Moon Four (First Quarter)

Nightmares Exist Not Only In My Dreams

Summary: Sansa awakens to a nightmare.

A/N: Sansa is forced to do things in this chapter that would be extremely difficult for a person who has been in a coma for a month. Her ability to follow instructions is likely adrenaline as she knows the consequences of not obeying would be dire.

I've started to somewhat use more descriptive moon phases to help remind myself exactly when in the month things are occurring compared to each other. However, it's far from a perfect science and, of course, doesn't use all the phases each month so as to denote proper passage of time. If anything gets messed up, please forgive me.

Tully blue eyes snapped open in the darkness of an unfamiliar room.

Sansa Stark would have sat up as fast as she could if her body would have allowed it. It didn't. In fact, she realized that her body felt leaden, heavy, and she couldn't sit up at all, let alone quickly. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue furry for want of water. She was confused. The last thing she remembered was…

Oh Gods! Was her father okay? Was Lady? What had even happened?

Sansa was so confused. It was as if she and Lady were one for a brief moment, as if she could feel her inside. Then the thing had come. She remembered seeing it for just a second and then falling as the hard marble of the steps rose to meet her. Hesitantly, she lifted her hands to her face and the responding pain made her stop immediately. She could not see the bruises but knew they were there if the agony in her face when she tried to touch it was anything to judge by. Her head throbbed, and she felt dizzy even though she was lying down.

And there was something else strange too. She found herself thinking very heavily about her siblings, each of them, no matter where they were in the world. And, perhaps most oddly, she thought of Jon as well. Sansa had never seen Jon as more than a half brother who did not really belong. Now, she felt as oddly and suddenly connected to him as she did to each of her siblings. She wished she could write to him and apologize for all of the times she had been unkind to him. That was impossible, though. Jon was at the wall, and Sansa had no idea when she would see him again — if she ever would. They would never let her write to Jon or any of her siblings. Yet, somehow… she felt closer to them as the dream she had been having when she woke came back to her.

It was the strangest dream she had ever had. It was not like the dream where Lady had come to her all of those weeks before when she had warned that difficult times lay ahead. In those, she could see Lady. In this, she was lady. She saw the world through wolf eyes, heard sound in a completely new way, and her vision was odd too. But it was the smell that really caught her off guard. It was as if, while human, she could smell nothing at all. With her side bleeding and leaving a trail for some hungry predator to follow, she walked until she could no longer before collapsing in a forest and waiting for death to come.

Death for whatever she was now. She had no true form. She could see the light silver that seemed to make up her paws. It did not matter. She did not need to know what she was made of. It wouldn't matter when she died. Her only thought was to wonder if Sansa was all right and hope that she was. Then, her siblings had come. They had all come, even Ghost. No, Not hers. Lady's siblings. There it was again. She and Lady as one. They had licked her and then Ghost had done something to her side. It was if he had knit it back together somehow, and then laid across her shoulder until she felt strong enough to rise to shuddering feet again. Then, her eyes had opened, not as Lady's but as Sansa's own.

She could not begin to make sense of the dream.

She needed to sit up. She needed to find Joffrey. If she didn't, he would be angry with her that she had slept so much that day. Or, at the very least, she needed to find Cersei or someone, anyone. She needed to. But she could not move. Not only was she too weak, but she realized she was bundled into bed linens and furs as tight as a swaddled babe, hands, legs, and all. It must have been hours by now!

And the more she tried to move, the more she realized her muscles would not respond. For a moment, she was scared perhaps she was paralyzed like Bran. But no, she could wiggle her toes. She just felt as if her whole body was made of something too heavy. She remembered, once, that Father had let her hold Ice. She had barely been able to lift it. At the moment, she felt as if her body was made of Ice's Valyrian Steel.

"You are awake!" A truly surprised voice came from the doorway and Sansa managed to crane her head up off the pillows to see Grand Maester Pycelle in the doorway. "We had begun to worry about you my lady."

"I must get up! I have to go and see Joffrey. I.." She was fighting the sheets now, but it was sapping her strength badly.

"Lay still. You have been asleep for a moon's turn. Your muscles are weak from disuse, and it is going to take time for you to regain your strength. I will get some broth for you. I think we had best start with simple liquids."

"A moon's turn…" Sansa whispered in something a mixture of shock and horror. Joffrey would be furious, not to mention Cersei. And she dare not ask Pycelle what had happened during her time asleep or how Joffrey had reacted to the news that she apparently had been unable to wake all of this time.

As Sansa drank her broth and Maester Pycelle explained to her what brief information they had seen since she slept. She had lain unable to be woken for a month. "You were as one who is dead. Nothing could rouse you." And Sansa wondered if her physical state mirrored Lady's — her as Lady? — During her dream until Ghost had woken her along with all her pack. But this was too odd for her to ever consider divulging to anyone. She could not trust any of them.

"My father?" Sansa knew she should not ask. She knew she should not ask, but she had to. She had to know if her father was alive. Still, she should not. Her father was branded a traitor, and every time she had tried to speak on his behalf, it had ended in disaster. She felt a bitterness, an anger enter her chest, burning its way to her throat like nothing she had ever felt before when she thought of Joffrey and how he had answered her request that he be 'merciful' to her father. She could only imagine the deaths Joffrey could have arranged for him, but death had not been what Sansa had wanted. She wanted him to be allowed to take the black.

What Sansa wanted didn't matter, hadn't mattered for a long time. It was something she'd best get used to quickly if she was going to survive. Did she even want to? The thought that, for the first time in her life, she might welcome death was frightening. Then, she thought of Arya. Somewhere in the Red Keep, her sister was also a prisoner. Guilt crept around her as she thought, once again, of how she had treated Arya. Arya might be insufferable at times, but Sansa was still the older sibling and should have behaved as such. No matter; it was too late to change now. But somewhere Arya was here and Sansa needed to find her.

"He remains in the Black Cells. He is a traitor, and you would do well to remember it." There was a thinly veiled warning in Pycelle's voice, though it did not seem to hold malice.

"Of course. He is a traitor, and I am loyal to King Joffrey and him alone." Sansa repeated. By now, the words came as if something she had memorized. They were hollow and empty, but it was what needed to be said and what others seemed to want to hear.

Pycelle nodded, "I should go inform His Grace and the Queen that you have woken."

Sansa stared after him wishing he would not go — not if it meant he was going to get Joffrey or the Queen.

She could not bring her words to hold much emotion, but saying them seemed to at least be somewhat effective. People seemed to withdraw a bit from her, satisfied they had heard what they wished to. Whether they believed it or not was different, but it was all Sansa could do. If cartwheels would have persuaded them to believe her, she likely would have done them. Only their belief would keep Sansa safe. She must harden her heart and do it, no matter how it hurt her inside.

She remembered how much she had wanted to come here, how much she had wanted to marry Prince Joffrey. She remembered how she had begged her Father and said he must let her. She remembered how many fights she had had with Arya along the way. How foolish and naive and stupid she had been. She felt nauseous now even thinking of it. She had ruined everything, absolutely everything. Now, her family had to pay the price for her selfishness. Perhaps, she thought, they would all hate her. Maybe even Jon Snow on the wall hated her. She swore a second time for true that she would treat him as a real brother if she ever saw him again, just as she did Robb and Bran and Rickon. But would she ever see any of them again?

The thought of being left alone with these people: with Joffrey and Queen Cersei filled her with a dread and terror she could not have put words to even if she had tried. As if her dark thoughts were some kind of premonition for bad things to come, she heard Joffrey's voice in the stairs. "If she is awake then she will come with me. I do not care for the way you babble old man."

"Your Grace, I truly must advise — "

"I have heard what you advise and I say she is not as sick as she pretends she is. She is going to come with me, and you will make her ready to do so, and that is my command."

Sansa shuddered and saw Joffrey in the doorway with Pycelle and the Hound. Once, she would have looked away from his hideous, burned face, but she did not now. She understood that some carried their wounds on the outside, but it did not make them so different from those who carried them on the inside.

"You will attend me in court this afternoon. See that you bathe and dress as befits my betrothed." Joffrey said as he entered the room.

Sansa thought about walking beside Joffrey in court, about standing there while he heard petitions for house. She thought about even the amount of strength it would take to stand and thought she would not be able to do it. She was not sure her heart would bear it either. Not that something like that mattered.

"No.. Please just leave me be. I beg of you, my prince." She whispered, voice quavering at her own daring to disobey. Another mistake.

Joffrey's voice cracked like a whip. "I am king now. Dog, get her out of bed." Joffrey's eyes sparkled without a hint of warmth in them. How had Sansa once thought him handsome?

She gasped in pain as Sandor Clegane hauled her to her feet, his arms impacting bruises from her fall to the marble. She wanted to cover herself in her thin shift. "Do as you are bid. Dress." He sat Sansa on her feet and pushed her slightly toward the wardrobe. For a moment, she swayed perilously on her feet, not sure she would be able to stand. She had been asleep a month and her muscles seemed so much weaker now. She couldn't even stand. The Hound had to haul her to her feet again, and this time he held onto her and steered her toward the Wardrobe, though not ungently.

"Your Grace! I must…" Pycelle tried again.

Joffrey rounded on him in fury. "I told you I had heard you and have made up my mind. You will keep silent if you do not wish to lose your tongue. Or, perhaps your head." Joffrey laughed at his own joke and Sansa shuddered.

Later, she wondered what had possessed her to even try to refuse something Joffrey wanted.

She leant against the wardrobe as her legs would barely hold her. "I did as the queen asked. I wrote the letters. I wrote them. I wrote everything she told me. You promised you'd be merciful." Her voice cracked on that word. "Please, please just let me go home. I won't do any treason. I will be good. I swear it. I have no traitor's blood. I don't. I don't!" Her voice had reached a keening note that was almost hysterical as her body shook with exertion. She was not even sure where she was finding the strength to remain standing except that she was terrified of the man before her — all three of them really. "Please, as it please you let me go home!"

"It does not please me. Mother says I'm still to marry you, so you will stay here, and you will obey." The tone in his voice when he said that word was cruel. His eyes were so cold it frightened her. There was not a hint of any human emotion she felt able to connect with. Her gallant, handsome prince had turned into a monster. When had it happened? Or perhaps he had always been this way and she just refused to notice it. Stupid girl. Stupider still was her choice to speak instead of do as she was bid.

"I don't want to marry you! You tried to kill my father!"

"He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, only that I'd be merciful. Had he not been your father and had you not begged for mercy so prettily, I'd have had him flayed or perhaps torn. A quick death is too good for traitors. But you were very pretty when you begged. I like it when you beg."

There was a note in his voice, something low that made Sansa fear him even more. There was something carnal and terrifying in the way he said he liked to see her beg. A fury filled her stronger than any she had ever known when she thought of Joffrey having her beloved father flayed or torn apart.

"I hate you." It was a whisper she hoped he would not hear, but he did.

Joffrey's face distorted in fury. "My mother tells me it isn't fitting that a king should strike his lady. Ser Meryn."

She was not able to shield her face in time as the Kingsguard knight, without ever hesitating, back-handed her across the face somewhere near her ear. His knuckles hit the bruises on her cheek and left her entire head ringing and dizzy as Sansa fell to the floor and knew she could not ever get up on her own. Her whole body was shaking from pain, fear, and exertion. Ser Meryn had struck her so hard he had blood seeping over his white gloved hand.

"Will you obey now, or shall I have him chastise you again?"

"I… yes.. I mean. I will do as you command, Your Grace."

For a moment, she thought he meant to hit her himself as he advanced on her. Instead, he drew her to her feet as if she were no more than a child's doll and shoved her back against the wardrobe with force. "Get dressed." His voice was dangerous and low, like the hiss of a venomous snake. "I shall look for you in court, and you will not disappoint me."

Sansa turned toward the wardrobe, needing to hold it to support herself still. Pycelle had gone now, and it was only Sandor Clegane left behind. He glared at her in a way that once would have filled her with fear, but since the night of the Hand's tourney, she had not feared him, not truly. He was a better man than he allowed people to believe. For just a moment he met her eyes. "Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants." His voice was rough, as it always was.

Sansa's head was still ringing. She felt so weak and tired. "What does he want? Please, ser, please tell me."

"I am no ser." Clegane glared at her in a way that made Sansa shrink back. "He wants you to smile and smell sweet and be his lady love. He wants to hear you recite all your pretty little words like a pretty little bird the way your septa taught you. He wants you to love him … and fear him." And then he too left and Sansa was alone.

The second part was easy. Sansa was terrified of Joffrey. She was more scared of him than of anything she had ever been in all her life. But, love him? That, that Sansa knew she could not do. She could not love the man who had hurt her family, had tried to have her father killed. She wanted to cry, but she could not waste the energy on tears. She could barely stand. Her month in bed had left her weaker than she could have believed. She was not allowed to be weak.

Court seemed to drag on forever that day as Sansa struggled to stay standing. The only thing that allowed her to do it was that she knew failing might mean her life. Her life was not so important, but Arya and Father were still here. She could not leave them. It was in pure desperation that she managed to have the strength. After, she could hardly remember anything that was said; it had just been one long blur.

And then he wanted her to walk with him. She felt as if she might cry. Her legs already threatened to give out beneath her. The exhaustion was creeping over her faster and faster. But she knew she could not say no. Joffrey would have Ser Meryn 'chastise' her again if she did. Her ear still rang from before, and her face was a swollen mess of pain she could barely stand, let alone if he hit her again. So, she forced herself to ignore her failing strength and walk beside Joffrey.

He offered his arm. Sansa did not want to take it, but she had little choice. He told her his name day was approaching, told her of the feasts and gifts. And as he did she could not help but think he was a child, a monstrous child. He could see no one's pain and suffering. He could see nothing. And then he wanted to know what she would give him. She realized she did not know what to say. She could not think of anything he would like.

"I… I had not thought, my lord."

"Your Grace," his voice was sharp and warning and Sansa mentally chastised herself for forgetting, yet again. She could not let herself forget anymore.

"You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

Sansa's heart and stomach clenched painfully. Would Cersei's words always have so much power over her? After everything, she would have thought they would not. And yet. They were like another barb in her heart. She remembered when she had wanted the Queen to like her, to be proud of her.

"She worries about our children, whether they'll be stupid like you, but I told her not to trouble herself. I'll have a child in your belly as soon as you're able. If the first one is stupid, I'll simply chop off your head and find a smarter wife."

Sansa wanted to cringe away from him, but she dare not. It was not for her own life, she realized, that made her sad. She was past caring for her own life now. It was for a child that would be born into this. It was for a child that may be treated as she was being now, and the thought was almost more than should bear. But, once again, she must bear it. She must not show him her weakness. She must be, as the Hound said, a pretty little bird and chirp the pretty words she had been taught — no matter how they hurt.

"When do you think you'll be able to have children?"

Sansa swallowed. She looked away so he would not see her face burning. "Septa Mordane said most… most highborn girls flower at twelve or thirteen." She whispered, shame in every word.

And then, then, she realized where they were going. If she had had the strength she would have spun away, pulled, fought no matter how bad the beating was after. She tried to refuse. Her eyes were a blur of tears and redness she tried not to let fall. When she thought about it later, she would not remember how she made it to the top of the Gatehouse tower.

When they reached the top, Joffrey jerked her forward and pointed out what he wanted her to see. Heads, so many heads. She tried to focus her eyes on the river, on the city over the heads. She could turn her face toward them but not really see them.

But Joffrey realized what she was doing and jerked her shoulders hard. "I did not bring you up here to gaze at the river, you stupid fool. This is what I wanted you to see." He grabbed hold of her hair and forced it around until she was looking at the line of heads. She realized then. It was every single person they had brought with them from Winterfell save herself, Arya, and their father. The realization caught her breath and made her wonder if she would be able to bear it. But somewhere inside she found her strength.

She drew her shoulders back and stood straight. "How long do I have to look, Your Grace?"

Joffrey seemed disappointed when the heads did not seem to upset her. It was only in her pillow tonight that she would let her tears come.

He walked her along the battlements and pointed out the empty spikes he'd saved for Renly and Stannis. He pointed out Septa Mordane specifically, which made Sansa want to be sick. Joffrey insisted she was a traitor, god-sworn or not.

He continued walking her along the rows and pointing out heads. There were so many: her sister's dancing master, Jeyne Poole and her father Vayon, the men killed in the street fight including Jory at whom she had trouble looking, Henk, Kroner and Fat Tom their big, strong door guards, Heward and Wyl. She realized Beric Dondarrion was not there and remembered her father had sent him away after the fight with Jaime Lannister. She only knew because Arya had asked and Sansa had said she didn't care. The words made her cringe now. There was Varly who ha always had a kind word for her and would compliment her on her dresses and tease Arya. Her throat was so thick with unspent tears she couldn't speak.

"I know what you're thinking." Joffrey said, a gleam twisted across his sadistically happy face. "And you're right. Pretty soon, I'll have your father's head too. That spike right in the middle? That one is for your traitor father."

He grinned at her, a leer, before continuing. "I'll have his head on it. Then, I'll bring you here again so you can see it especially. No one will stop me this time. Though maybe it will take me longer to lose my patience if you are a good girl and are perfect."

Sansa tried to draw in a breath but found she couldn't.

If she could make him happy, would it be enough time for Robb to make it to King's Landing?

"And after I've done with him it will be your stupid little sister's turn. I have a new sword now since she threw Brightroar away. It's much stronger. Perhaps I'll use it to slit her open before I have her head. I think that would be fitting, don't you?"

Sansa swallowed. She could not bring herself to agree it would be fitting until she heard Meryn Trant approach behind her. "Yes," was all she could manage.

Joff didn't seem to care that it was half-hearted. Instead, he was talking again. He suggested that perhaps he'd give her a present for his name day instead of the traditional way round. He'd give her Robb's head in a pretty box lined with black and purple silk. Sansa's stomach rolled treacherously and she thought she might just be sick all over Joffrey's boots but managed to stop herself just in time.

Sansa's eyes narrowed and a hatred filled her. It was a blind rage with such strength as she had never felt, hadn't even realized it was possible to feel. And then she did something she knew was foolish indeed. Her mouth was moving before she could stop it, before her mind could catch up to how mad it was. "Maybe my brother will give me your head, Your Grace." She added the last to the end almost as a reminder he had not let her forget earlier. And Joffrey's face darkened as his fury built.

"You will never, ever, mock me as such again or it is your head that will don the spike in the middle. Ser Meryn!"

Ser Meryn beat her, holding her head still so he could strike her right to left and then left to right with a force that made her wonder if one could be beheaded with a slap alone. The bruises on her face, sickly green, were joined by red and purple marks of new bruises almost immediately. She tasted blood. Sansa looked out over the parapet into the outer bailey a good eighty feet below. She and Joffrey and Ser Meryn were standing right at the edge. It would take nothing, absolutely nothing, a tiny push and he would go over. Most like she would go with him, and it scared her to realize she didn't even care.

But, somehow, the Hound seemed to know what she was thinking, for he moved between her and Joffrey. Her opportunity was lost.

She could not understand what he was doing when he pulled out a small cloth and then she realized he was, so gently, dabbing it on her broken lip. His delicacy was surprising as large a man as he was. She would have trembled in fear at any chance he might touch her given that Joffrey was smaller and could already incite such pain, but somehow she was not scared of Sandor Clegane, and that made no sense at all.

Slowly, she looked up and met his eyes and whispered, "Thank you." And the word held so much emotion and more meaning than two simple words. She hoped he understood that this time she was not just chirping silly words taught to her but that she truly meant them.

That night she hoped she would dream of Lady. She hoped she would dream of her the way she had while she had been sleeping. Maybe they would be one in that odd way so Lady would give her strength and she would give Lady strength. She could not imagine losing her again now that she had begun to come to Sansa in her dreams.

But Lady did not come to her that night. Only nightmares came. Sansa woke to her pillow wet, her bed linens tangled round her legs from where she tossed and turned, and more soreness across her body than she knew how to manage, but she didn't have choices.

It was a sennight later that Cersei stood beside her son while Joffrey held court. She felt nauseous and sick from strain. She did not think she had ever been so consistently exhausted as what she now felt. Every day dawned with new horrors to face. Disquiet was growing in the city as people realized summer was over, fighting in the riverlands was increasing, soon there might not be enough food. Joffrey dealt with the smallfolk through taunts and crossbow quarrels. And Cersei felt powerless.

Yet, somehow, she was surprised when on an afternoon of no particular accord or special note, Tywin Lannister strode into the throne room. He completely ignored the man who announced him, walking halfway up the length to the Iron Throne before the man had even finished getting out his name.

"…Father?" She said, surprise evident in her tone. The last she knew her father, Jaime, and Kevan had been amassing a host to wait for Robb Stark as scouts told them he was now on the move from Moat Cailin and going south. It was a critical time and, yet, here he was. She even put voice to the words. "I am… surprised to see you."

Tywin looked across at Cersei and Joffrey with an expression that did not belie any warmth or happiness to see either one of them. "You." He pointed at Joffrey. "We will speak later." Cersei had no doubt she would be on the list as well even though he had not specifically pointed her out. But she needn't wait even that long.

He turned to her."I am surprised to have to be here. But it has become evident to me that the little girl who wanted to play with power and politics as a little girl is as incapable of it as I told you that you would be then. I have simply been proven right. I am here to deal with all of this mess the two of you have created." He jabbed one finger at Joffrey and one at Cersei.

Joffrey opened his mouth to speak but Tywin beat him to it. "As I said, you and I will talk later. But for now you will be silent. I am here when I should be on the battlefield. I had no choice but to leave Jaime and Kevan in command of our forces. Competent as they are, this does not make me happy." His eerie green and gold flecked eyes had such a glare in them that it took Cersei's every bit of steel not to look away.

"Because of your incompetence, people all over the country are talking about magic or grumpkins or snarks or whatever the hell else happened here under the command of the two of you. Do not tell me you tried to prevent it. You clearly did not try hard enough." Tywin said before Cersei had barely opened her mouth to protest she had tried to stop Joff before the fiasco could occur.

For the first time, Tywin seemed to notice the court full of people. "What are you all doing still here? Court is done for the day. Get out of my sight!" He thundered. Smallfolk and lords alike were quick to oblige with the throne room clearing in record time.

"I am now Hand of the King." He did not bother waiting to ask to be appointed before he continued, "I am going to straighten up this disaster. I am tired and hungry. After I have rested we will meet in the Tower of the Hand." Tywin did not even deign to wait for a response from Joffrey about his acceptance or not of Tywin Lannister as hand. He did not need to wait and Cersei and Joffrey both knew it.

Tywin turned and stormed from the throne room, boots echoing on the stone floor with angry thuds.

Coming Next: Will Robb be willing to pay Lord Walder Frey's Toll?