Her stomach growled in pain again. Staring at the wall but not looking at it either. Almost as if she were seeing directly through it into the room that adjoined it and who it's occupant was- or previous occupant. The thought of it brought bitter tears to her eyes, forcing herself to look away so she did not see the shoulder length dark brown hair and dark grey eyes of her father. Hand moving to her belly and massaging it in hope it would calm the area in question but it was to no avail.

She hadn't eaten in days. Servants had brought her food of course, but she had not dared so much as a nibble from either. Plates of roast chicken that had been covered in a thick onion gravy now turned a sickly shade of grey as it was being nibbled on by flies that had gotten in through the window she had not dared to close. The window being opened reminded her there was a world outside of the Red Keep, but if she closed the window- the Red Keep was the only world she knew. Her window faced north, that she knew from Arya of all people who had ranted on figuring such out from the way the moss grew on the sentinel tree outside. Sansa had huffed at her sister in annoyance at such a remark, but she was glad for it now. Staring straight ahead at the rest of the city, the gates of the city, the streets teaming with guards and locals.

Anger surged through her then. She was still wearing the sky blue dress from that day. Sweat patches covering her body but she found she cared nought for such a thing. Mayhaps if she remained in here long enough the Queen would take pity on her and let her go. But where could she go? Winterfell was the logical option, but Winterfell was a thousand leagues away from Kings Landing. Even on a horse it took more than a month to do so, and there was no way she was being granted a horse. If Joff couldn't even so much as grant her the mercy he had promised her, he was not going to give her the mercy of a smooth travel.

Bright green eyes were in her vision again. As bright as freshly grown grass that had yet to be spoiled from being walked over hundreds of thousands of times. Seemingly sparkling in the light before something danced in there she had seen once before- when he had withdrew Lion's Tooth and pointed it at her sister on the banks of the Trident. The day had been fuzzy to her. Having drank a wine stronger than she was used to in Winterfell and also considerably more. Between them they had shared an entire skin, whereas her mother would only permit her a single glass and even then it was sparingly. The flash of a sword, Arya's scream of panic echoing in her ears, then a flash of grey and white as Nymeria clamped down on his arm causing him to drop the sword. Then, Joff had been scared. But he had not been scared a few days prior. One moment a look of complete love, the next moment something dancing in his bright green eyes, and the next ordering Ser Ilyn to bring him her fathers head.

How long it had been Sansa could not say not did she care to figure out. She had pleaded with Joff to show him mercy. Have him forsake his titles and take the Black or even go into exile in one of the Free Cities perhaps. He had promised to do so, yet it was a promise he had broken to her like he had never made the promise in the first place. Curling up on the ground and pressing her knees to her forehead as she desperately tried to block everything out surrounding her.

Life isn't a song, sweet one.

Words that had been spoken to her by a couple of people but she had ignored them. What was life if it weren't like the songs? She wished to have her own moment where Florian would come to free her or imagining Aemon the Dragonknight protecting his beloved sister Naerys from their brother Aegon. Her eyes were red-raw from all the crying she had been doing, that she knew from the pain in the area. She'd tried to sleep, but sleep was painful to her. Every time she closed her eyes she saw dark grey eyes and a warm smile from her father looking down at her. Feel his hand muss up her hair and her groaning on how he was making her look ugly. To her father chuckling and replying she could never look ugly.

If only he could see her now. Eyes puffy and red, wearing the same clothes for days on end, hair beginning to tangle into a matted mess from not brushing it, and refusing to so much as close a window or eat. Stupid girl. Stupid little girl. People had told her, warned her, yet she had paid them no mind. Believing them all to be jealous because she was to be Queen and would ultimately have power over them all. Imaging herself with a golden crown atop her head- or silver, she always looked better in silver than gold. Intricately carved and covered in numerous gemstones. Her golden lion seated on the Iron Throne with her standing diligently beside him a step down as befits her station.

The thought brought another wave of bitterness over her, biting down on her tongue so hard she drew blood. She would not make a noise, feeling the rawness from the scream that had erupted from her when the order had been given. To seeing Ser Ilyn step forward with Ice of all things. Whilst her father could handle it with a hand-and-a-half, the Knight could only handle it with two hands. Valyrian steel was lightweight, but the ornate hilt and pommel was where all the weight of the ancient weapon was. No one could say with certainty how long it had been in their House being passed down from King in the North to King in the North and eventually Lord of Winterfell to Lord of Winterfell. This did not matter though, what did matter was that Ice was a status symbol for their House, being one of a handful of House's to own a Valyrian steel weapon. And said weapon that had been a status of power was now a status of the ending of her House.

Robb had called the banners, that she knew. Remembering the letter she had asked to write to him that she had done with no hesitation. Her head in the clouds and ignoring the very real issues at hand. She had her life in place for her, she had a betrothed who loved her and his mother loved her just as much. Now though, she wasn't so sure what to believe. If Joff truly loved her, he would've kept his promise. Father could've gone to the Wall. Uncle Benjen was there as was her bastard brother Jon. Along the way he would pass Winterfell where he could see Robb, Bran, Rickon, and her mother again. He could've passed on Ice as per their tradition and then travelled further north to live out the rest of his days. Surrounded by rapists and outcasts and third and fourth sons with no prospects, but he would be alive. Which was more than what could be said for him now. She remembered the way his legs jerked then, when the sword contacted his neck. Followed by the soft thump of his head being removed from his shoulders.

"My Lady, the King has requested you."

The King can be dragged through the seven hells.

"No."

The same word left her mouth that had left her every other day the servants had come.

"His Grace demands it- "

"No!"

She pulled her knees away at this, looking to the black haired woman with absolute hatred. The woman letting out a short scream before running and shoving the door shut behind her to bathe her in darkness with only the light from the open window streaming in. She could do it, end her suffering and join her father. Only a few feet and she would be a few floors up, the iron spikes in the dry moat surrounding Maegor's Holdfast would skewer her. Many people had done so through the years, what was one more? Steadily walking over and just as she was about to step onto the ledge the door opened again. Snapping her head around angrily to see the burned face of the Hound. Before it had scared her, but she felt little else other than anger the last few days. Noticing he now wore a cloak of white and this only angered her more.

"You need to eat, child."

"I can't- "

"You can't or you won't?"

She closed her mouth at this, the foul tone he used being so normal to her now she didn't even bother asking him to talk softer.

"His Grace wishes for you to join him on a walk."

"I won't- "

"Girl, do as he asks. It will save you any further grief. Now, allow Bernadette and the other servants to help you pretty yourself up."

She tried to say something then, but five women walked in then. Two lacing her out of her dress, two pulling in pails of hot water so she could bathe, and the fifth with a comb in hand to start working on loosening the many tangles she had accumulated after days of not brushing. Many of the knots were bordering on painful, but Sansa didn't mind. She hadn't felt much other than anger since it had happened. Before long, her long auburn hair was shining like molten copper and some powder had been applied to her face to hide the darkness surrounding her eyes as she'd barely slept either.

Sleep. Cry. Rage. Stare at the wall. Stare at the open window. It was an endless cycle currently, and it was one she did not intend to break any time soon. Feeling fingers running along her scalp as the maids worked on intricately braiding her hair. Most of it being pulled up out of the way to expose the sharp angles in her face that she'd inherited from her father- one of precious little things she'd inherited from him. A few strands falling down which were tied into curling knots and once the braiding was complete the knots were removed as the strands were split to fall on either side of her shoulders. Feeling the soft silk of the dress she hadn't even realised she had stepped in to and was currently being laced up. Not quite pink and not quite purple, with gemstones sewn into the silk and Myrish lace on the bodice. Finally a mirror being turned her way so she could take herself in. Her eyes were dark red confirming the sheer amount of crying she'd been doing the last few days. There was a soft knocking on the door now, turning to see bright golden hair that had once made butterflies erupt in her stomach but now only made bile begin to form in the back of her throat.

"Walk with me."

She wanted to scream at him then, opening her mouth to do just that but the Hound shot her a look. Remembering his words again and bowing her head lowly.

"Of course, your Grace."

The bile got worse but she held her face as still as she possibly could. Ser Meryn Trant was there too, standing just outside her door and falling into step behind herself and Joffrey.

"When do you expect to have your blood?"

Knots formed again, beginning to pick at the skin around her fingernails. A habit she'd had a child but had been stamped out firmly by Septa Mordane.

"Septa Mordane says most girls have their blood between the ages of eleven and fourteen."

And she was about to turn fourteen. Hoping deep within that she would be a late bloomer.

"As soon as you have had your blood, I will put a son in you."

Of that she had no doubt. Days ago the idea of having a little golden lion cub in her arms would've made her feel like she was floating through the clouds, but the clouds had been dampened now. Walking along a walkway from Maegor's Holdfast onto an area that made her blood run cold. Traitor's Walk. Where heads of traitors were placed atop iron spikes on the wall facing outwards to the city as a warning.

"No, please no!"

She tried to run then, but Ser Meryn gripped her tightly so she could not flee. Turning her head back inside so she would not need to see.

"This one is your father, and this one is your Septa, and this one a member of the Stark Household guard I never caught the name of."

Ser Meryn sharply grabbed her chin in a way she knew would bruise later, yanking her head so she was turned to the heads. Refusing to open her eyes as tears were burning them once again. A feeling so familiar to her now.

"Look at them and see what happens to traitors."

"You promised you'd be merciful- "

"I was. I gave him a clean death. Look at him."

She was whimpering words now, asking to be sent home and she would not carry out any treason against the crown. Stupid girl. Stupid little girl.

"Mother says I'm still to marry you so you will stay here and you will obey. Look at him!"

The tone he used bartered no argument. If she refused the order she would be labelled a traitor and it would be her head on one of those spikes. Such a sweet thought, she could see Lady again, see her father again. Meet her uncle and aunt and grandfather that died way too soon. But then she'd never see her mother, her sister, her brothers. With that, she forced herself to look up, swallowing the bile that had entered her mouth back down and focusing on a cloud slightly higher up. She didn't need to look at it, just make it look like she was doing so.

"How long do I have to look?"

"As long as it pleases me. Would you like to see the rest?"

He was enjoying this, that was obvious from the uptick in his tone of voice. The last thing she was going to do would be the give him such satisfaction.

"If it would please you, your Grace."

And he had. Walked her along the walkway. Pointing out the numerous heads there were. Some she recognised, others she did not, others pecked to pieces by crows and gulls and who knows what else. One was even missing half a jaw.

"I'll tell you what, I will give you a present. When I win this war I will be mounting my traitor uncles heads on these spikes alongside Stannis' disfigured whelp. Alongside those I will bring you your traitor brothers head too- "

"Or maybe he will give me yours."

Where the words came from, she knew nought. Fixing Joffrey with a hard stare and having to muster every ounce of courage she had within her thirteen-year-old body. Watching the creatures face contort into one of shock she had dared to interrupt him and turning to one of utmost rage as her words registered. She would not cower, she was a Stark of Winterfell. Wolf's blood ran through her veins.

"My mother tells me a King should never strike his Lady. Ser Meryn?"

The Knight obeyed the command. Turning her around and before she could focus felt his hand strike her hard against her right ear and then another on her left. Biting her lip in pain during the second one and clamping down. Feeling warm blood beginning to well in her mouth and drip down her chin. She fought the tears back though, keeping a stern face. She looked around at this, noticing the long drop from the walkway to the iron spikes in the dry moat surrounding the Holdfast below. He was right there, steps away. All it would take was a single shove and he would be falling. Sansa tried to imagine seeing him fall, watching the spikes impale his body as he writhed and jerked in agony with his life blood pouring out of numerous puncture wounds. Looking around her and noticing Ser Meryn had left and there were no guards surrounding them.

He was right there. Two steps and a small shove would do it.

Where the burst of courage came from, Sansa could not say. The first step was hard, the second step was harder. She was only a few inches from him now, and his back was turned to her. She'd heard Arya rant there was a tunnel out onto the Blackwater from behind a tapestry of Ser Duncan the Tall. She knew that tapestry. If she was quick enough she could get there before anyone was alerted to what had transpired. Joffrey turned to face her then at this, sending her a sweet smile that for a moment caused her to falter. But then anger swelled through her again as he'd worn that smile right before giving the order. Before she could think, she had grabbed the front of his clothing, ignoring him trying to kick at her as realisation sunk in. Enjoying the panic on his face, drinking it all in like it was the first droplet of water she'd had after wandering a desert for weeks. Instead, she smiled sweetly at him, loosening her grasp slightly to make the wretch think she had simply had a lapse of judgement. And then her hand darted out. Hitting him squarely in the chest and watching him fall.

The fall lasted seconds, Sansa knew that. Although it did not feel like so. Seeing his face morph into one of surprise and slowly turn into one of utmost terror. Enjoying the scene massively as his arms and legs began flailing and looking below him to see if he could weave his body in such a way he would survive the fall. But that was not possible, the spikes were so densely packed. The small section she pushed him on to must've had fifty spikes. All being deadly sharp and some even tinted dark red from blood of others who had either fallen or were pushed. Only then did Joffrey scream, and it was music to her ears. Eyes never once darting away as he finally collided with the spikes. Chest quickly turning red from four that pierced his torso, one exiting out of an eyeball- that one made her queasy, she was not ashamed to admit to that. Staring down as he jerked in agony for barely any time and eventually stilling. A smile forming on her face as she looked up at the heads, already knowing wherever her father was, he would be smiling down at her. She was a Stark of Winterfell, the blood of wolves was burning brighter than it ever had. Turning around to see the burned face of Sandor Clegane who immediately grabbed her shoulder, looked down onto the spikes below where Joffrey lay dead, then gave her a worried glance.

"What have you done, child?"