A/N: I am soooo sorry about the lack of update the past few...years:/ Yikes. Lots of stuff going on/had been going on so that this was pushed way off my radar. But I'm back! And hopefully, this chapter isn't too disappointing after such a long wait. It's not as long as I wanted but I felt I needed to get something up that was completed just to show I haven't given this story up. I can't wait to get all these pieces on the board moving again!

Chapter 26: Long Live the King

Sansa poked her head through the sapling leaves of the godswood and glanced around nervously. Her veins were chilled from the breeze and lack of warmth found in King's Landing on this strange night. Something was coming – a change she couldn't quite put her finger on. She clutched the crinkled paper in her hand again and straightened her back before gliding to the abandoned heart tree. A frown creased her lips as she caressed the tired bark. This place always reminded her of her father and warm memories filled her breast.

"My Lady," a drunken voice called softly to the side. It was Ser Dontos, slobbering and glassy-eyed as he stumbled closer. "My Lady," he called again.

He reminded her of when she first met Sandor. "Good evening, Ser Dontos," she replied in her usual polite manner. "I assume you're the one who left this." She held up the parchment and he nodded. "I really do not mean to be rude, Ser Dontos but there are eyes everywhere. You can understand my hesitation about meeting you here."

"Of course, of course," he slurred. He stepped closer and Sansa caught the glimmer of something shiny in his thick hand. "I never got the chance to say my gratitude. You saved my life when it put your own in danger. I was never that brave," he muttered to himself. He seemed to realize that he wasn't alone and shook his head as he held out a necklace. "This is the only way I know of."

Sansa had to admit that she was completely caught off guard. "I-I don't know what to say. You do not owe me anything, Ser Dontos."

"I'm not a Ser," he barked harshly. "Not anymore. I was never good at it anyway so it's a mercy really. I am a much better fool." He urged his hand forward at her. "It was my mother's. The only thing I have of hers. She's long dead in the ground and it was meant for my wife but I never married. You are the only one worthy enough to carry her memory. Please."

Tentatively, Sansa let him place the delicate jewelry in her cool palm. The glittering jewels caught her attention and she realized they were purple. "It's beautiful. I shall wear it with honor, Ser Dontos." The lie came easy enough though her conscious berated her for it. Sansa Stark reeled against the newfound ability; but Sansa Lannister embraced it. As a response to the internal confliction warring inside, her hand clasped the necklace tighter. She gave a sympathetic smile to the king's fool and turned toward the heart tree.

Had he been any other man with a shred of self-awareness, her back would have been taken as a clear signal that her mood was sour. But Dontos had no such interest in social cues. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered breathily, "You're almost home, Lady Sansa. Just a little while longer yet and we'll escape this lion's den."

A thorough shiver escaped her self-control and he took it to mean it as a sign of anticipation. Encouraged by her reaction, he brought his head closer and inhaled the scent of her unwashed hair. "Ser Dontos!" she reprimanded quietly. "Please! Someone could be here with us, lurking in the shadows."

There was a string of drool hanging from his bottom lip as he smiled. "Have no worries, my lady. I'm sure the king's hound is making sure you are safe."

Her eyes flashed violently. "What is your meaning?"

"He was told to watch you wasn't he? There've been rumors that he didn't fight that ruling too hard – what man would? I know I couldn't." He leaned in close – too close for her comfort – and pressed his lips against her cheek.

Startled and more than a little disgusted, Sansa gave the briefest of smiles before bidding Ser Dontos a good night. "I hope you sleep well, Ser Dontos. And thank you for the gift."

"Night, my lady." Like a lovesick teenage boy having his first love leave him, Ser Dontos stood in place, pondering what he had done in his life to deserve such a moment with the beautiful Sansa Stark. It was of no consequence that her nose wrinkled slightly whenever he would come close or that she preferred to stay away at court. After all, he had been promised that when the time came, Sansa would be grateful. Sansa would take him with her and be his lady until the day he died. Sansa would be his, he was told. He had waited so long – since she had saved his life – to be near her and not be afraid of the consequences. Watching her with the Hound made him seethe with jealousy. She needed to leave King's Landing and be far away from everyone who would do her harm, including Clegane. The Hound looked far too peaceful each time they were at court and that only incensed Dontos more. She will be mine, he cursed in his head. I was promised! The Hound is ugly and hateful; I will rescue her. She is my Jonquil and I her Florian. Naturally the thought of someone of such low class as a Clegane had no thoughts toward a woman of Sansa's station. It was such a ridiculous notion that Dontos had to laugh. He knew he lacked certain physical traits such as strength and beauty but he had to mean something to her in order for her to risk angering the king on his nameday. She loved him, he was sure of it. And once I take you away, I will show you I am more than a King's fool. I am Florian.

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Sansa rushed back up the stairs, anxious to wipe the presence of Ser Dontos from her skin. Since she had first gotten his letter – neatly tucked under her pillow – and met with him in the godswood over a week ago, things had gotten progressively busier for her: Margaery and her maids were trying to have dinner with her every night, Sandor was becoming increasingly irritated at their lack of privacy, and Arya was itching to kill Joffrey; she could now add Ser Dontos's mission to her list. And what a mission it was! He wanted to take her home, to Winterfell. It was the cruelest form of punishment she had been subjected to thus far. To even have the imagination of such a thing was enough to make her heart soar and her soul sink into an abyss. It was a fantasy she had buried a long time ago. Yet Ser Dontos seemed to be genuine (if a little unorthodox) in his conviction. She cradled the necklace in her palm, letting the stones rest against the crook of her fingers. They were heavy; she liked the feeling. She tried them on and smiled at her candlelit reflection. Shae's hands wrapped themselves around Sansa's red strands tucked into a braid and pulled back gently. "What do you think?" Sansa asked

Shae gave a soft smile before her features contorted into curiosity. "You look beautiful. Who is it from?"

"A friend," was the evasive answer. Her tone went from abstract to questioning. "I was thinking of wearing it tomorrow at the wedding."

The maid's jaw tightened and her teeth ground into themselves. "It will be a good addition."

"I think so too."

"Whoever this friend is, he has expensive taste."

Sansa paused in her movements as she took the necklace off. "You would think so," she daydreamed. "He certainly has the ambition for it. How is everything with you?"

"Huh?" Shae hadn't realized she tuned the girl out.

"Is everything all right? You seem…distracted these past few days."

The brunette smiled weakly and took the brush to Sansa's hair, stroking carefully as if dissecting each thread. "Apologies. There have been reports from the other maids that someone in the Keep has been taking things from their chambers. It's beginning to be worrisome."

Arya, Sansa cursed bitterly to herself. The little Stark was leaving during the wedding and while Sansa would hate to see her leave, she knew it was for the best. "That's terrible! Surely the gold cloaks are taking care of this menace."

Shae glanced around quickly and knelt down to the young Stark's level and whispered, "They haven't told the gold cloaks. They haven't told anyone."

"Why not?"

"They're afraid of what will happen to them."

Sansa huffed patiently. "Shae, I refuse to ask questions until I happen upon the answer. Just tell me."

"Some of them have taken things from the Queen's room."

She could hardly believe her ears! Sansa smiled widely at the news. A swell of pride echoed around insider her. "What have they taken?"

To that, the maid shrugged and continued to brush Sansa's hair. "I haven't heard. They merely noticed she never pays attention to certain items so they acquired them for themselves."

"Queen Cersei notices everything."

"Apparently not."

"I can't decide if they are foolish or brave."

The woman giggled lightly. "Neither can I. But I like them."

"Have you ever taken anything that wasn't yours?" Sansa asked as she slipped into a nightgown.

With her face hidden from Sansa's view, Shae shook her head. "No. I like you."

In her previous life as a Stark of Winterfell, a maid's opinion of her personality never mattered to Sansa. They went on with their daily routine of scrubbing and other duties while she was being groomed for a great marriage. They would always live under her parents' kindness scraping out a meager living while she would bear the next great line of Wardens – or Kings, as it almost happened. She would be in the pages of history while they would rot in their graves, forgotten and cast aside as the forgettable people she always believed they were: One slave looked exactly like the next. Who were they to judge her, the firstborn daughter of the great Ned Stark and part of a line thousands of years long? It startled her to realize that somehow, when she wasn't looking, one of those insignificant, scuttling maids became her friend. For so long all she had ever heard from anyone were cutting remarks made to break her by smiling faces hiding the viciousness underneath. There were too many scars to heal but Shae's comment gave a soothing balm Sansa didn't know she needed. How she longed to be in the company of civil people and to have a true friend for much of her captivity! It was a small blessing in an unexpected package but Shae had proven her loyalty. It was what Sansa clung to most when the darkness threatened to overcome her; a darkness that often included Sandor. "Thank you," she replied earnestly.

The brunette smiled calmly and held out a robe for her mistress. "Have no fear, my lady. Tomorrow, you will have a new queen and she loves you."

It elated Sansa to hear the reassurance. Margaery's friendship – real or fake – made life in King's Landing bearable. Joffrey still did as he pleased like the spoiled bastard he was, but his new betrothed could easily abate his temper; Margaery had an effect on him that Sansa could not possibly hope to achieve and she was content with that. "You love me too, don't you?"

The young woman's innocence shone through like a beacon on a stormy night and it sickened the maid to the point where she had to turn her eyes from the earnestness; it could be overwhelming to be around constantly. Shae much preferred the angry Sansa – her sharp tongue hidden behind her lady armor made for great entertainment.

"Come," Shae urged tenderly. "It is long past time for bed."

"That's what my mother would say when Arya would refuse to get dressed for bed," Sansa smiled wryly. She crawled into her bed and snuggled under the covers, ready for the promise of tomorrow. "I think you're right about tomorrow. I think everything will be okay."

Life wouldn't be pleasurable but it would be functional. Hopefully, in time, she would be up at Winterfell with Tyrion and Shae with Sandor and her sister by her side; she'd be able to restore her home to its former glory. Then maybe she could live in peace far away from Joffrey and the Lannisters, divorce Tyrion (that would be easy since the North does not recognize the Seven) and marry her real love. They would have children and be happy. Surely things could only go up from here. It was going to be the best day of Sansa's life and she hardly contained her joy.

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This was the worst day of Sandor's life. Maybe not the absolute worst of all time, but it was ranked up there pretty far. The flurry of activity made his skin crawl and if he heard one more maid clapping on about how beautiful Margaery was in her wedding gown, he was going to kill something. The Tyrell bitch was the last thing on his mind as he wandered down the corridor behind Joffrey. There was a certain smirk that he had never seen before on the boy's face and Sandor found it…unsettling. But he did have to admit that Joffrey no longer outwardly tortured Sansa and for that, Margaery would always have his thanks. Yet she and her grandmother were too much of a force to be reckoned with. They had Sansa's kindness but possessed too much manipulation to be trusted. He had had his fill of such complexities in those surrounding him. Each step was burdened by the passing years and their memories; his sword felt old and worn as if it had never seen the inside of a sheath; clothes itched so profoundly they tested his self control; the echoes of jubilant voices rising around him scratched at his brain, inciting a roaring headache. It was of little matter though as he had to watch Sansa was parade with Tyrion – a grotesque yet fascinating example of what happens when you play the game of thrones. Still, she was alive and that was more than half her family could claim.

He watched the wedding proceed without any interruptions and looked for his exit. It was imperative he timed it perfectly: a prolonged absence would be noticed. While the highborns mingled and congratulated each other on being wealthy, Sandor hung back and slinked around the last pillar next to the throne. He unhooked his thick cloak and hurried along the secret route Varys had instructed him to take. "Do not under any circumstances deviate from this," the eunuch had warned. "To do so would be a grievous error." Sandor could count on one hand how many times he had heeded instructions from someone other than a Lannister. This was one of them. Winding corridors led him under the Red Keep far below the black cells and without explicit guidance one could easily disappear into the night, which was the plan.

Arya was waiting impatiently for him under a latch door. She was wearing boys' clothes and she had dirtied herself to fit in with Flea's Bottom citizens. It would work perfectly but of course she already knew that from the first time she escaped. "It's about time," she sneered. Her hands were shaking from the adrenaline and the itch to be so close to her target and yet denied closure. Sandor knew the feeling.

"Shut your hole," he snapped. He pushed her out of the way and opened the door with a hard shove, the noise of its falling slipping past anyone's notice due to the celebration in the courtyard.

"Did you tell my sister?" she asked, suddenly shy.

Sandor pulled himself up first and glanced around before jerking the girl up alongside him. "No," he replied curtly.

"She has no idea you're coming with me? I thought you…loved…her or something."

He handed her the reigns after she plopped down unceremoniously atop the beast. "That's why I'm saying goodbye. You remember where to stop?" Arya nodded confidently. "The Dragon Gate is the easiest to get to. Do not stop until you get past it. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Why not now?"

"I have things to take care of. Go and for gods' sake, don't get draw attention to yourself."

Sandor dared not stay to watch her leave past the Keep. Joffrey would notice his absence any minute and so he scuttled back as nonchalantly as he could, building up the courage to tell Sansa that there were some minor changes to the plan. While it was agreed that Arya would need to leave during the wedding, it was decided, in private, that she couldn't go alone. The only logical answer to that dilemma was that Sandor needed to be there too. The Spider helped him plan the escape with vital timing, secret passages and the assurance that Sansa would not be left on her own. Not only was she a Lannister now and protected somewhat by Tywin – if only for her claim to the North – but by Jamie, who had somehow decided that he was looking for his lost honor. Whatever the catalyst for the change was, Sansa had powerful friends to shield her from the brunt of Joffrey's wrath.

Or he would just take her with him. Just as he latched his cloak back on he began to like that idea best. No matter what friends she had none of them would protect her like he would. They all wanted something from her whether it be her title or beauty or even her innocence, she was merely a plaything for everyone in King's Landing. Except him. He was in charge of her heart and when it came to that game, he would rather die than lose.

That conclusion was spirited by his new resolution and Sandor marched with increasing purpose toward his destiny. They would be hunted until the day they died but it didn't matter. These families could tear each other apart for all he cared; they would live somewhere else, even with that bitch of a young Stark.

"Fuck the Spider," Sandor decided as he entered the festivities again.

Joffrey was just introducing the entertainment – dwarves. Five kingly dwarves bounced around the tables, emanating mixed reactions from the crowd. Everyone laughed at Renly and Balon of course; they were the jokes of the kingdom anyway. But when it came to Robb Stark and direwolf paper mache, he could sense that Sansa had stopped breathing. Her eyes were distant as the play went on until Robb lost his head…again. The winner – Joffrey's dwarf – humped the wolf's head, Sandor narrowed his good eye and came to another conclusion: he would kill that one.

Cersei smirked in Sansa's direction and Sandor felt his blood boil. If he could get away with it, he would slit that woman's throat and put a dog's head on her empty neck like the bitch she was. Arya'd like that, he mused. Maybe he could hold the body straight while Sansa sewed.

"Where are you going, Uncle?" Joffrey's voice screeched out.

"Fuck," Sandor muttered softly. He saw Sansa standing off to the side, ready to leave. He began to slowly make his way round the tables, making sure not to have a care in the world.

Then everything turned to absolute shit. Why he thought the most vital part of the plan would go smoothly, he had no idea. Nothing ever went right in King's Landing when leaving the city was the objective. Joffrey was coughing like his lungs wanted to escape and an air of panic swarmed the audience when Margaery yelled for help.

"Help your King!" Lady Olenna barked.

But something infinitely more important was happening just then: Sansa had disappeared. Sandor was completely thrown off; he just seen her! He burst into a scant run to find her but there was only empty space. He was on the verge of calling out for her, but Cersei screaming for Tyrion's arrest compelled him to turn back.

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"I want that bitch's head on a spike!" Cersei demanded hotly. "And that monster executed!"

"We're not even sure it was him," the best looking Lannister inputted.

Cersei's bloated face squeezed itself shut in disgust. "You've always defended him! Look at what he's done! What he's always done to our family!"

Sandor heard the door slam behind him as he stood guard. He hadn't cared about Joffrey or the family drama his death had caused. His only concern was Sansa. Where had she gone? Who took her? Did she leave on her own or was she forced? He paced inwardly and counted the several ways she could have left without being noticed but thanks to Cersei's paranoia, Sansa was now the most wanted person in Westeros. Who would have taken her in, even if they were sympathetic to her plight and thought her innocent? Maybe just one…

The first task he accomplished after his dismissal was to find Varys. If anyone knew where she had gone, it would be him. He orchestrated everything to exact timing. But Sandor was sure that not even he saw Joffrey being poisoned coming. He certainly didn't, though he didn't blame whoever did.

"Come, come," the eunuch urged softly. The door hinged quietly as the two met. "How was it?"

"She's gone," Sandor replied gruffly. "And so is Sansa."

"Yes, I noticed that," Varys bit his lip worryingly. "And before you ask, no I did not see her leave. Although…" he thought aloud, "Has anyone kept check of the king's court? By that I mean has anyone else gone missing?"

Sandor sneered. "Just one. That idiot she saved a while back – the fool. I heard one of the guards mention him when we brought the body in. You think he has something to do it with it?"

"I think," the other man sighed, "that there are no coincidences in King's Landing."

Both minds were put to rest when Sandor was called to the harbor the following day. A swollen body that was recognized as Ser Dontos the Fool swayed in the shallow tide.

"What do we do with him, ser?" one of the young Lannister guards asked.

"Bring him," Sandor ordered.

"Wha' for?" another asked.

"Fuck if I know! Just do it." His irascible attitude had become worse each hour Sansa was gone and he didn't give a single shit about anyone's thoughts on it.

They slammed the body down on a rough table in Qyburn's office. The queen had taken an immense liking to the disgraced master but Sandor was utterly indifferent. The man was notoriously curious though so every man holding a sword in the Lannister's force was ordered to bring any corpse of interest to the man.

"Well," Jaime huffed impatiently, along with his twin. Both were holding rags over their mouths and noses to suffocate the smell. "What do you see?"

"Nothing yet," Qyburn quipped. "I've only just begun."

"I can say that he didn't drown," the maester noted.

"How do you know that?" the queen regent asked.

"The arrow sized hole in his chest," came the flat reply.

"Someone killed the King's fool?" Sandor scoffed. "Why?"

"Ah," Qyburn sighed. "Maybe we'll know soon enough. This man may yet hold answers."

"When you find them, let us know. I'd rather not come down here again with the smell," Cersei remarked haughtily.

"Your Grace," Qyburn bowed.

When they left, Sandor lingered behind. Smells never bothered him unless someone was on fire. "What kind of arrow?"

"Looks like it would be a crossbow," he replied. "Seen enough of them."

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"A crossbow?" Varys whispered to himself. "A king's fool disappears when the king is murdered and he washes ashore, he himself killed."

"Why?" was the only question that came to Sandor's mind. "The man never did anything to anyone. In fact, he owed his life to Sansa."

At this, Varys perked up. "He did. Maybe he repaid that debt."

"By getting shot?"

"By taking her away."

"He couldn't have done it on his own," Sandor scoffed. "She's too recognizable."

Varys paced along the uneven stones in his room. His mind raced at all the dots stranded in the air and looked for the common link that thread them together. There was simply only one answer: "Only if she stays in the city."

One good eyebrow lowered itself at the implication. "You think she fled the city?"

"Why not? It was perfect timing, she would be blamed, and so forth. Perhaps his way of paying the debt was getting her out of the lion's den."

"That was supposed to be me!" he growled. A hard fist rammed itself into the door. "Damn it!"

"Calm down, Clegane. She is in no harm."

"How the fuck do you know that?" he spat.

"Because I now I see everything clearly." The pieces had been there the whole time, waiting to be connected by a keen mind and handy information gathered by a well placed source.

"Well…" Sandor nudged, more than a little impatient to hear the rest.

"Littlefinger has her."