A/N: I'm so sorry about the lack of update. I have no excuses except to say I was finishing up A Feast for Crows. Those of you who have read it know why it took me so long to finish.
Chapter 12: Lone Raven
"Come forward and proclaim your loyalty to the rightful king of Westeros," a man bellowed into the throne room.
Sandor watched as several prisoners that had been captured at Blackwater came to kneel before Joffrey. One by one the men recanted their belief that Stannis was the rightful heir. All of this was just for show as Joffrey had already had a private audience with these men a few days ago. They had their lines they were supposed to say and tears were spilled to emphasize their regret. Sandor was bored out of his mind. Sansa wasn't even visible from he was standing so there was no point in attracting attention if she didn't want to be seen. Obviously, she hadn't forgiven him yet for what happened the night before.
Truth be told, he hadn't been entirely sure that what happened wasn't part of some dream brought on by the wine. He caught a glimpse of her when everyone was filing into the throne room and he felt the hairs on his arm go up. She was glaring at him. Her blue eyes shone like ice and they were directed straight at him. He blinked away and by time he looked back she had moved. Well, if she wanted to act spoiled then that was her problem. She knew he didn't believe in gods or the so called magic that came from her neck of the woods. The only explanation was that he was incredibly drunk and she was either insane or her gods had played a cruel trick. But that wasn't what bothered him; it was Sansa's determination to leave. She wouldn't last a day on her own. Someone was going to have to protect her. He gladly would have done it if the risk wasn't so great. His neck meant nothing but hers…hers was everything.
A loud shout brought him back to the present. Some man was talking about the Red Priestess Stannis had taken up with. One of the high council members must have asked him about it. The man looked terrified – just like the Crow did when he talked about the Others.
"I saw her," he gasped. His eyes were wide with fear and his voice shook. "I saw her put three leeches into the fire. She made him say the names."
"What names?" Varys asked. The bald lord was intrigued. Too intrigued.
"I-I-I co-couldn't hear the first but I heard him say the Young Wolf's name and then Joffrey Baratheon."
"King Joffrey," Cersei snapped.
"Y –Yes, Your Grace. King Joffrey. He said King Joffrey."
Sandor desperately wished he could see Sansa. She must have heard her brother's name – everyone did. Joffrey wormy lips smiled next to him.
"Robb Stark, huh?" Joffrey said. Sandor saw his beady little eyes flit up to the balcony. Could the little prick see her? "I'm torn, Mother. Should I wish this to be true or should I cut out his tongue for lies?"
"It is your decision, my King."
Sandor already knew what the decision was.
"Dog, cut off his tongue."
"NO!" the man screeched. "I tell the truth!"
Drawing his sword, Sandor grinned at the trembling man. He calmly walked down the steps toward his target. He was suddenly furious at the events of last night and here was someone he could put his rage on.
Perfect. His face twitched as he drew closer. The man had become a proper mess, begging to be taken seriously.
"Open your mouth or my dog will open it for you," Joffrey commanded.
The man refused so Sandor looked back at the king. The blonde waved carelessly and without a second thought Sandor ripped the man's jaw open so hard it split, sending blood everywhere. Joffrey laughed and that caused the rest of the room to do the same. The man fell on Sandor and he quickly pushed the jawless man away. A thump reverberated through the hall and the floor turned red. The hairs on his arm stood up again and he turned to see Sansa staring at him with a blank expression. But her blue eyes sent a disgusted look straight to his heart. He quickly turned and cut the tongue.
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That afternoon Sansa Stark found herself looking out at Blackwater Bay. The evidence from the battle was still floating. She could even see parts of soldiers idly passing their way through the waves that crashed on the rocks. It was strange how calm she felt. Though she felt sorry for those men who died, she found herself wondering what led them to side with Stannis: was it of their free will or had they simply followed orders given by a lord? She had heard rumors about Stannis taking up with a red priestess who had convinced him that he could win. She also had heard that he didn't care who died so long as he got the iron throne. She didn't know what to believe. Stannis was supposed to be the good guy in this mess. But she had heard from his own soldiers' lips his manner of ruling. He was not kind but he was fair.
'That red priestess must have a very powerful influence if men believed her,' Sansa thought. That idea gave her a violent shudder.
"Milady?"
Sansa heard Shae's concern and gave a reassuring smile. "Hello, Shae."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. What's this?" Shae had brought in an envelope and handed it to Sansa. The redhead gently broke the seal and instantly knew that Cersei had sent it; the handwriting was all fluff with no substance. But the words chilled her none the less. "Shae, help me get dressed. I'm to meet with the queen as soon as possible."
Sansa swallowed hard as Shae helped her into another, more suitable gown for an audience with Cersei. Her hands were shaking by time Ser Meryn Trant had come to collect her.
"It'll be all right," Shae whispered just before her lady stepped out.
Sansa desperately wished that were true but with Cersei, one never knew what they were going to get. The hallway to Cersei's room was so familiar to Sansa that she felt as though she could name every crack that graced the walls. For some reason, this walk felt longer than any of the others. Every step echoed back at her and told her to run to Sandor and flee the Red Keep. It was a silly notion of course but Sansa allowed herself to linger on it. It made her think of Arya. 'She would do it,' Sansa cursed at herself. 'So why can't you?'
It angered her to know that her little sister was able to do something that she had been unable to do for a year now. But that was Arya and she was gone now. The realization hit her so hard Sansa lost her breath. She recovered quickly but it wouldn't have mattered: Ser Meryn had been paying no attention to her from the start.
Finally, they arrived at Cersei's quarters and Ser Meryn announced Sansa's arrival.
"Dearest Sansa," the queen cooed. "Come. Make yourself comfortable." Sansa was instantly on the alert given their past experiences but she took her seat anyway. Cersei made sure her guest was comfortable before giving her best smile. "I'm sure you're wondering why I called you in here."
Yes, she very much was but Sansa was not about to say that. "I was rather surprised."
"How are you, my dear?"
"I'm well, your grace. And might I inquire as to your own well being?"
Sansa's manners made Cersei sick. She itched to wrap her fingers around that perfect white throat and watch the life drain from the girl's eyes. But she was a queen and that would simply raise too many questions, not to mention upset Robb Stark and that might make his sword become acquainted with Jaime's head. Instead, she simply smiled again. "You may. I'm relieved that my son was able to arrange another marriage, especially to House Tyrell."
Sansa wasn't sure how to respond so she smiled politely and said, "Margaery will make an excellent queen."
Cersei's eyes narrowed at her guest but not in an entirely malicious way. "You can stop pretending now, little dove. I am far too smart for you and I tire of your empty courtesies."
"I'm not sure what your grace means."
"I see myself in you, Sansa – not always but sometimes I look at you and see how I was when I first came here. Luckily I had Jamie and my father with me to help soothe the transition. But you have no one, do you?" She saw the girl swallow hard at that. "Contrary to what you might think, I am truly sorry for our houses not getting along. I never intended for your father to die or for Joffrey to behave as he does. But make no mistake, I love my son. I may not always agree with his decisions but he is my king and at the end of the day, I must put aside those motherly feelings and accept the king's decision."
"You have a difficult job," Sansa remarked.
Cersei quirked her head. "What do you mean?"
"I only meant that a king's mother must find a balance between being the king's subject and being the king's mother."
Cersei didn't want to admit it, but she impressed at the girl's statement. "Indeed it is. I had hoped Joffrey would turn out to be like his father, but that prayer was lost on the gods. Fortunately, that is something you will never have to find out."
'Unless Robb wins,' Sansa sneered in her head.
"I have it on good word that Margaery Tyrell is going to ask you to sup with her and her family soon."
"She is?" That thrilled her! Margaery seemed to be nice from what Sansa had heard and her brother, Loras, was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. She remembered the rose he gave her during the King's tourney and smiled.
"Yes," Cersei snapped. "Now listen to me very carefully, little dove. Do not, under any circumstances, tell the Tyrell's of what has occurred during your stay here. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, your grace."
Cersei let the hatred in her voice seep through though she kept it low, which somehow made it more menacing. "If I even think that you said one word against the king or me, I will make Joffrey seem like a hero from one of your precious songs."
Sansa let in a soft, sharp breath and nodded submissively. "Yes, your grace."
"Good. Now be a good girl and get out."
Sansa bowed slightly and took her exit. She was completely shaken by the conversation and wanted nothing more than to get back to the sanctuary of her room. Her breath was coming out erratically as she told Ser Meryn that she could walk back on her own. After she had turned the corner from his prying eyes, Sansa began to sprint. Tears were blinding her eyes and the air made them sting the faster she ran. She hadn't even seen the guard until she slammed into his body. The force was so great that it catapulted her to the ground. The commotion caught a few of the guards' attention.
"Lady Stark!" one called out. "Are you hurt?"
She was. Sansa felt blood trickling down arm and she saw that there was a minor scratch against the palms of her hand. "I-I'm fine." She felt hands around her waist and under her arms as the guards helped her up. "Are you hurt?" she asked, finally looking up. It was only then she noticed that she had run into Loras Tyrell.
"No damage done," he smiled sweetly. He held his hand out and Sansa laid her hand on his. He turned it over and examined the cut. "Would you like me to fetch Maester Pycelle?"
"I don't think so," she said breathily.
"I concur. It doesn't seem to be life threatening," he winked. He released her hand and palmed the hilt of his sword. "If I may be so bold, Lady Stark, you look unwell. Is something wrong?"
"No," she replied a little too quickly. "I mean, thank you for your concern but I am only a little tired. It has been a long day."
"Indeed it has; however, it is good fortune that we should run into each other."
"Oh?"
"Yes, my sister, Margaery, has requested that you join her and my family to sup."
"How kind of her." Sansa wondered when the shaking in her voice would stop. If Ser Loras heard the nerves, he chose not to comment on it. "I would be honored."
"My sister will be pleased."
The moment turned slightly awkward.
"Well, I'm sure you have somewhere important to be so I'll be on my way," Sansa remarked politely.
"Are you sure you aren't hurt?"
"Very sure but I thank you for your concern. Have a good day, Ser Loras."
Loras Tyrell bowed low. "Good day, Lady Stark."
The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur to Sansa. Her hand ached a little from the fall, but it was her head that was swimming – whether it was from the hit or the tears being held back, she couldn't tell. Her bed looked inviting after the stressful conversation with Cersei and with one loud sigh, Sansa collapsed on it. She exhaled deeply and shut her eyes hoping to see the walls of Winterfell when they opened. "Please," she implored the gods. "Please take me away from here."
A tear trickled down the side of her face and Sansa couldn't hold it in anymore. She wept bitterly and continued to do so until the last ounce of her energy had been drained. Afterward, her eyes drooped and she found solace in sleep.
It wasn't until a hand shook her that she awakened.
"What's going on?" she mumbled.
"It's nearly suppertime," Shae announced. "Ser Loras informed me that you are to dine with the Lady Margaery tonight. I have your bath ready."
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While Sansa was getting ready for her dinner, Sandor was trying to come up with some way to get out of a meeting with Tyrion. The Imp had summoned him shortly after court. He was to meet Tyrion in the sept after tending to his regular duties, which basically consisted of walking around and pretending to care about the king's welfare.
Sandor stood on the steps to the sept and wondered what the hells he was doing. A chill breeze persuaded him to go in.
"Ah, Clegane," Tyrion sang. The dwarf ushered in the Hound and waved him to a chair. Rooms always seemed to shrink whenever Sandor Clegane came in. "How is my nephew today?"
"Alive," Sandor rasped. "Skip the shit, dwarf and tell me what you want."
"How is Sansa and before you say you don't know, I know you do so don't lie to me."
"She's alive also." The Hound felt Tyrion's eyes digging into him.
"You know that's not what I mean. But I understand your trepidation. This place can be…perilous." Tyrion stared at his guest. "Clegane, I realize we have never gotten along but you seem to be even more tense and angry than usual." The Hound glared at him through narrow eyes. "Would this have anything to do with a particular someone?"
"Tell me what I'm doing here."
"Fine. Lord Varys has received a raven from Winterfell."
"I thought all the ravens were dead."
"We thought so too but apparently someone saved one on purpose."
Sandor grabbed the scribbled piece of paper from the tiny lord and read quickly. His eyes flickered up. "Is this a jape? It's not funny."
"I'm afraid not." Tyrion's voice was low as he spoke – a hint of sadness hidden below the surface. "We've heard reports from the Stark's encampment as well. Both are dead."
"Does she know?"
"Not yet; but I would prefer if she heard it from someone less…Joffrey-like. Luckily, Varys comes to me first with these kinds of things but the king and my sister will find out soon."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"She'll need someone, Clegane. Someone she can use as a shoulder to cry on. Can I count on you?"
"Of course," Sandor snapped.
"You're the only here who cares nothing for her title. Men like Littlefinger will try and worm their way into her good graces and we both know why that is. The North is the key to this land, Clegane and Sansa is the lock."
Sandor pondered that statement and all its implications. He took a deep sigh and said, "What do you want me to do?"
"That is up to you to decide."
"I thought you were the one who warned me against this."
"Circumstances have changed. I change with them."
"When do you plan on telling her about this?" He indicated to the raven's note.
"Me? No, not me. She would never believe the news if it came from a Lannister."
"Well who then?"
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"Ser Loras," Sansa gasped.
"Lady Stark. I have come to escort you to my sister's room."
The knight looked breathtaking in his white and gold armor, brown hair and sparkling eyes that had a hint of seduction of them. Sansa felt rather ordinary next to him.
"Oh. I was not expecting you, ser."
Loras smiled brightly at Sansa's fluttering. "Shall we go?"
"Yes, please." Sansa was surprised to see the Knight of Flowers walking next to her rather than behind. 'I got used to Sandor,' she mused. "I still have that rose," she said awkwardly.
His beautiful face wrinkled into a look of confusion. "Rose?"
"That you gave me during the Hand's Tourney."
It was clear he had no clue what she was talking about.
"Oh, that rose," he replied.
"I'm sorry about Lord Renly. I liked him."
"As did I, my lady."
Sansa noted a darkness had come over him. "Your sister must have been sick with grief."
"My sister?" He scrutinized her tightly. "Yes, my sister was distraught."
'I have offended him,' Sansa realized. But what could she have said that would cause offense?
"Lady Sansa," Margaery Tyrell cooed. The brown haired fiancée of the king held a warm smile and tight hug for her guest. "I am so very pleased to have you dine with me and my family tonight."
"The honor is mine," Sansa replied cautiously but polite. She watched as Loras made a stiff exit. She would have to ask Sandor if he knew what the problem was since they were both in the kingsguard. For now, she had to play her part with the Tyrells.
"I believe you've heard of my grandmother," Margaery said as an old, wrinkled woman looked up to Sansa.
"The Queen of Thorns," Sansa blurted.
The short woman smiled warmly. "I prefer Olenna, though I dare say I earned the nickname."
"Oh, my apologies."
"Don't be silly, child. You have nothing to be sorry for. Come and sit next to me, Sansa and for the sake of the gods, stop your fidgeting. You're bound to give pigeons a bad case of the nerves."
Olenna Redwyne, also known as The Queen of Thorns, was notorious for her shrewd mind and cunning wit. Her quick intellect rivaled those of Littlefinger and Varys. If she asked for the truth about Joffrey, Sansa would be found out in the blink of an eye.
The conversation was general at first – nothing too serious. They wanted to know about King's Landing and the Keep and in return Sansa got to ask about Lord Renly and Highgarden. Slowly, the topic began to dig deeper into what was going on inside the kingdom. Sansa had no idea how to respond to the questions. Part of her wanted to say everything that happened and beg them to take her away; the other part had learned that just because someone appears nice doesn't mean they are nice. Yet Sansa had a hard time thinking that the Queen of Thorns answered to anyone she didn't want to.
"Sansa," Margaery said with concern. "Are you all right?"
Sansa blinked again at the statement she had just heard from Margaery. "You were betrothed to a Targaryen?" she asked Lady Olenna in disbelief.
"Indeed I was." Her white hair moved silently along her shoulders as she nodded.
"What happened? Why didn't you marry?"
"I didn't want to marry into that House. That is a cursed House."
"How did you manage to not marry?"
"I have my ways," she smiled wickedly. Her face changed rapidly for an old woman. "Remember this, Sansa: always follow your instincts. I did not love my betrothed and I knew it would not be a good match. The Targaryens were the most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms but I knew deep in my bones that it would mean the end of my life – and my family's – if I married him. Power can change hands in the blink of an eye, dear child. One lowly man's choice can mean the difference between life and death, victory and defeat."
"How can a low born man do that?"
"Who do you think wins wars, girl? It sure isn't the precious lords and commanders who sit in the back and bark orders. It is the common soldier who makes one more kill thus making the enemy more vulnerable. And who are these common soldiers?"
"Bannermen."
"Correct. But they are not just bannerman, Sansa. They are men with families who miss them when they go to war and they mourn just as hard as a highborn lady when men don't come home. Your brother knows that from what I hear."
"Robb?" Sansa was startled for a moment.
"That's the one. They call him the Young Wolf, do they not?"
Sansa tried to not cry. She quickly downcast her eyes and swallowed hard. "Yes, I believe they do."
"What's the matter? Have I offended you, my dear? I did not mean to. He is your brother though. I would think you would like to talk about him."
"My brother is a traitor."
Margaery and the rest of the family stared at Sansa.
"Is that what the little king wants to hear?" Lady Olenna asked pointedly.
The whole room was looking at her. Sansa felt ill. She could feel the blood draining from her face as the lemon cake she had swallowed threatened to reappear.
"Grandmother, stop pestering the poor girl," Margaery chided gently. "Look, her hands are shaking."
Sansa looked down and saw her finger trembling against their will. She quickly gathered them together. "It's all right."
The two Tyrell women glanced at each other.
"Sansa, you don't have to be afraid of us," Margaery stated softly. It was almost a whisper, chilling Sansa's bones.
"What are you afraid of?" The Queen of Thorns asked, not ungently; her impatience put aside for a brief moment. When Sansa didn't answer, she rested a crinkled hand on the trembling girl. "Tell me."
Sansa felt naked under the woman's scrutiny. Her eyes flittered around and she shook her head. "I can't. She has ears everywhere."
"Well we can fix that. Butterbumps!"
Butterbumps was the jester the Tyrells had brought from Highgarden. Sansa noted the only two things about him was his girth and his ability to break wind at will. Neither were appealing to her. The heavy man bobbed his way over to their side of the table.
"My lady," he bowed, ridiculously low.
"Sing The Bear and the Maiden Fair will you? And be sure to sing so loud the gods have to cover their ears."
Butterbumps startled everyone when he took Lady Olenna's command to heart. He bellowed so loud, Sansa was afraid the tapestries would come off the walls.
"Now," the woman continued in Sansa's ear, "Tell us."
Sansa blurted out everything from the wicked manipulation of the queen to Joffrey's cruel beatings and the lies she was forced to tell the king about her family. Each new revelation about her life at court disgusted Lady Olenna and Margaery. When Sansa felt as though someone might be listening, the Queen of Thorns would yell for her fool to sing the song again even louder than the last time. The only thing Sansa kept carefully hidden was Sandor.
"Enough!" Margaery commanded once Sansa had concluded her tale. Butterbumps stopped mid lyric and bounced back to a spot down the table.
"That is troubling," Lady Olenna muttered softly. "But lighten up, dear child. I have a proposition for you."
Sansa's curiosity was peaked. "Oh?"
"Yes. But we shan't discuss it here."
With that, the discussion was dropped; though Margaery sent a wink to Sansa and a small smile. She tried to eat the rest of her food and enjoy this company of women that weren't under Cersei's sadistic thumbs. At first she was worried that someone had overheard her talking to Lady Olenna but her fears were dispelled. No one seemed to care about they talked about. Her shoulders relaxed and her nerves calmed. Finally, Sansa was having a good time.
The dinner party lasted longer than she had thought and before she knew it, Margaery was offering to walk her back to her room. Sansa conceded and the brunette took her arm. When the door opened, Sansa was surprised to see Sandor standing guard.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, slightly irritated. She hadn't forgiven him yet for what he said to her that night she went to him.
"The king's orders," he rasped. His glare sent a chill down her spine.
Sansa felt Margaery shudder next to her.
"Are you here to make sure no one attacks us in the hallway, Ser Hound?" Margaery asked.
"I'm no ser," he spat back.
"Oh. My apologies. Come, grandmother. The hour grows late."
Sansa turned and saw the short, hearty woman walking toward them. "Is she coming as well?"
"Of course," the young woman smiled. She hugged herself closer to the redhead and whispered,
"We're going somewhere no one else can hear us."
Sandor was impressed at the Tyrell woman. She clearly had her grandmother's shrewdness and alert mind. This is who Sansa needed to be around. They began the journey to the serpentine that led to the outside. Just after the steps, Olenna Redwyne turned to face him.
"Who is this?" the wrinkled old woman asked, indicating to the tall burned man.
"This is Sandor Clegane," Sansa replied. "But you may know him as the Hound."
"Yes," the woman sang. Her old eyes bore into his gray ones. "The Mountain's brother."
Sandor bit his jaw down. "Aye."
"Are you anything like him, ser?"
"I'm no-"
"Ser. Yes, yes I heard you earlier but I call all worthy men 'ser'."
Her nonchalant attitude stunned Sansa. "What do you mean worthy?"
"When we talked, I never heard the words: dog, Hound, Sandor or Clegane. Did you, my sweet?"
"No, grandmother," Margaery stated.
Sansa felt her courage starting to rise. They were testing her, she was sure. "He is no knight."
"I see. Come, Lady Sansa. I am old and we have much to talk about and there are far too many eyes and ears in this place."
Sandor moved behind them at a leisurely pace. He didn't act too interested but naturally he was listening. They mostly talked about typical woman things such as handsome knights at court and the upcoming wedding. Sandor was bored instantly. It took ages but they finally arrived just outside of the godswood. He was told that he wouldn't be needed any further so he picked out a tree trunk and took his leave. To Sansa he felt cold and angry. He felt like the Hound.
"Why the godswood?" Sansa asked. Margaery was still holding on to her arm but now she was becoming giddy.
"Because no one knows we are here and if they did, that monstrous man would take care of them. Tell me: does he watch over you often?"
"Yes."
"Has he ever betrayed you?"
"On the contrary, he has saved my life."
That silenced both of the women. Clearly, they were astonished that a Clegane was capable of more than violence.
"Sansa, how is your family? I trust they are well."
"I pray they are."
"You mean you don't know?"
"No, Lady Olenna."
"That's a shame."
A hint of irritation bled through her tone and it set Sansa on edge. "Why do you ask?"
"Do you know what your brother needs to win this war?"
"He is winning the war."
A proud smirk flashed for a brief second on the woman's face. "This is true…so far. No, I'll tell you what he needs: Highgarden."
Tully eyes blinked. "What?"
"The Young Wolf could use extra support no matter how many battles he has won. Lord Tywin is no fool and now that the power of the Tyrells is behind him he could easily overpower your brother. This means that the Lannisters will lose without us."
"But Margaery is to be married to the king."
"Yes, she is."
"So you would be splitting your bannermen?"
Lady Olenna 'tsked' at her. "Have you learned nothing being around Cersei? Think, child!"
"She doesn't understand," Margaery said sympathetically. "And she's terrified! She probably thinks this is a trap. Am I right?" Sansa's lack of reply was the only answer they needed. "See. No wonder she can't think."
"I- I just don't understand what this would mean. Margaery would be queen and Joffrey would be king."
"You're half right," Margaery whispered. She kept her voice low so that it wouldn't carry.
That was when understanding dawned on her. "If the Lannisters are brought down, they could be defeated."
"Yes."
"And if they lose, you would still be queen and sole ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."
"You're getting there."
"If Margaery is queen, you would what? Give the north back?"
"To the rightful rulers: the Starks."
Sansa was flabbergasted. "Why?"
"The north follows no one but the Starks. That's the way of it plain and simple. We help your brother and he gets the north."
"What's in it for you?"
Lady Olenna piped in. "We would rule six kingdoms. That is plenty for a family, wouldn't you agree?"
"What about Stannis? He will never give up the claim and he rides with a red priestess."
"I know," Margaery replied. "But that does not mean he will win. I don't understand why he is fighting; he has no ambition for the iron throne."
"It is his duty," the white haired woman said. "And Stannis Baratheon will break before he bends. But we are getting away from the topic. Would your brother consent to an alliance between the north and Highgarden?"
Something about her statement rubbed Sansa the wrong way. Alliances weren't usually made by paper but by marriage. "How would the alliance come about?"
"Marriage of course," Margaery said.
"Whose?"
"Yours, sweet child." There was a sparkle in Lady Olenna's eyes.
"Muh- Mine?"
"Yes!" Margaery smiled.
"To whom?"
"Have no worries, it is not my oaf of a son. It is Willas."
Willas Tyrell was the heir to Highgarden and known to be a cripple but extremely kind. Sansa's breath left her. This was an incredible opportunity to not only escape King's Landing but to ensure Robb a victory.
Sansa had nothing to say.
"We must return," Margaery declared. "The queen wanted to speak to me before she turns in for the night."
"Ah, yes. So much information in one night. It wears on my old bones." Margaery helped her grandmother up slowly and wrapped an around her.
The walk back was silent on Sansa's part. She couldn't bear to face Sandor for fear she would burst into a river of tears. It wasn't until she had collapsed on her bed after parting ways with the Tyrell women that she let herself fully comprehend what had just been said. A soft rapt on the heavy door had her drying her eyes in a flash.
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Sandor was getting annoyed at the old crone's lack of speed. They had taken forever to get to the godswood and now the journey back to Margaery's room was taking even longer. While he was walking he kept replaying the strange day he had had so far. He thought Tyrion's suggestion of letting Varys tell his little bird that her brothers were dead was odd. It was nothing compared to seeing Sansa open that door arm in arm with Margaery fucking Tyrell.
He should have known considering Loras strode into the kingsguard tower and replayed his early encounter with her. Watching the curly haired ass talk about escorting the lovely Sansa Stark didn't bother him. What did was her reaction that Loras bragged about.
"She swooned?" Boros Blount laughed.
Curls moved along Loras' head. "Yes. It was rather precious actually. She couldn't breathe and her whole flushed when I escorted her to my sister's room."
Anger was the first emotion he had – but not at Loras. He cursed himself for thinking that Sansa meant anything by her words. 'It was only a crush,' he thought. It was a devastating thought but the only reason why she would be attracted to him at all. He had saved her life and in return she had thought him a hero. He pushed his chair out and stood.
"Hey," the Knight of Flowers called out. "You know you have duty tonight?"
"Fuck off," Sandor replied. He went to the kitchens and grabbed a skin of wine. He downed it in a matter of seconds. Nowhere near drunk, he took a stroll to the stables and spent some time Stranger before heading back to the Keep.
He wanted to kill something as they walked to the godswood. He was bitter and being dismissed like a dog didn't help his mood. Sansa said nothing and paid no attention to him, which is what they had discussed but that didn't lessen the pain. To his amazement, the women stayed only a short time. Usually Sansa was in there for hours. But he knew something was wrong when her lovely face had been drained of its color. Her sparkling blue eyes had lost their luster.
He dropped the Tyrell women off at their respective rooms and headed back to Sansa's. But not before stopping off to grab another wine skin. He practiced his speech about how maybe they moved too quickly and perhaps they should rethink this whole relationship thing. It would never work of course. He did truly love her, even if he didn't know how to. She deserved better though. Someone worthy of her.
"Sansa?" he called out. Carefully he closed the door. There was a faint glow in the room from a single candle. "Sansa," he said louder.
She emerged from the dark side of the balcony. The air swirled her hair around her shoulders and neck. He could see tear stains on her cheeks. A piece of paper was trying to escape her small fingers but she wouldn't let it. "Bran and Rickon are dead," she whispered.
"I know," he sighed. With a thump he rested on the edge of her bed.
"And I am to marry Willas Tyrell."