Gavroche kept his ear close to the ground, eager to find out more about these mysterious urchins who were tracking his friends. He couldn't believe how long it had taken his friends to work out they were being followed.
Don't get me wrong I like them all- they were generous and kind souls. But perhaps they aren't very practical for all their high ideals and bravery, he thought.
He'd asked Eponine about her pretty red-haired friend, but his sister was adamant he shouldn't reveal what he knew, not just yet.
"They should know who they're harbouring." he'd argued. "I mean she's Joffrey's bride, ain't she? She might be a princess and she's living in a grotty tavern scrubbing tables and taking coppers from drunkards. Dodging the wandering hands of letchy piss-heads. Hanging out with urchins like us and students."
"She's afraid, can't you see that?" Eponine said. "- and Sansa hasn't complained about the work no matter how hard she finds it. She ain't too proud."
Eponine had seen her wince with pain at her blisters and cracked hands, but as she said Sansa hadn't made any complaints and was a hard worker always eager to please Musichetta the owner. She'd gratefully used the salve Musichetta had given her and doggedly kept at it, desperate to keep her position and earn her way, not have to depend on the charity of Enjolras and the students.
"Why do you think she's in hiding then? You'd think she would be eager to get back to court and her life of ease, wouldn't ye?"
Eponine thought about it. "I don't think she wants to go back. I think she's running away from them."
"Running away?"
"Well, did you ever ask yerself what she was doing down that alleyway in the first place?" Eponine reasoned. "The girl is doing a flit and frankly I don't blame her. She wants to hide for now in King's Landing, I say we let her."
Gavroche wasn't so convinced by his sister's logic. "But what about the group? They're our friends. Don't you think they have the right to know who they're hiding?"
"She'll tell them when she's ready, 'Roche."
"But what if she doesn't?" he frowned . "- because I ain't gonna lie to yer, them 'little birds were proper creepy. They 'ave to be spying for a reason"
"What little birds?" Eponine said puzzled by Gavroche's statement. "How can birds spy?"
"They ain't real birds, 'Ponine!" Gavroche sighed impatiently. "Yer mean you ain't seen them urchins following everyone about with haunted eyes and no tongues?"
"No tongues?"
"The group think they're spies – from court- and to be honest Sansa seems to know a lot about them, Courfeyrac said. Bit suspect, ain't it?"
It doesn't sound good, does it? Eponine had to admit her shrewd younger brother had a point. "I'll talk to her, find out what's going on."
At the Musain
Grantaire arrived at the tavern rather cock a hoop at the prospect of employment and more riches as he had been running low of funds. He airily ordered a round for the group.
"Got something to celebrate?" Bahorel asked him, accepting his pint from Musichetta.
"I have got myself a job, painting a whole bevy of beautiful women." Grantaire smirked. "- and my generous Dornish customer paid me for my work on those illustrations for 'The Loves of Queen Nymeria'. He loved it."
Courfeyrac gave an appreciative whistle. "Nice work if you can get it! So who're you painting for this time, R?"
"The owner of a place called Chataya's. We're talking primo tail, the kind men would have to pay gold to get anywhere near having for a night. The most gorgeous girls in King's Landing and I have full access to them for two weeks."
"Are they going to be 'paying you in kind'?" laughed Courfeyrac. "Nice work if you can get it."
Grantaire looked round and leaned closer to the other man, checking to see if anyone else was observing them. "There was another reason why I accepted the job, actually."
Well, this was interesting, Courfeyrac told himself. Grantaire was evidently sober and alert enough to be plotting something. What was he up to?
"I wanted to ask a few questions about our little guest-"
Courfeyrac didn't quite follow Grantaire's train of thought. "Our guest? What would they know about-"
"Don't look! She'll know we're talking about her!" Grantaire hissed out of the corner of his mouth with a wary glance at Sansa who was serving food to Combeferre and Enjolras who were at another table, papers spread over the surface as they planned the content of the next pamphlet. Enjolras smiled up at her in thanks and she returned it, shy yet radiant with pleasure and happiness.
"Speak plain, Grantaire what do you mean? Why do you think you'll gain answers about the girl on the Street of Silk? She's evidently some court lady-in-waiting, some miss from the former Hand's household caught up some intrigue and needing to make a getaway. I doubt she is a doxy!"
Grantaire still looked distrustful. "I think Lady Sansa is not what she seems to be. I think she hides a great deal, and I admit I'm suspicious that she's latched on to our leader so cleverly. The girl has her own agenda and we shouldn't forget it."
"I don't think she's a doxy. The girl is innocent you can tell, you can see in her every word and movement." Courfeyrac scoffed. "What makes you think she might be one of those girls?"
"Either that, or an amazing actress and we already know she has secrets. What's one more?"
Courfeyrac sighed, knowing that Grantaire was convinced of her duplicity and wondering what was behind his antagonism. He knew that he was fixated on their leader. He didn't share their ideals and he and Comebferre had often suspected that he stayed purely to be near Enjolras and bask in the light of his idealism. The prospect of a girl, and one that had entranced Enjolras into trusting her must be some hidden threat to him.
"Tell me about your group." Sansa asked as she sat at Enjolras's table on her break. His hand moved over hers, caressing her slightly roughened palms and her long elegant fingers.
"I really would like to hear about it, I'm not just saying that. How did you all meet? Did you all study together?" she asked.
"Most of us met at the Citadel, some of us are still studying there. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are still working towards their Maester's chains. I graduated, specialising in law."
She could not imagine him as a maester in some noble household; he was too rebellious, too questioning, not nearly servile enough.
And far too dangerously beautiful for a household with young daughters, or wives, said a voice inside her she tried not to acknowledge. "So what do you do now?"
"I write for a pamphlet which we distribute in town. Telling the truth about what goes on in this city in our name." he confided in her, his voice low. "I write under a pen-name Apollo-."
Sansa knew of what he spoke. She'd caught the serving-maids reading some pamphlets before her disappearance from the castle, even found one of them and managed to quickly scan it before her captors found her reading contraband. Bold revolutionary talk questioning and castigating the current regime with eloquent sharp prose and a keen eye for injustice. She had never before realised that others might be discontented with the Lannister- Baratheon regime. It had been quite an eye-opener.
"You're 'Apollo'?" she said in disbelief.
"Now do you see why we were all concerned by the 'little birds'? This is perilous work and the authorities would count it a triumph to have us at an advantage."
"But this is dangerous!" she exclaimed feeling fear and admiration for his bravery. "Why do you do this? Risk so much?"
"All the populace hear is what the regime deigns to tell them." he said not hiding the hint of bitterness in his voice. "-very few ever go as far as to think for themselves. I and my friends merely seek to enlighten them. Combeferre, he's the wise one, the one who envisages how the world should be, and Courfeyrac he relates to the people, understands their plights and persuades them there is a different way."
"And what do you do?"
His chin went up proudly. "I fight for what I believe, for what should and must be."
"You risk so much, ser."
"A free people should have the right to an alternative viewpoint, to question what goes on in our name and speak truth if need be to power. How can we be a free prosperous society if we can't do that?" Enjolras argued. "While we labour under false delusions of class and superiority for the few, the rest of the world is finding new ways to be. Should we not do the same?"
He burnt with an idealistic flame. Sansa was impressed that he believed so strongly in his cause like a knight on a quest of old. The kind of man she once would have admired and adored. It was just such a shame that Enjolras seemed to despise everything she stood for, and while he undeniably found her as attractive as she found him; he also didn't really trust her very much.
"You think that I despise all of your kind, and I admit that my opinion of most of them is not good. No wait-" he said as she was about to interrupt. "I just want for our society to be more equal. It shouldn't matter what House you are from; noble or small-folk. We all have the right to succeed in life.""I do not deny that my family are well-off. They do not lack for much. I would be a hypocrite if I claimed different. But people like Feuilly, people like your friend Eponine, like Gavroche; they were not so lucky. Who will fight for them?"
She thought that might be the case; he was able to gain an education to talk eloquently. She was able to see the difference between him and small-folk that she had met. It intrigued that he felt impelled to fight the battle for people that could not.
She spoke, not wanting to anger him as she had on their first meeting, but wanting to give him a different viewpoint.
"Not all high-born families take advantage of the small-folk, you know Enjolras. I won't deny that some do. It's far too easy to abuse the position granted by fate, but as the leader of a region it is their responsibility to serve their people, not just take from them."
"So what do you believe a high-born lord should do?"
"We - they- should give help, as well as justice. The Starks ruled the north for eight thousand years in unbroken line because their people loved them and knew they would get justice. And mercy in equal measure When the Long winter came we – I mean they - would look after them too. Not all noble families are a curse on their territories."
He looked at her. "You are very loyal to the memory of Eddard Stark. Perhaps the Northerners did love their over-lords."
"But you believe we were an exception-"
"Dear girl, I wish the high lords of this realm were as altruistic as you believe they are. But it's simply not true. They squeeze every last drop of wealth from their people, they use the justice system for their own ends., they crush everyone under their heels. If you are unfortunate to be born at the bottom of our society how are you meant to rise? Success should be based on merit; not the blood that flows in your veins."
Sansa couldn't argue with that. "I wish you could see that we are not so far apart after all-" she said softly.
He smiled down at her and she blushed, feeling her heart beat fast within her chest. She should not be feeling this about any man, not when she was meant to be Joffrey's but she couldn't help it, falling deeper and deeper into the trap.
These unmaidenly feelings are dangerous. I have to stop – she told herself, and yet she longed for him more and more with each day.
At the Red Keep
Ser Kevan Lannister strode towards the Hand's chambers, deep in conversation with Tyrion. They were discussing the perplexing disappearance of Sansa Stark and the lack of success in getting her back.
"Well, I have to say this entire situation is very unfortunate and worrying. What have your sister and the king done so far to find the girl? You are still searching for her?" Kevan said to his nephew as he tried to match his stride to Tyrion's shortened legs.
"Of course we are." Tyrion trotted at his uncle's side trying to keep up. "We sent two of our Kingsguard to find her – although they admittedly did a piss-poor job of a search. The Hound is out there in the town and reporting daily on his progress."
"But still no girl..." Kevan frowned. He sighed heavily. "We have go face the possibility that something happened to the girl. She might have been taken-"
"Surely her new captors would have made some demands of us. She wouldn't have just disappeared without a trace. And there's been no trace of a body?"
"Not unless she fled into the capital."
Tyrion made an exasperated gesture.
"So you suspect she ran? Why would she do that? Was she mistreated?" Kevan asked. He noticed his nephew's silence. "I have to say that I do not much like your silence here, Tyrion?"
There was no hiding the truth from Kevan. "Joffrey is out of control, Uncle. He got the Kingsguard to beat her whenever she displeased him."
"The girl was meek and mild. When would she ever have displeased him?"
"Whenever the young Wolf won a victory, Uncle. Whenever Joffrey's cruelty motivated him to hurt a defenceless girl."
"What?" Kevan looked horrified by what Tyrion was telling him. "The Starks won't pay a ransom if she is damaged. This must be some kind of a joke."
"I wish I was, Uncle-" Tyrion told him. "they beat her with mailed fists, with naked steel. He stripped her in front of the entire court-"
Kevan seethed at the news of these unnecessary cruelties. "Is the boy stupid beyond belief? Why isn't your sister controlling him? You cannot be serious? Live steel?"
"I was there, I know what I saw." Tyrion was serious. "-and Cersei has lost all control of the boy. This is beyond anything we can deal with. I think only my father can deal with and control him now."
"Gods, if the Starks knew. If anyone outside the court found out..." Kevan looked horrified by what his nephew was confiding to him.
"If anyone knew, what he's capable of..." Kevan groaned, unable to believe the mess he had been presented with. "The Starks are winning in the Riverlands. They're very family orientated and thirst for revenge for Lord Eddard and their missing daughters. Catelyn Stark rides with him, advising her boy-king at every step. She is a formidable woman -"
Tyrion had met the woman on his trip to Winterfell and his forced march to The Vale. He did not doubt her vengeful streak, or the fact she would personally blame him if a hair on Sansa's head had been harmed.
"You think that she would have run and found some Stark sympathisers?"
"I heard them in the crowd. People calling for the Young Wolf to deliver them from us. He's a folk hero and barely out of leading strings-" Tyrion's mouth twisted cynically. "D'ye believe they howled for justice for Renly Baratheon's murder and claimed he loved them and he was the King who should have been. Bloody fools! For once we aren't responsible; that's all on Stannis Baratheon. The people blame us for every ill, and Joffrey has no idea how unpopular he's made us-"
Kevan shook his head. "None of this is remotely good, Tyrion."
"I know, Uncle-" he sighed. "Trust me, Uncle, I know."
"If my suspicions are right and we have a hidden column of sympathisers undercover in the town then this could become a very grave situation indeed. Sansa Stark may become the flash-point for a rebellion right in our midst." Kevan said firmly. "We already struggled with a riot in our midst. We hang on the power by our fingertips; the people seethe under our yoke and dissidents like that blasted 'Apollo' and his populist rag fan the flames daily. The girl must be found. As soon as possible."
Tywin was fuming at the news that Cersei and Joffrey had managed to lose their most valuable prisoner. It was bad enough that Arya Stark had vanished without a trace but Sansa was already in their keeping. To lose her now was nothing short of utter foolishness!
"Tell me exactly what happened, your Grace?" he asked Joffrey keeping his temper by a feat of patience.
Joffrey sulked at the forbidding look on his grandfather's face. "The girl disappeared after the riot. We sent men to comb the town but no one can find her."
"She vanished without a trace?" Twyin questioned.
"Yes Father." Cersei told him with great reluctance, knowing that he blamed her for this débâcle. "We have sent members of the Kingsguard after her. Lord Varys has his sparrows on the case as we speak, but-"
Tywin talked over her in his impatience. "I find this all too convenient for words. Sansa disappears and not a trace is found of her. I refuse to believe she didn't have help of some sort."
"But who? Who would help the girl escape. She was meek mild and biddable. We monitored her constantly. When would she have had the chance to establish contacts to escape?" Cersei fretted.
Tywin looked down his nose at her. "You obviously didn't monitor her closely enough seeing as she managed to escape from us."
"This situation is not my fault, Father!" she snapped, slamming down her goblet of wine. "I have tried everything to get her back. It isn't my fault I'm surrounded by incompetents!"
He looked down at her, making her feel as small as she had when she was a child.
"Nothing ever is Cersei, is it?" he said. "If we want the girl back, we're going to have to be clever. Leave it with me."