Chapter Two

It wasn't Joffrey. Of course it wasn't Joffrey. Robb had brought her his head, after all—his perfect, poetic justice.

It was Tommen, Sansa realized as he looked past her without seeming to recognize her or even truly take her in. He had only been a boy the last time she saw him, one surprisingly sweet of nature despite his Lannister blood, and their interactions had been almost non-existent. With her darkened hair it was entirely possible he wouldn't know her even if they were to come face-to-face. And even if he had, surely he hadn't come all this way to force her to return to West Eros as she'd feared.

But then, why was he here? Sansa took in his wide eyes, his guileless, curious expression. Was it really possible that he had just happened to stumble across this place—an innocent coincident?

She had half made up her mind to approach him and try her hand at a subtle interrogation when another blonde head joined him in the crowd. Cersei. She looked thinner than Sansa last remembered her, and not in the once fashionable way of the flappers, but gaunt, though her eyes still gleamed with the same lean, mean ferocity.

Sansa stumbled back a few steps, but all other sensible thoughts of action seemed to have fled from her mind. Her thoughts felt jumbled, her palms slick with sweat.

As if drawn to her gaze, Cersei looked up and began to search the crowd. Right when it seemed inevitable that their eyes would meet, all at once Sansa was ushered into a tent, the flap let down to conceal her.

Blinking in dazed surprise, she looked up to see Mademoiselle Margery blocking the entrance, peering out into the diminishing evening light.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," the other girl murmured, offering a concerned albeit curious smile, "but I'm not sure you were ready for the ghost to see you."

Sansa pressed a hand to her chest as though to force her heart to stay in place, swallowing. "Thank you," she whispered. "They can't know I'm here. I…"

But what else could she say that wouldn't give away their secret? She, Robb, and Jon had been living as Alayne, Robert, and Johnny for so long now, and there were so many people who would abuse that knowledge if it were theirs. Including Cersei Lannister, standing not twenty feet away from them at that very moment.

Margery gave her a sidelong glance but didn't press the matter. One of the nice things about a traveling carnival was that Sansa and her brothers weren't the only ones running from something, not by a long shot, and most people were too busy guarding their own skeletons to go snooping through someone else's closet for his.

Instead, the other girl resumed putting on her makeup at her vanity table, offering Sansa a cheeky smile through the glass. "I bet if you asked nice enough, Harry would help you make tracks for a few hours. Pack a picnic, take you to a nice secluded spot. Etcetera."

Despite the impertinence of the words, there was clearly nothing unkind in them. It had been so long since Sansa knew the companionship of a woman that she scarcely knew how to respond.

"Look how she blushes!" Margery laughed. "Well, you can't blame us womenfolk for being a bit catty when you have so many juicy gentlemen at your beck and call, your pip brothers included."

Brothers. The word had a sobering effect. Sansa would have to tell them about Tommen and Cersei, right away. "I have to…" She made for the tent flap, pausing to offer a smile. "Thank you. Truly."

Margery's face softened, her mischievousness melting away with a sigh. "Go on now. Scram."

Sansa ran.

By the time she made it to the carousel, the usual horde of girls was gathered around so thick she had to snake her way through them. Stopping at the base of the platform, she put a hand over her eyes and searched for Robb.

A warm hand came to rest on her waist from behind. "Need a hand up, gorgeous?"

Sansa turned, wide-eyed, as she met Robb's gaze. For a long moment, he simply stared, clearly taken aback. From behind, with the sun near set in the evening sky and her hair darkened, she imagined it would be easy to mistake her for a stranger.

His hand dropped down to his side, eyes averting as he stepped away from her. "What are you doing here?"

She swallowed away the sting of his tone, glancing over her shoulder before lowering her voice to a whisper. "Cersei and Tommen. I saw them, here, at the fairgrounds."

Robb did an about-face, all the meanness draining from his eyes. "Where? How long ago?"

Sansa relayed the entire story for him again. "I don't think they saw me," she concluded, "and I don't think they're looking for me. But they're here, now. And if they saw any one of us…"

He was silent for a long moment, deliberating. At last, he stepped in closer to her so as not to be overheard, lips so close that she could feel his words against her skin. "Go get Jon. Head straight back to the tent. Don't stop to talk to anyone else, understand? I'll be back as soon as I can get away."

Stepping back, he brushed past her, all smiles as he approached his waiting female fan club, who had all been shooting Sansa dirty looks this whole while. She took in a deep breath, composing her jittery nerves, before running off to find Jon.

#

"And you're sure they weren't looking for us?" Robb asked for what seemed like the dozenth time.

Sansa suppressed an eye roll, bracing herself against the edge of her cot. "Mostly sure. They seemed to just be here to watch the show, enjoy the fair. It was probably just a coincidence."

Jon, too, was leaning forward on his cot, rubbing his palms across each other, back and forth, back and forth, scarcely seeming aware of it. "I don't like it," he pronounced at long last.

Robb paced a moment longer. "If it really was just a coincidence, all we have to do is lie low for the evening. Tomorrow we'll pack off to a new town, miles from here, and the Lannisters will never be the wiser."

Sansa sagged forward a little, grateful that they were safe, that it would all be resolved so easily… yet strangely disappointed as well. She'd spent so much time being afraid of Cersei Lannister, imagining her as this omniscient goddess who would scour the ends of the earth to find her and take her revenge… but she was only just a mortal, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

She took in a steadying breath, trying to clear the dark thoughts from her mind. "Cards?" she suggested in a tone that almost managed to pass for bright.

Before the word had even finished leaving her mouth, Robb was already halfway out the tent.

"You can't leave," Jon reminded him. "What if Tommen sees you?"

Robb snorted. "Even a Lannister wouldn't take his mother where I'm going."

And with that, he was gone.

#

She and Jon took supper in the tent and spent the rest of the evening playing cards. This was not an unusual routine for them, or at least some variation of it. Sometimes it was cards, sometimes he would read out loud to her from one of his books, and one time she had even persuaded him to dance (though she had been warned that no one was ever to learn about this, and that it would never happen again).

Sansa had thought she was doing a good enough job hiding her still-racing nerves when abruptly Jon reached out, taking her by the wrist and stilling her movements. "You okay?" he asked, dark eyes shining with concern.

There was no point trying to hide anything from Jon, ever. She imagined it had once made him a very good priest, back in the world that was.

She tried to smile, but her lower lip felt wobbly. "He looked so much like Joffrey," she whispered when at last she was able.

Jon traced his thumb over the soft underside of her wrist, his expression solemn. "You know we would never let them hurt you again."

"I know." But they had, the ugly voice in Sansa's head reminded her. They'd abandoned her to the sharks.

When she looked back up again, Jon's expression was pained, as if he had somehow read the thoughts she'd always been so careful not to vocalize aloud. It must be difficult, she thought sometimes, to be so compassionate and discerning, to always understand with such perfect clarity what people were feeling.

On impulse, she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. For once, it seemed, she had thrown Jon off guard; he looked entirely taken aback. "What was that for?"

"Because I love you," she returned simply, cheeks feeling a bit warm as she returned her attention to her cards. Even after all they'd been through, it wasn't the sort of thing the Starks vocalized often. She didn't know if she'd ever told Jon that before everything that had happened, and certainly never after.

After a moment, she ventured a glance up to find Jon still watching her. At her gaze, it was his turn to bury his face into his cards, though not before she'd caught a glimpse of the burning, probing intensity in his eyes.

Yes, it might be difficult to always understand what other people were thinking. But just as much to never know, and to be forever left wondering.

#

The next morning, Sansa woke early enough that the air was still crisp and cool, unbleached by the heat of the sun. A quick glance at Robb's cot confirmed he hadn't returned back to the tent. Jon was still asleep across the room, one arm slung protectively over his face, as he always slumbered. It was unusual for her to wake before him, but then he'd had a restless night. She'd heard him tossing and turning well into the early hours of the morning as she drifted in and out of sleep.

She rose as soundlessly as she could and dressed. It would be too early for breakfast, but she might be able to help with the tear down and packing. Anything to get them away from this place and as far from the Lannisters as possible.

But as Sansa wandered through the grounds, they were utterly silent, not so much as a peep from any of the neighboring tents. This was unusual at any time, but especially for a traveling day. They should be halfway packed by now and ready to go before morning meal.

"What light through yonder window breaks?"

Sansa turned to see Harry approaching her, hair wet, shirtless, torso still gleaming from his early morning shower. He was as lean and sculpted as his costumes always hinted, and seemed well aware of it as he approached her with his chest jutting outward. She did her best not to glance down at her feet like some shy, blushing maid, though she could feel heat crawling up the back of her neck all the same.

"It's the east," Harry finished as he reached her, stopping a pace away. "And Alayne is the sun."

"Does Shakespeare know you're stealing his prose?" Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Borrowing," Harry corrected. "It seemed fitting. I'm feeling positively star-crossed these days."

His gaze left little room for interpretation as to who was causing him such grief. Sansa gave a rueful smile. There was a time she might have fallen very much in love with this Harry. "Romeo was a fairly fickle lover, as I recall."

"Fickle? He died for love."

"Rosaline might take umbrage with that."

Harry laughed under his breath. "A costume mistress for a traveling carnival who can argue Shakespeare. You aren't what you seem, Alayne."

At that, she looked away, discomfited. "Yes, I am."

He leaned in close enough that she could feel the heat from his still-damp chest. It took everything in her not to reel away from him. He had no way of knowing, of course, how much it still alarmed her to be so near men, any men, sometimes even Robb and Jon. She knew he didn't mean to frighten her, so she clenched her fists to keep from pulling back, though she swallowed, hard. "I think you're a princess in disguise," he whispered.

Over his shoulder, Sansa spotted a figure stumbling toward them. Robb. His hair was mussed, his shirt untucked—souvenirs from whatever latest debauchery had taken place. She expected him to look smug and self-satisfied, as he always did when he slunk into the tent in the morning, announcing himself with a bright, gratingly cheerful whistle.

But for that brief, unguarded moment before Robb saw her, there was nothing bright or cheerful in his expression. She had never seen such a picture of unhappiness, of pure and unadulterated self-loathing.

At the sight of them, he stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to register Harry, then Sansa. If there had been anything vulnerable in his expression before it had vanished into the morning air, replaced with something hard and mean.

Sansa ducked her gaze and stepped away from Harry, but too late. Robb's laugh cut across the morning, low and cruel. "Looks like you forgot your shirt, Harry. I'd offer you mine, but I don't know if you'd be able to fit your head through it."

"Alayne doesn't seem to mind."

Robb shrugged. "My sister was raised to be unfailingly polite. No matter how unwanted or unwelcome the attention."

"You certainly seem to pay a lot of attention to your sister. Maybe that's where she got her practice."

"Enough," Sansa spoke up finally, silencing each in turn with a glare. "There's too much work to be done if we're meant to be out of here by mid-morning."

She turned to leave when Harry's voice caught her. "Haven't you heard? We're staying for the week."

Frowning, she looked back, thinking it must be some joke, some continuation of the morning's pissing contest, but Harry's face was completely sincere. Giddy, even. "Some rich family bought us out for the week, hired us to put on a big show for some butter and egg man's birthday party on Sunday."

Sansa felt Robb's gaze on her without even having to look at him. She took in a deep breath to keep her voice light, hoping Harry couldn't see the way her legs were trembling. "Do you remember their name?"

"L something. Lancing, Lancaster…"

Her mouth ran dry. "Lannister?"

"That's the one."

She sagged forward, but Robb caught her by the waist before she could drop, pivoting her about as if she were a naughty young child and he was marching her to time out. "Well, it's been delightful, Harry, but there's only so much hot air a girl can take—isn't that right, Alayne…?"

When they had rounded the corner out of sight, Robb stopped her, putting his hands on either side of her face. "Sansa. Look at me. Look at me."

She hadn't realized she was hyperventilating until that moment. It had been all she could do just to keep walking, step by step. Now she was gasping for breath, too. "They're coming for me, I know it. Robb, they're coming for me…"

"Then they'll have to go through me. And Jon."

Sansa pressed her eyes shut, nodding. Yes. They would keep her safe. Jon and Robb. Her brothers. Her boys. They wouldn't abandon her this time.

All at once, she was in his arms, being held so tightly that breath became a difficulty for an entirely different reason. Her impulse was to scream, claw away, as all of the old memories came flooding back to her. Musky bodies fumbling against her in the dark.

But it was Robb. Robb. How many times had she crawled into his bed as a girl, terrified by thunder, and woken with her nose pressed to his neck? She knew that scent. The body might have changed over the years, but underneath it all, his smell was the same. Grass and wind and winter and home.

"I'll kill all of them," he vowed to her. "Each and every last one of them, before I ever let them near you again."

Sansa's eyes drifted open once more, and in that moment she knew what she must do.

They were going to kill Tommen Lannister.