there was secondary stories I wanted to write about… so please, forgive me.
The last days had been long and harsh, but Sansa felt appeased as she silently observed the immensity of the sea that was dancing near the shore in front of her. She had felt the urge to clear her thoughts, for today was probably one of the most important ones in her life. Today, Jon would be judged.
And Sandor as well.
How difficult it was to think about these two. The first one was now considered a Queenslayer, a man without honour, and he risked everything, including his life. The other one was a man she had feared and now – now she could not tell how she felt about him. Anger rose up in her mind as she remembered what he had just done to her the day before. He had kissed her without her consent, without asking her the permission, as if she was nothing but a whore, and although she had thought about kissing him as well, she knew she would not forgive such a thing. She had shown him her scars – the proof of her weakness, the marks of her torment –, she had told him what Ramsay had done to her, and yet the Hound had behaved like a dog, touching her without considering her own approval.
She was starting to think like the silly little girl she once had been. She was not this girl anymore. She was a woman. A future Queen. Sandor had made his choice. He had kissed her because he had wanted to. After all, he was a man: ready to take anything he wanted to get in all the ways possible.
She felt a cold breeze caress her cheeks and took a deep breath. The southern sun was now starting to go high in the sky, illuminating the sea, lightning the water to make it glow like a million glass pieces. She had almost forgotten this place. Her memory had managed to erase the most painful memories she had of the Capital, but nothing could make her forget the comfort she felt each time she was looking at the Blackwater Bay. It was one of her favourite spots, where she knew she could be alone and give free rein to her thoughts. She took a deep breath and managed to focus.
She felt exactly like the day Jon had faced Ramsay Bolton's army during the Battle of the Bastards. She was unsure of what would happen now, but she knew she would not go back. She had to face this day, to face the Council, to do what was right.
Today, she had to fight.
"Looks like we're not the only one who like the shore."
Jaime's voice was deep but soft as he looked at his little brother. Now that they had both been spared by King Bran, they were inseparable, as if they had silently promised each other to never live one another. They had celebrated in on of the numerous rooms that was still intact in the Keep, drinking wine and laughing about jokes, stories, and memories. It was as if they had completely forgotten what had happen. Jaime had even managed to stand – although he needed crutches now. His leg was still hurting him, and he knew it would hurt him less he was still using the wheelchair, but he simply could not bear the way people were looking at him. The wine had both made them fall asleep on a large sofa covered with piles of sweet cushions, and they had woken up at the first lights. They had eaten together as they had been used to since they were children. The situation was weird, but none of them was complaining about it. Things had changed, but they were still there, for a reason they could not explain. They were in King's Landing, but not the city they had once known. Now the Keep was full of ghosts and memories, but they did not mind. They were so happy to see each other, to know they would not have to face this life on their own.
Tyrion had proposed to go to the sea before joining his King, and although Jaime had at first accepted without mind, he was now regretting his choice. His leg hurt him so much he wanted to cut it out. But he had managed to reach the stairs that were overlooking one of the smallest coasts in the capital.
But someone was already here, and they had both recognized the red long hair that was floating in the air like a flag, shining like fire under the sun.
Lady Sansa.
She seemed to be alone. She could not see them from where she was, her body facing the sea, the mark of her steps still fresh in the sand.
Jaime looked at Tyrion and noticed the glint of concern in his eyes. His little brother really cared about this girl. After, they had been married, although it was in another life.
"She seems so confident," Jaime said calmly as he still observed his brother, trying to decipher his thoughts.
"She is confident," Tyrion answered. "And she has all the reasons to be. She faced the worst, and she's still here."
"Do you love her?"
The question had escaped Jaime's lips before he even considered its impact. Tyrion's eyes sparkled a little, but he did not even move, still looking at the sea.
"I care about her. She's my King's sister."
Jaime nodded and understood behind Tyrion's official words that his brother did not even know of he felt about the girl. In a sense, he could understand why Tyrion found Sansa attractive. Although he was not capable to truly explain it, the Stark girl made him think of Cersei when she was younger. There was the same fierceness emphasizing her features, as if grace was embracing all of her movements, but there also was something darker in her, like a wild animal ready to jump on his prey at any moment. In a way or another, Jaime knew Cersei had impacted the young Sansa Stark at the time she was still Ned Stark's beautiful daughter, about to marry Joffrey. The student had surpassed the master.
"I admire her – although I'll never be able to openly admit it," Jaime confessed. "She's still a Stark after all."
Tyrion laughed:
"Our King is a Stark."
"You're right. Father would be so proud of us."
They laughed again:
"I'd love to see him come back from the dead and witness what is left of Westeros now," Tyrion declared.
"That sounds interesting…" Jaime chuckled. "The King is now a Stark, the North is independent and answers to a Stark, the son he belittled passionately is now the Hand of the only King, his warrior golden boy is now incapable to lead a fight –"
"Don't be so harsh on yourself, Jaime. It's not for nothing King Bran named you His Master of Laws."
Jaime could not believe he was still alive, and about to do the exact thing he had done when Cersei was Queen. King Bran had pardoned him just like King Robert had given him the royal amnesty. He had killed two monarchs in his life, one he had loathed, one he had loved, and he was still here. But during the evening he had spent drinking with Tyrion, an idea had formed in his mind, making him wonder on a possible meaning to all of this. Bran had named him Master of Laws to make him understand the meaning of the Law. Jaime had transgressed it all his life, and even the current King had paid the price of his unconsciousness.
He wanted to see the King. To talk to him. He needed to get the truth. To understand why a boy he had crippled for life would spare his without feeling the urge to get revenge.
"Are you happy to be here?" Jaime asked suddenly.
Tyrion turned his head and looked at him, looking serious.
"I think I am, yes."
"I know you miss her."
Tyrion frowned, surprised.
"Daenerys," Jaime added.
"I do. I'll miss her all my life. But a part of me cannot help but think she wasn't made for this world."
He would be forever haunted by the image of a beautiful woman with silver hair, smiling with pride as her three dragons danced over her head.
"I cannot help but think this is for the best. I know I couldn't bear to see her fall into madness."
This sentence broke Jaime's heart and it took him a lot of self-control not to burst into tears.
Cersei.
"The Targaryen girl wasn't the only Mad Queen of this story," he managed to say, forcing himself to turn his head so his brother would not see the wetness of his eyes.
Tyrion looked at Jaime with a sad eye. They shared a common burden.
"It's for the better, brother," Tyrion said.
If you say so.
Jaime was not in the mood to think about all of that. He had the horrible feeling to be trapped in a life he had not chosen, and each this thought was reaching his mind, the abominable truth was hitting him with the strength of an impetuous wind: he was the only one to blame. He had killed Cersei. There was nobody else but him to be angry against.
"Ser Brienne," Tyrion exclaimed suddenly. He had made sure to pronounce her name clearly so it would bring his brother out of his thoughts.
The latter jumped a little and turned his head towards the small road. There she was. Wearing her golden armour – she was still wearing the one he had offered her –, Oathkeeper glinting under the sun, her hand right over the pommel -ready to fight in any circumstance.
"Lord Tyrion," she said in return.
She did not even look at Jaime, whose eyes were locked on her in a mesmerized glance.
"Have a fondness for the Blackwater Bay?" Tyrion asked, trying his best to smooth the situation.
"Not at all," she answered as she looked away, focusing on the shore. "I heard Queen Sansa left her tent early this morning. I wanted to make sure everything was alright."
"She's right down the way," Jaime declared awkwardly, as if he wanted her to notice his presence.
"I know. Thank you."
She only looked at Tyrion while pronouncing the last sentence. He looked at her and smiled, and she left them after a quick bow. She had already disappeared to reach her mistress when Jaime felt his brother's insisting stare on him.
He felt as if he was nothing to her anymore.
And he hated that.
"And you thought Cersei was the lioness," Tyrion laughed.
Hours later.
Jon jumped. Someone was at his door. Who could it be? It had been so long since he had seen the light of day, and he felt miserable – both in and out. He knew he was going crazy.
Daenerys was everywhere.
In his dreams, in his thoughts… She had even come to visit him during his long days of loneliness.
Gods, he missed more than anything else.
He heard someone enter the cell, but did not bother to move from his bed; he preferred to focus on the wall right in front of him, silently caressing its irregular stones.
The person did not approach him, but he recognized from the sound of the steps it was a man. He suspected Davos, but was surprised to hear someone sitting on a chair that had been brought for the occasion.
That was not something Davos would do. The man was always brief – but compassionate. Jon knew Seaworth had a lot of things to handle. He admired him. He wanted to leave this bloody city.
To leave his bloody life that had never meant anything.
The person cleared his throat noisily. Jon turned his head and realized he had not dreamt. Someone was sitting in the middle of the room and was looking at him. The shadows and the blurriness of Jon's tired eyes did not allow him to identify his visitor.
"I'm not in the mood for company," Jon muttered.
"Believe me, I did not come on my free will."
He knew this voice, but not enough to recognise it for the first time. It was a voice he had heard just a little, a voice coming right from his past.
Jon sat up and face the man in front of him, squinting to decipher his features.
Jaime Lannister.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I'm glad to see you as well."
Jaime was trying to lighten the mood, but seeing Jon's miserable appearance, he realized jokes were not the good approach.
"Your brother sent me," he declared.
"My brother?"
Jaime nodded:
"King Bran – wait, you're aware he's the King now, right?"
"I am, yes. Ser Davos told me so… Why would my brother send you here?"
Some memories were coming back in his mind: he remembered Ser Jaime had been declared a traitor by Queen Daenerys. He had left her ranks to reach Cersei. And still, here he was.
"King Bran named me his Master of Laws," Jaime simply admitted, his voice betraying the fact the he could not believe it himself.
"It still doesn't answer my question."
"I have no answer. The King ordered me to see you and to bring you to your trial. I can't tell you his motives. You know how… mysterious he is."
"He's the Three-Eyed Raven."
Damn. Starks are really complicated to read. Jaime only wanted to get rid of this ridiculous mission.
"Well, I'm charged to read you the charges against you –"
"How come you're still alive?" Jon interrupted him.
"Well, I can see how happy you are to notice my head is still on my shoulders and I'd love to tell you the story, but I really need to do my job here."
"No need to read the charges. I know them by heart. Treason, murder, perhaps even fornication. I don't care. Those words are nothing compared to the pain they define."
What am I doing here? Was Jaime here to listen to lamentations? He already has a burden.
"All I am now is a former King who'll be always remembered as a king slayer."
"You know, I've been there. Nothing to worry about. Plus, I killed two monarchs in one life."
"Nothing to be proud of."
"That's not the point. People will remember you as a kingslayer, but it doesn't matter. What matters it what you think of yourself. You did what was right."
Jon chuckled bitterly:
"How can you say so? I killed Daenerys Targaryen, the new prophetess, the woman I loved. There's nothing right in that."
"You've no idea of how wrong you are."
"I'm not like you."
"Ho no, you're not, Queenslayer."
How delightful it was to give such a name to Eddard Stark's bastard. The man in front of him was the living proof he was not alone anymore. Jon Snow had followed his heart, his duty, he had saved millions of lives by compromising his honour. Maybe Jaime was not as bad as he thought?
No. No, his case had nothing to compare with. Jon was now looking at him with dark eyes, visibly angered by his new nickname.
Don't worry boy, you'll get used to it.
"I killed a Targaryen too. Daenerys' father. Aerys II of His name. Believe it or not, but I would do it without a second thought."
"Of course you would. Killing Aerys allowed your father to get rid of his yoke and make an alliance with Robert. I killed Daenerys because I had to, and it broke me."
"Poor lad. A shame your mother is not here to hold you against her."
"I never had a mother."
"Sorry, I forgot. Or not. After all, I'm a man without honour to you, why would I bother to appear nice to you when I can read the hatred in your eyes?"
This sentence, weirdly enough, seemed to move Jon. The boy lifted his head and his eyebrows frowned a little as he said:
"I don't hate you."
It was an honest declaration. So honest that it hit Jaime in the face.
You don't hate me?
What was wrong with the Starks? Always showing decency, even to the last person on earth they cared about. Jaime hated that. Jon definitely looked like his father, and Jaime had always been exasperated by Ned's "perfect" moves. Every man has a flaw. Every man.
While he was lost in his thoughts, Jon pursued:
"The first time I saw you was when King Robert and his family visited my father in Winterfell. Gods, I wish he had stayed in King's Landing. I saw you with your men, wearing a golden armour, taking away your helmet and shake your golden head."
What a cunt I was at that time, Jaime realized. Always ready to show off only to get Cersei's attention, even at the risk of being ridiculous.
So many things had changed now. He had lost his hand and he was another man.
"I thought you looked like a God," Jon muttered.
Jaime frowned. A God?
"And then I realized who you were. The Kingslayer. The man without honour. And now, I did exactly what you did."
Jaime had no idea what to answer, so he chose to remain silent, but Jon stopped talking and looked pensively at his feet, his arms crossed against his chest as if he was nothing but a beggar.
"I killed Aerys because I had to. Believe it or not. He wanted to destroy King's Landing, to "burn them all". I couldn't let him do it. I protected the one I loved. I hated him, more than anybody else. He was a monster."
Jaime thought Jon would make fun of him but realized he had caught his attention by telling him so. He felt like he was an older telling a story to a child. The curiosity was distinct in Snow's eyes.
"I know you loved her. Daenerys. My brother loved her too. He believed in her and it broke him to betray her. I could see the way you were all admiring her, as if she was a saviour. I'm not saying I wouldn't have believed in her too, over time. But I fear the Targaryens. You never truly know them. There… there's something dark in them, something out of this world."
Jon chuckled. If only Jaime knew he was addressing Aegon Targaryen himself. But the Lannister was right. Jon's ancestors were inhabited by darkness, and he could feel it too, there, right behind his heart, growing slowly in his thoughts.
"I killed Aerys and I hated him. But I killed Cersei too and…"
Jaime stopped, feeling Jon's eyes locked on him, his attention fully focused on his words. He felt his throat inflate and tears formed in his eyes.
Am I about to cry in front of a Stark?
Jaime looked at his feet and managed to find composure. He hated to be so weak, and yet, he was weak.
"I know what it is to kill the one you loved," Jaime declared.
Jon lifted his red eyes towards Jaime, and suddenly the truth lighted both of their faces; Bran had ordered this meeting deliberately. The King knew both men had a lot in common.
King Bran definitely loves humour.
Jaime looked Jon in the eye as he stated:
"Daenerys would have killed the half of Westeros just to sit on the Iron Throne. You did the right thing."
"Cersei would have done the exact same thing."
Jaime felt something strange in his chest as Jon silently observed him. He had the feeling he could read the man's mind: "You did the right thing too."
When Jon smiled to him, Jaime realized he had been the first one to smile. They looked at each other. It was so strange to get some comfort from someone they were certain to be different from. For the first time in their lives, someone could fully understand them.
Oddly enough, their fate mirrored each other.
Someone knocked on the door and Jaime rose up from the chair, remembering his purpose.
"Ready to go into the lion's den?" Jaime asked.
Jon laughed at Jaime's choice of words.
"More than ever."
I hate these fucking chains.
All he wanted was to get rid of them. As he made his way to intend his trial, Sandor could only focus on this need as he felt the irons' heaviness limit each of his movements. Nonetheless, Sandor had missed the sun. He had waited for too long in this bloody cell.
Now was the day.
The three Unsullied that were walking beside him stopped in front of a tent that had been settled right in front of the arena. So, that was where the Council had met since the beginning of the trials? How wonderful. It was in this arena that Sandor had seen Gregor for the first time in years.
When he had sworn him they would meet again.
Sandor looked right in front of him, trying to focus on every detail he was seeing. Perhaps today was his last day on earth, and yet he did not care much. He wanted revenge. Nothing else.
Sandor saw a shadow next to him. Someone was walking near the tent. Someone small enough to go unnoticed.
When the girl entered, the Unsullied jumped as if she had appeared from nowhere. Sandor could not help but feel appeased as Arya Stark approached him, her eyes locked with his.
"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" he asked.
"I wanted to see you before the trial. My brother allowed me."
"Like you needed to be allowed."
She smiled.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine," he said between his teeth. "Still yearning for some wine."
"You'll get some when all of this will be over."
He frowned. Was she still convinced he would survive this day? Sometimes, she was so naïve!
"Will I face the Mountain today?"
"I can't tell – not because I'm not allowed to, but because I don't know."
He deciphered sadness in Arya's eyes as she closed her mouth.
No need for pity. I made my life.
"What happened to your brother?" he asked suddenly, wishing to change the subject.
"Jon has been forgiven. He's sent to the Wall."
"So he's gonna take the Black. Back to the start. How poetic."
Sandor definitely had a problem with the notion of Justice. Arya looked around before stating:
"Maybe you'll take the Black too."
The Hound burst into laughter, incapable to retain his amusement.
"You think I'd take the Black? Me?" He approached his head: "I'll never leave this city till Gregor's not dead for good. You heard me?"
Arya sighed but said nothing. She left the tent in a hurry, feeling sadness grow in her heart. She knew, deep down, that Sandor could die today, and she could not stand it. He had killed the Dothraki to save her. Only her. He was a saviour, not an outcast. Why was she the only one to see that?
"Arya?"
She stopped, recognising the voice behind her.
Gendry.
She turned around and looked at him, waiting for his statement.
"How is he?" asked Lord Gendry as he approached her.
"He's fine, I guess."
Gendry knew she liked the Hound, for a reason he could not find. It was as if he was father to her. Their relation was very complicated to describe, but he knew Arya cared for him. He tried to smile to her, but all he got was a simple and quick smirk before the girl turned over and reached the arena.
"Sandor Clegane," Tyrion said loudly.
Try to focus, you bloody fool.
This was definitely a complicated task. He was so tired. He hated the South and this bloody city. He could feel all the eyes on him, but he did not care. Nothing mattered anymore. The air was so hot, he was wearing the same clothes since a week, the [tissu] glued against his skin. Were they sure Winter had come yet?
"You stand in front of King Bran of House Stark, First of His name, Defensor of the Six Kingdoms, The Broken, King of the Andals and the First Men…"
He had almost forgotten what it was to stand in front of a King. He looked at Bran. The boy was observing him, no emotion coming from his eyes, as if he did not care either. He could see Arya and Sansa's stare on him, but managed to avoid it. He had realized he could not face both. They mattered so much in his heart he could not show it.
"You stand accused of treason and murder," Tyrion declared.
Let's be done with it!
He hated that. He had hated when King Joffrey Lannister judged common people, he had always found it boring to stand and wait while listening to the High Born's words. But now that he was the accused one, he realized there was nothing to complain about. Everyone was looking at him. He quickly observed the people surrounding the Starks children. Brienne of Tarth, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Jaime Lannister…
All cunts.
"Some witness saw you kill a Dothraki soldier who stood in Queen Daenerys' army during the Great Fire –"
"Hoqqo," said a raspy voice. "His name was Hoqqo."
The Hound had almost forgotten the man standing behind him. Grey Worm. The fucking Unsullied who had triggered all this mess.
"… Hoqqo," Tyrion rectified, almost visibly annoyed. "Do you deny these charges?"
"I don't deny I killed the Dothraki," he answered.
"And what about treason?"
"I wasn't on the Targaryen's side."
Sansa felt his heart miss a bit. Could he not be careful? He was standing in front of the Council! She could feel the fear growing in her heart, but perfectly managed to hide it. Nobody had to know that, in this time, the cared about the Hound this much. He seemed so vulnerable, and she knew he knew it. This loud voice, as violent as a dog's bark, this was only a way to pretend he did not care. But she knew that, deep down, he cared.
His dark eyes were full of hate, as always, he looked like a wounded animal ready to jump and fight to defend his territory. She watched Tyrion turn over and look at her brother, waiting for a statement.
"You fought with her during the Battle of Winterfell," Bran said slowly.
"I did. But I wasn't defending her nor any cause."
"Then what were you fighting for?" asked Ser Brienne.
"I knew there was a fight. I fought."
This sentence made Arya smile, and Sansa noticed it – but it infuriated her. What did he have to always play the heartless soul? Maybe he was a lost cause. No! He was not. He wanted everyone to believe he was, but she knew he had a heart, a soul, she knew he was brave and even good. He had always been considered as a bad guy for he was the Mountain's little brother. He was behaving like a Clegane right now. And it was sad to see that nobody seemed to be surprised, as if they all thought they knew him by heart.
But they knew nothing.
"This man belonged to my Queen's army," Yara Greyjoy barked. "Why did you kill him?"
"He did it to save me," Arya answered automatically.
Everyone focused on her now.
"I was wounded during the Great Fire. You can see the mark on the top of my brow. The Hound saved me and brought me back to my brother."
"Is that true?" Ser Jaime asked Sandor.
"Aye. More or less."
"How did you get your injury, niece?" asked Lord Edmure.
"A stone fell on my head, uncle."
Sandor was so proud of her right now. He managed to contain his laugh.
"Why did you kill him?" Tyrion asked.
"Don't remember, the city was on fire. I may have lost my self-control."
Sansa was internally begging any divinity to make him stop acting like a fool. She wanted to slap him in the face for his careless behaviour. He was proving her his life did not matter at all – that nothing mattered, in fact – and it was breaking her.
"You realize such a behaviour may put you in danger?" Samuel Tarly inquired softly.
Sandor rolled his eyes.
"He wasn't the first man I killed, I hope he won't be the last."
He could hear the Unsullied's breath strengthen at his words. Deep down he hoped the latter would charge him. He was so annoyed by this he wanted to put his sword into someone's throat.
Oh, he had forgotten, he did not have any weapon now.
"The prisoner killed one of Queen Daenerys' men," growled Grey Worm, "in her memory, he needs to pay."
Tyrion looked at Bran.
"My King?"
Bran remained silent, as if waiting for something to come. Arya approached him finally and told:
"I know you've seen what happened that day. You know he saved me."
He looked at Arya in silence. The girl was silently begging him with her eyes. Sansa pensively thanked her; she was incapable to do such thing.
Bran looked at Sandor directly.
"You want Gregor," he simply stated.
Sandor shivered. How could the boy know all of this? Did anyone have told him about his story? Or about his crave for revenge?
Anyway, he was too proud to ask. He did not move a finger.
Tyrion looked at the Hound, understanding what his King had say:
"Is it true you asked for a trial by combat against your own brother?"
"Aye. If you want me to die for a man I don't care about, at least let me choose my death."
"As you wish."
Everyone looked at Sansa for she had said this sentence. She had obviously pronounced the words without thinking. Now it was to late to go back. She sat better on her chair, looking away from the Hound, and asked:
"What is it to be done about the Mountain, anyway?"
Nobody answered.
"Grey Worm, your men are still keeping him captive in one of the Red Keep's cells?" she insisted.
"Yes," the soldier answered.
"What can you say about him?"
"He's… strong. Silent. Does not move, or drink, or eat."
"We need to get rid of him," the Onion Knight sentenced.
"Exactly," the Hound exclaimed. "Do me the favour."
"Why would we let you fight a monster that isn't even on our side?" Ser Jaime wondered.
He then looked at the assembly:
"Am I the only one who thinks this is madness?"
"Don't bother pretending you care about me, Kingsl –"
"Of course I don't care about your fate, Hound!" Jaime cut suddenly. "You've no idea how glad I'd be to see you fight until your downfall, for it seems to be what you've always wanted in your miserable life."
Some day I'd love to cut your tongue, if I last long enough, thought the Hound. Jaime suddenly realized it was a serious gathering and his words could be used against him. Everyone observed him.
"What I'm trying to say," he rectified while looking at his brother and at the Starks children, "is that we need to use something stronger that another Clegane to kill the Mountain."
"You're perfectly right, Ser Jaime," said Sansa. "But the Mountain's case will be discussed another time. For now, the other Clegane is standing before all of us."
She did not bother looking at the concerned one. He wanted to die. Then he would die. She had made up her mind now.
She turned her head to see Sandor was looking at her in silent, and as quickly as a fly, she read an emotion in his eyes. Sadness. Was it even possible? Did she dream? Anyhow, it disappeared as fast as she had looked away from him.
"Does anyone have something else to say?" Tyrion asked.
Everyone looked so confused. What to do? It seemed like the entire judgment was ridiculous.
"My King," Tyrion started softly, "you've already sentenced your brother to join the Wall. Maybe the same choice here would be wise."
"It's not wisdom that matters here," Bran declared mysteriously, being the only one to understand himself.
Sandor felt the monarch's eyes staring at him and he had the strange feeling the latter was probing his soul.
"Gregor did this to you," Bran addressed Sandor directly. "He broke you. And you'll break him too. You'll break each other."
The Hound frowned. Arya too. Sansa understood the meaning of the sentence and felt her heart broke in a thousand pieces, but she simply lifted her head and remained silent. He hands were shaking like leaves, so she put them on the sides of her chair.
Take it. Silently. Internally.
"Grey Worm, bring the prisoner back to his cell," Bran ordered.
What?
Everyone looked at the King with inquisitive eyes. Grey Worm was boiling with anger, but Sandor infuriated even more:
"I did not wait like a rat in a hole for this!"
Sandor was clenching his fists so violently he could feel the blood coming over his palm. He was forcing on his chains in anger. Bran did not react. Sansa observed her little brother with shocked eyes, trying to decipher his meaning.
"Bran, what are you doing?"
No answer.
"Lord Tyrion, please call the guards to bring him back to the Keep," Bran ordered.
"But, My King…"
The boy simply turned his head:
"You made me your King. You trust me. Do you think I'd disappoint you?"
Tyrion paused. He realized who he was addressing. What he was capable of. Trusting his judgment was the better thing to do.
"The judgment is postponed," the Imp sentenced as Sandor growled in the arena, pulled by four strong Northmen who were bringing him out – a chance he had no weapon and a weakened physical capacity –, while everyone looked at each other, trying to loosen their incomprehension.
In the evening.
"You know, I missed this."
Tyrion rolled his eyes as Bronn filled himself another cup of wine.
"Miss what?" he asked.
"You, me, talking and drinking as the two poor lads we are."
"Such a wonderful image."
"C'mon! Try to celebrate!"
"Celebrate what?"
"Don't know. Life, perhaps? I didn't kill you, right?"
"Sometimes I wish you had."
"Look, I know this has been a bad day, but try to smile. You've seen much worse."
Much worse?
What was worse than doubting on the man you had made King? Maybe Bran had been like Daenerys all along. So aware of his uniqueness that he forgot what was right. Blinded by power. Why did he postponed a trial knowing all they had been through? They wanted to get rid of it. The Hound's case had been the simplest they had to arbitrate. Sentence him guilty or innocent, send him to fight his big brother and die for it while embracing his quest for revenge, or send him to the Wall with Jon Snow, or let him life his best life.
Simple.
He was tired of all this. He needed to talk to Bran.
"Where're you going, lad?"
"None of your business," Tyrion answered while leaving his room.
When he reached his King's chambers, he had the stunning surprise to hear a familiar voice.
"I don't understand! Why did you not let him fight?"
Sansa.
She was obviously talking about the Hound but for a reason he could not tell, she seemed worried. A lot.
The girl noticed him and sighed, visibly ashamed for her behaviour in front of another person. It was normal to have feelings and to show them, did she know that?
"My King," Tyrion said as he felt all the eyes on him. As he was in the door's [encadrement], he did not see there was a third person. Someone was sitting near King Bran, and moved loudly as he recognized Tyrion's voice.
Jaime.
What were they all doing here?
Jaime had come to see Bran because he had wished to talk to him alone; he had been stunned by his conversation with Jon Snow and wanted to know if the King had done it on purpose. Of course he had, but the boy had not managed to tell him his reasons for Queen Sansa had arrived, breathless, the redness of her face highlights the pale colour of her eye.
She had seen Jaime but had behaved as if he was not there, starting to inquire on the Hound's fate, becoming angrier and angrier as her brother remained as mysterious as a stone, answering her questions with simple and vague sentences.
He was relieved to see his brother arrive.
"My Hand," Bran said.
"I… I see I'm disturbing…"
Sansa sighed and brought her hand on her brow, visibly annoyed to see another Lannister witness her moment of stupor.
"You're not," the King stated. "You and Sansa are here for the same reason."
The concerned shared a glance.
"You think I made a mistake by postponing the Hound's sentence," he declared carelessly.
Sansa looked at Tyrion and frowned, silently asking him he had come on this purpose.
"Well… yes." He admitted. "Many people are feeling weary of these trials, many of Daenerys' soldiers wanted to see the Hound judged at last."
"Lord Tyrion is right, brother," Sansa added. "Sandor Clegane is not a man that likes to be kept in a jail."
"That's what he told you," Bran interrupted. "You came to visit him after the trial."
Sansa felt her heart miss a bit.
"You came here because you know he's starting to lose his mind. Don't you think I've seen it as well?" King Bran asked.
Of course he had. He was capable to see everything. Sometimes Sansa wished he could stop talking with vague sentences and tell everything she wanted to know. But she knew it was a very dangerous thing to do. Who wants to know what is to be of his future?
Jaime observed Sansa and, for the first time, he deciphered an ounce of concern in her unreadable eyes. What was she concerned about? The Hound?
He wanted to leave, but for an unknown reason, he felt as if he could not move, as if his right place was here and now, beside the King. The blood in his leg was pounding, making him suffer, so he managed to stand from his chair and reach one of the table in the corner. He poured some water in a glass and, taking a flask from his belt, he mixed the water with the brown liquid. This potion that had been made by Maester Ilmon was always beside him. It allowed him to forget the pain for a few hours, and although he still had to walk with a stick, he was able to stand.
Jaime turned around after drinking his mixture and realized all the eyes were on him. Sansa, Tyrion and Bran had stopped talking only to observe him in his doings.
"May I ask why you're here, Ser Jaime?" Sansa questioned him.
"I came to make my report to the King, Your Grace. About your other brother, moreover."
Sansa was looking at him as if he was a puzzle to solve, but he did not care. He had seen her infuriate against King Bran like a little girl, now he was doubting his capacity to be afraid of her.
Tyrion looked at his King and tried to decipher anything that could reassure him.
Please, don't be a tyrant.
The boy slowly turned his head and stared at the Imp:
"It appears you and Sansa doubt of me."
This sentence resonated in all the corners of the room.
"Of course not!", Sansa exclaimed as she approached Bran. "You know I trust you. You're my family. I just don't understand. All I want is to understand…"
"You'll see, Sansa."
Lord Tyrion started to be tired of these incomprehensible sentences. It was as if the King had pronounced a charade he was incapable to solve. He hated this. He hated to feel so useless and destitute. He suddenly conceived that it was useless to stay there in search of a clear answer, for the monarch was resolved to remain as woolly as possible.
He made a quick reverence and told the other he was taking his leave. He had the bad feeling that he was side-lined from power, and he hated that more than anything else.
"I think it's time I leave you as well," Jaime declared, feeling the urge to join his little brother.
"Ser Jaime," Bran said as the latter was about to reach the door, "I'd like you to tell Sansa what my brother told you."
Jaime turned his head.
All of it?
He did not want Sansa Stark to learn about the discussion he had had with Jon Snow. Firstly, because he did not want anyone but his brother and the King to know he pitied the former King in the North, and secondly because he knew she would not get why, quite unexpectedly, Jon and Jaime had understood each other.
"About her," Bran added as if he had read Jaime's mind.
The former knight looked at Sansa and declared:
"You brother wishes to see you, Your Grace. He told me he noticed your attempts to avoid him." Sansa frowned. "That's all I know."
It broker her to hear Jon's words. She wanted to see him but she knew she could not face his burden. She could not see him so broken, it was beyond her. This day had been the longest and she wanted it to stop. She had shown to many flaws in presence of the Kingslayer, but weirdly enough, it was not her first worry.
She had seen Sandor an hour after he had been sent back into his cell. He had yelled at her that she and the "other fucking High Borns" were "nothing but cunts" and "useless twats". She had taken it, for she knew she had nothing to defend herself. Sandor hated this jail, he hated this life, and now he was forced to remain in it knowing all the hours he had spent waiting.
She had left his cell in silence, concluding it had been a bad idea to come, and she had reached the camp and eaten with Arya, Davos, Gendry and Brienne. But her thoughts got the better of her and she had ran to Bran's chambers only to find him discussing with Ser Jaime, and she had let her demons go.
Now, she had acted like a fool, and she needed to leave.
"Thank you, Ser Jaime," she answered.
He curtsied and left the room, but as he made his way in a small hall, he was stunned by the agitation outside. Soldiers were running from a point to another, some of them were out of their legs. Suddenly, he noticed they were only Stark soldiers. He could read on their minds something had just happened. Something bad.
He reached one of the main halls, his gammy leg making him grimace in pain.
"What's happening?" he yelled as he crossed the path of a group of soldiers.
No answer. Sometimes, he simply hated the Starks.
He saw a young squire running to reach the group that had disappeared in one of the numerous stairs. He grabbed him in his race with all his strength, making the boy shiver like a leaf.
"Well, it appears everyone decided to turn a deaf ear," Jaime growled. "I hope you'll answer me: what's happening?"
"I… The Unsullied..."
"Yes?"
"The Unsullied rose up. They attacked several members of the Council."
Jaime felt his blood freeze in his veins as the boy whispered in fear:
"They even freed the Mountain."
This chapter is very long. Hope you enjoyed it. Don't worry, SanSan will come back in the next chapter. I wanted to write everything straight away but it was so long I thought maybe it was better to cut it in half.
I'll post Chapter 9 asap.
Please review!