The air in the garden stank of sweetness. The message had come requesting the meeting shortly after midday. She hadn't wanted to go, Sansa had been called away by the Hand's soldiers, and she'd wanted to go with her, but they hadn't permitted it, and there was nothing she could do but watch as Sansa was led away. Lord Tywin was not Joffrey, but still... her brother had told her of the traitor Tywin Lannister, who had professed loyalty then sacked King's Landing, he showed no mercy to his foes, and Sansa's brother had set himself against the Lannisters at every turn.
Rumours had been spreading through the keep over the last weeks and months. Word of the Starks was coming thick and confused as a drunkard's musings: Robb Stark was dead; Robb Stark was riding north to Winterfell; Robb Stark was marching on King's Landing; Robb Stark was forging an alliance with Stannis Baratheon. Was any of it true, all of it, somewhere inbetween? Dany didn't know, but she remembered when news of Oxcross had arrived. The details were hidden, but everyone knew the Young Wolf had dealt a sharp defeat to the Lannisters on their own soil. These rumours were too disjointed, too disparate, there wasn't enough consistency for fact, so she doubted all and kept her mind ready for anything. Perhaps another defeat had been suffered? That might make the Iron Throne seize Sansa... again. But where could the defeat come? The Lannister army was set outside King's Landing, unless... her mind went to Lord Loren, who had departed with a small force some weeks ago. Could he be dead? The thought chilled her and she wasn't sure why.
Then the letter had arrived, a polite request to meet that afternoon. She was going to put it on the fire with the rest, but she needed something to distract the sense of foreboding, so she made her way to the garden to meet Lord Mathis Rowan.
She'd gotten used to the stares by this point, and ignored them, walking through the trees and bushes, past roses, lilacs and under the shade of oak and elm, waiting, the tension buzzing around her head like a nest of wasps.
"My lady," a man looked up at her from a stone bench, the arms carved into snarling dragon mouths. He was a stout man, clean shaven, his black hair receding and dusted with frost, across his doublet was white with a golden tree sewn on the breast.
"Lord Mathis?" She asked.
He nodded and got to his feet, bowing his head in respect. "Yes, I'm glad you came, would you like to sit?"
Tentatively she took a seat on the bench, smoothing out her dress. She made sure she was at one end of it, so that he couldn't sit too close without clearly being beyond appropriate. Thankfully, he sat down respectfully at the other end of the bench. He didn't say anything so she spoke first. "Why did you ask to meet me, Lord Rowan?"
He looked at her and she saw the shadow of sadness in his eyes. "I never thought I would see a Targaryen again after Robert's Rebellion," he told her, "I thought you were gone forever, and that my last sight of your family would be two tiny bodies, wrapped in Lannister linen being placed on a roaring pyre. Jon Arryn was good enough to give them that final grace at least."
"Jon Arryn?" She'd heard that name as well, one of the rebels, the man who'd raised Robert Baratheon for many years. A man who could raise that monster must surely be a monster himself, that's what she'd thought, but they'd said different on Dragonstone, they'd said that he was Robert's sense, his guiding hand, and had done well to keep the seven kingdoms in hand.
He nodded. "It's been said that naming Jon Arryn Hand of the King was the best decision Robert made as king. I can hardly fault that. Jon Arryn was a good man, a strong right hand to have, if facing tasks a little beyond his years." Unsure where he was going with this, she remained silent. "Lady Daenerys, I know you have been gone for many years, and aside from what little experience you have in the capital, you have only stories to go by. I'm curious, what stories have you heard about Lord Tywin Lannister?"
She just stopped her eyebrows from creasing. "I've heard much about the great Lord Tywin Lannister."
"Good or bad?"
What do you want me to say? "Good."
He frowned. "Only good?"
"I'm not sure what you're saying my lord," she replied.
He turned to look directly at her. "My lady, did you know it was Lord Tywin who laid the bodies of Rhaegar's children at Robert's feet, his beasts that slew them in cold blood." A cold chill spread through her chest. She'd heard rumours, but still, to hear the words spoken... no one had said the words.
"I-I-" what did he want her to say? Was he trying to get her to confess to wanting to see Tywin Lannister dead so that he would have an excuse to do to her what he'd done to Aegon and Rhaenys?
"My lady," he held out a placating hand. "I knew your brother Rhaegar. A great man in most accounts, set to be a better king than your father."
"So you didn't respect my father then?" She said before she could catch herself.
Lord Mathis shook his head. "By the time he died, no one respected him anymore. I'm sorry to say that your father, perhaps, deserved his fate."
She got to her feet. This was going nowhere and she'd had enough. "My lord, I wish you a good day."
She turned to walk away but Mathis caught up to her easily. "But your brother's children did not deserve theirs."
She froze and looked at him. He guided her aside, away from the main paths. "My lady, allow me to clear any ambiguity. What happened to your brother's children was undeserved, and the man who gave the order for them to be killed is a monster."
"Lord Tywin gave the order?" She heard that his two lapdogs had done the killing alone, but all she'd heard was when the Lannisters ruled King's Landing.
Disgust carved deep lines on Lord Rowan's face. "He'll never admit to it, that's why he keeps his dogs on tight leashes, ready to unleash at a moment's notice. But this is a man who wiped out two noble houses in his own lands, down to the last man woman and babe in arms for the transgressions levelled against him, and your father spurned him more than once during his first tenure as Hand of the King."
"Why are you telling me this?" She demanded.
"Because I remember your brother, and I have seen the kings who have come since he's been gone and found them all wanting. Rhaegar was good to the realm, good to my house, and I would do him a disservice in the grave if I didn't watch out for you."
"Watch out for me?"
He nodded. "My lady, I am trying to make sure you are safe, that someone is looking out for your wellbeing, Tywin Lannister will not, if you are not a Lannister he doesn't care."
I had someone watching out for me, she thought. Once again her thoughts were drawn to Ser Aron Santagar, who hadn't survived the battle of the Blackwater. There was another, of course, the unknown individual who had helped Ser Aron, arranged passage out of the city, or tried to at least. He'd failed on those grounds, but perhaps he was still there. Perhaps it had been this man all along? No, he'd surely have mentioned.
"I know who Tywin Lannister is, Lord Rowan," she said, then added, "I'll be careful, I've survived this long, I know how to keep my head down."
He smiled. "I'm sure you do, my lady," he replied. "But if you ever need help, you need only ask and I will be there."
Out of the goodness of your heart I'm sure, she thought, but smiled back and nodded.
As the two of them emerged from the bushes and onto the main path she narrowed her eyes. Everyone was heading in the same direction, towards Maegor's Holdfast heads bowed in hushed gossip.
Lord Rowan caught a servant as he passed by. He'd been running so fast that Mathis' catch nearly sent him skidding to the floor. "What's happening?"
"The king is sitting the throne, m'lord," the servant gasped. "There's news of the King in the North."
Dany didn't wait for Lord Mathis to follow, her mind raced to Sansa, who was taken away by Lord Tywin's men that very morning.
The throne room was crowded from the back to the front, a sea of sapphires and silk flowing into a cove of cotton and cowhide. Joffrey sat, a small figure in red and gold nestled in the hulking nest of burnt black iron. In a series of carved wooden thrones stretching out like two great arms from either side of the throne, apart from the Hand of the King, who stood to the side, tall and proud, his chain of office heavy around his shoulders. Lord Mace Tyrell sat, his face twisted in disgust, Lord Varys was weeping into a silk handkerchief, Lord Tyrion was focussed on the cup in his hand, the one called Littlefinger had a sour look on his face and the queen looked about to burst into raging wildfire, his gaze shifting from the king to the Hand to the figure stood in front of the throne, looking out over the crowd.
Sansa's hair was combed and flowing, her dress pale blue, with the sleeves covering the bruises and marks that Dany knew adorned her arms. Her face was dusted with more makeup than usual, but it wasn't enough to hide that she'd been crying. Beside her, a Lannister by the looks of him held a heavy wooden box in his hands, his nose crinkled. They'd entered right in the middle of Sansa's announcement.
"- denounce the actions of my traitor brother in full and wish only equal retribution upon him by all the light of the Seven and the justice they can bring. The harm inflicted upon the family of our beloved king was without cause or issue, done only to satiate his own desire for blood. Against his evil, the grace and benevolence of our gracious king Joffrey shine ever brighter." The crowd nodded at her words, but would they be enough to save her from whatever her brother had done.
Dany slipped into the crowd when she reached the nobility, keeping close to the edge so she could see the whole thing. Lord Baelish spoke first, leaning forward in his chair to look directly at the King. "Such dedication, Lady Sansa's proclamation should be praised, your grace, her dedication to you is clearly without fault.
A few in the crowd nodded, but most stayed silent. "Indeed, Lady Sansa had no part in this heinous crime, your grace," said Lord Tyrion, "she truly is the best of the Starks, a loyal servant of your good self."
Joffrey got up, moving down the throne with practiced care to avoid the still-sharp blades. The scarlet of his clothes tore through the gold like bloody gashes, weeping into the fabric. "My lords would plead for mercy for Lady Sansa," he said, looking at the red haired girl who never looked back, only stared resolutely onwards. When he'd descended, Joffrey reached into the box and drew out an armoured golden gauntlet, the wrist stained red with blood. "But the traitors in Riverrun have attacked the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, and a blow against him is a blow against me... a blow I shall return in kind. An arm for an arm. Ser Illyn, take it!"
Shocked gasps went through the crowd, some turned to each other and whispered, others nodded in satisfaction, at the sight, and as the pale spectre of the King's Justice advanced, the guardsmen around the hall held everyone away. Sansa had crumpled, her face buried in her hands weeping uncontrollably. She knew it would happen, Dany realised, but the little hope she had allowed herself had built up the tears and now they flowed free. Dany tried to push through, but the armoured men were too strong. Dany saw the Tyrells at the front of the crowd whispering frantically to each other, turning inwards and folding back, disturbed, but not raising a finger. Her eyes raced to the councillors, the only ones who could stop this, but none of them moved. Lord Tyrell was glancing between the Tyrells in the crowd, Sansa, Lord Tywin and the advancing shadow. Lords Varys and Tyrion were leaning in to each other, all sobs from the spider gone and their lips moving in urgent whispers. The Queen closed her eyes and looked away, anger flashed on her face. Lord Tywin and Kevan stood immobile, watching impassively. The only Lannister who would have stopped this wasn't here. Lord Littlefinger was stark, his face haunted and twisted, he leant forward and seemed to be on the verge of leaping forward, but what could he do?
It all seemed to happen so slowly. Sansa wept as Joffrey ordered her hand held out, her left hand, as the right would be useful to him still. He commanded the Hound to hold the arm firm. "Leave it to the others," the Hound said, looking away in disgust. Dany wondered if she alone saw the fingers of his sword hand gripping the hilt of his blade more tightly. Before anything else could happen, Ser Meryn stepped forward and took the hand, holding it tight and fast. Two other knights held the rest of Sansa back, as Ser Illyn drew a great broadsword from his back.
"No no no," she tried to shout but only squeaked, desperately throwing herself against the armoured arm trapping them, trying to break through. No one was coming, not this time.
Sansa wept, the Hound leant down and said something and she tore her eyes away from the pale skin of her arm.
Ser Illyn raised his blade, the point hovering in line with the iron throne, a steel point overlaying blackened gray, before it came down in a single cut, a single crunch, a single, piercing scream.
Sansa fell back, blood spurting from her arm and soaking her dress sleeve, spraying the floor with redness. At an unseen motion, a young maester swept forward and started binding the wound with bandages once white but quickly red.
Joffrey looked down at Sansa. "A lesser king would have killed you for the insult your family did mine, thank me for my mercy, my lady."
Dany felt bile and rage twist around each other and race their way up her throat. Sansa stammered out a thank you that no one believed but gave Joffrey joy. He stepped forwards a few steps, making as if to leave, but then he paused, and turned, fixing Sansa with a viper's stare. "On second thoughts, I think you wolves need a harsher lesson, take the other hand as well!"
"No!" Dany didn't plan to scream to the room, but she broke through the slackened grip of the guardsmen and turned to face Joffrey as the whole room went silent as a crypt. "You've done enough!"
Everyone looked, everyone stared and everyone shrank away. Joffrey's voice fell, deep and dark. "What did you say to me?"
Dany wanted to run, wanted to turn and flee, or charge at Joffrey and rip his face to gashes with her fingernails. She took one step forward. "You've done enough, you're grace."
"I've done enough... you think you can tell me when I've done enough?! No king would do less and neither will I."
"No true king would do more."
Joffrey advanced. "You have no right to judge me, I am the King, and your father."
"Is dead." She replied. "He went too far, your grace."
No one moved, no one said anything, no one supported her, no one contradicted her.
"Take her hand too," Joffrey said quietly." No one moved. "Take her hand too," he commanded.
"Your grace," Lord Tyrion approached King Joffrey. "This is perhaps a little too much."
"Silence uncle!" Joffrey snarled, but then his mother swept over and whispered something in his ear. Joffrey's eyes darted to the Tyrells. He took several breaths. "You're right, this is too much. Get her out of my sight," Joffrey looked at Sansa and hated before returning to his throne.
"Gladly," Dany said, making Joffrey pause. Go on, turn you monster, let them all see you. But he didn't, so Dany swept over to Sansa and hugged her, tucking the Stark girl into her shoulder and guiding her from the room under a thousand watchful eyes.
Sansa still wept, the bloody stump held close to her chest. The young maester who had tended to her followed them at a respectful distance, ready to help. "He'll pay for this, Sansa," she whispered to the girl, kissing her temple to cover it up. "They'll all pay for this." Joffrey who commanded it, the knights who'd done it, and everyone who had stood by and let it happen... they would all pay.
