An update every six months is still progress, right? XD


Chapter XIV: Arena, First Night

Sansa can't move through the woods nearly as quietly as Jon can, but as she nears the fire, she sees she doesn't need to. The tribute she's stalking is slumped over, dozing off, and unwary of her surroundings. Even so, Sansa takes care to make as little noise as possible, and to approach from the opposite side of the fire as Jon told her, so that the light will mask her presence. It wouldn't do for her to scare off their prey.

Sansa steps into the ring of light. She is now fully visible to the other tribute, but the girl doesn't even twitch. Sansa seats herself across from the girl, then picks up a heavy branch from the pile of wood. She spares a moment to note that the fire has been built up properly. The girl must have been paying more attention in training than Sansa gave her credit for.

She throws the piece of wood on the fire, which lands with a loud crunch and a plume of sparks. Randa startles awake with a cry.

"Sansa?" she whispers, squinting over the fire at her. "Sansa! It's you! You made it! I'm so glad you did. But," she pauses, looking around, "your brother…did he—where is he?" Her voice trails off timidly.

"He's close," Sansa says, barely managing to keep her voice steady.

"Oh, good," Randa sighs with evident relief. "It's good you two are still together. My brother—he didn't—Albar is—" Randa's voice hitches and she swallows hard. Sansa can see dried tear tracks in the dirt on her cheeks. "Anyway, I'm alone now. My allies are all—Mya, Edric, and Albar, they didn't—they didn't make it." She scrubs a hand across her eyes. "But you and Jon made it. That's good—good. Maybe we could be allies, don't you think? The three of us?" She looks at Sansa with hope and tears in her eyes. "I'll pull my own weight, I swear. You won't be sorry to have me as a partner. What do you say?"

Sansa feels sick, like she might just throw up if she opens her mouth now. She has to say something though. "I'll have to ask Jon," she hears herself say in a voice that sounds distant and quite unlike her own.

"Right, of course. Of course you will," Randa babbles. "Will he be here soon? How did you find me, anyway?"

"We saw your fire."

"Oh, yeah. I was wondering if it might not be a good idea to light it, since it's so noticeable. But it was getting so cold, and I don't have anything else to keep warm with. I only got a few things at the Cornucopia. I guess it's a good thing I did light it though, because it brought you here." She gives Sansa a small, tremulous smile. Sansa finds it hard to meet the other girl's eyes. "Will Jon be here soon?" Randa asks again.

"Soon," Sansa chokes out. She keeps her gaze on Randa, and does not look over her head to where her brother has silently materialized from the dark forest, sword in hand.

"Thanks for this, Sansa," Randa tells her. "It means a lot to me that you'll think about us being allies. Thanks for finding me. I thought you were going to join Joffrey's alliance. I'm glad you changed your mind."

Sansa's throat isn't working; she opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She cannot speak, but it doesn't matter. A voice comes out of the darkness behind her to answer for her.

"What makes you think she changed her mind?"

The expression on Randa's face melts from tentative hope to abject terror as the rest of the Careers step into the light, surrounding her. When she feels the cold steel of Jon's sword upon her neck, she bursts into tears.

Sansa feels Joffrey step up beside her, his hand extended to help her up. She takes it with barely a hesitation, though the kiss he places on her fingers makes her skin crawl. "Excellent job, my sweet," he murmurs in her ear, and Sansa has to suppress a shudder.

Joffrey turns his attention back to Randa. "So you want to be allies with Jon and Sansa, do you?" Randa is too terrified to answer, but Joffrey carries on. "Well, Jon? Sansa did say we had to ask you."

Jon's face is rigid and harsh in the flickering firelight. "We're already spoken for," he says in a low, even voice.

"That's right," Joffrey says with smug satisfaction. "They're my allies. And you have the gall to try to get them to turn on me? Do you know who I am? My grandfather is the president of Westeros, and I am his heir. I'm in direct line to lead this country, and you just tried to get two of my people to turn traitor. Why, I do believe that's high treason." A cruel smile spreads across Joffrey's face, and Theon laughs, as though Joffrey has made some kind of joke. "Do you know what the penalty is for treason?" He pauses for her to answer, but Randa only sobs harder. "Margaery?"

"The penalty for treason is death by firing squad or hanging," Margaery answers, voice as light as if she were merely commenting on the weather.

"That it is," Joffrey sneers. "You've been accused of treason, girl. How do you plead?"

"P-p-please," Randa hiccups, having found her voice again. "I m-meant no-nothing by it, my l-l-lord. P-pl-ease—"

"So you say you're innocent? That it was a mistake?" Joffrey says, false kindness in his voice. Randa nods vigorously. "Well then we must have a trial. But we don't have a judge here, do we? We'll just have to improvise, I suppose. Do you know what the people of Westeros used to do for trials? Hundreds of years ago, before my ancestor Aegon Targaryen ruled, they held trials by combat. A fight to the death between the accused and their accuser. They let their false gods decide whether to strike down the guilty or protect the innocent." Joffrey smirked. "Not that that ever really worked. There are no gods. The victor was the strongest fighter, not the one blessed by some imaginary deity. That's why trials by combat were outlawed. Justice belongs to the president, and the rabble should not take these matters into their own hands. Still though," Joffrey sighs theatrically, "since we are without a court, and since we do have plenty of weapons about, it seems we shall have to resort to ancient customs after all."

Sansa forces herself to remain silent, just watching Joffrey torment Randa and praying it will be over soon. She compares Joffrey to a cat toying with a mouse it has caught. Eventually he will get tired of the game and end it, but for now the girl's tears and pain are feeding his enthusiasm. Sansa realizes with a stab of nausea that he likes the girl's suffering. He's getting off on making her cry.

At Joffrey's command, Theon jerks Randa to her feet and Jon hands her his sword. The greatsword is so heavy that Randa can barely lift it, but Theon only sniggers at her and no one offers her a different weapon.

"As the wronged party, I could name a champion to fight for me," Joffrey says, cruel smile firmly in place. He is not done playing just yet. "Perhaps I should have Asha fight you. She's the one who killed your stupid brother, isn't she? What was his name again? Albus?"

Sansa thinks that Asha looks merely bored with the proceedings, her stance relaxed and axe resting against her shoulder instead of ready in her hand, but when Randa looks at her, she quails and stammers something mostly unintelligible, the only word of which that Sansa can make out being "please."

Joffrey shrugs. "As fitting as it would be for Asha to kill you like she did your worthless brother, I can do my own fighting. So." He grins. "Let the trial begin."

The farce of a trial is short and decisive. With two cuts of his sword, Joffrey sends the greatsword spinning out of Randa's grasp. Another slash, and Randa's right arm is bleeding profusely. She screams and seizes her injured arm with her other hand, sinking to her knees and sobbing harder than ever.

Sansa feels like screaming herself. This is sick. She doesn't know how she can keep watching. Any minute she's going to throw up, or faint. She glances around at the other tributes, wondering how this can be happening. Theon is giggling, egging Joffrey on, while Asha is bored and indifferent. Margaery is looking down her nose at the cringing girl, disdain on her haughty features. Sansa's eyes finally find Jon, and though his face is still as a stone mask, when he meets her eyes she can see that he is just as disturbed as she is.

"M-mercy, my l-l-lord. Mer-cy," Randa gasps. She lurches forward and grasps Joffrey's pant leg, leaving a bloody handprint. "Please…"

Joffrey responds by kneeing her in the face. Randa reels back, moaning and clutching at her mouth.

"So it's mercy you want," Joffrey sneers. "Very well then. You shall have it."

Sansa realizes what Joffrey is about to do a scant second before it happens. She steels her spine and forces herself not to look away as Joffrey draws back his sword and drives it straight into Randa's belly.

Randa's hand falls away from her face, now smeared with blood and tears. Her reddened eyes are wide and her mouth gapes open, as though she is surprised. Her breath stutters, chokes, and then stops. Joffrey withdraws his sword with a sickening sound, and Randa's body slumps to the ground, blood pooling under her torso.

"Not even a word of thanks," Joffrey laments. "Some people are so ungrateful."

Asha snorts and begins to kick dirt over the fire, smothering it. "For a minute there I thought you actually were going to show her mercy. Thought you'd gone crackers."

"But I did show her mercy," Joffrey insists. "I showed her all the mercy a traitor deserves. The bitch is lucky I didn't decide to have her head off." He bends down to wipe his sword off on Randa's pants. "Let's head back to the Cornucopia, see how Loras and Myrcella are doing."

Sansa thinks she should probably be relieved that this ordeal is over, but that's not how she feels. In all honesty, she's not sure what it is she feels. She's not even sure she can still walk until she actually takes a step and finds herself moving forward. Her feet carry her straight to Jon, who reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. His hand is gentle, but also firmly holding her away from him. She wants to sob when she realizes that as much as she wants him to wrap her in his arms and hold her until it all goes away, he won't. They can't break character, not here where they're still surrounded by enemies. They have to keep pretending.

Jon uses the hand on her shoulder to steer her in the direction they need to go and pushes a torch into her hands so she can light their way. He's in the lead again, as usual. Sansa wonders if any of the others even know which direction the Cornucopia is in. If she and Jon were to slip away and leave them here, would they ever find their way back without him?

The Careers are in high spirits, though Sansa doesn't understand how they can be so unaffected by what just happened. She can hear their loud voices just behind her, Joffrey's laughter at Theon's crude imitation of Randa's begging, and Margaery's cruel commentary on the dead girl's hair and weight. Sansa wishes Jon would walk a little faster so they could get far enough ahead that she wouldn't have to hear it.

Suddenly, Asha's voice cuts through the others. "Theon, shut up. Guys, wait, stop. Did anyone hear the cannon?"

The group comes to a halt immediately. They all look at each other, their faces half cast in shadow from the light of the torches.

"I don't think it ever fired," Margaery finally says.

"So?" says Theon.

"That means she's not dead, idiot," Asha spits.

"She's dead," Joffrey argues. "I know where I put my sword."

"Of course, Joff. But someone still ought to go back, just to make sure," Margaery says.

"And put her down if she's still breathing," Theon adds. Margaery gives him a sour look. "What? I'll do it."

"As if you could find her again in the dark," Asha scoffs.

"I'll go," Jon says.

It takes a second for Sansa's brain to comprehend what Jon just offered to do, but when she does she seizes his arm. "Jon…"she whispers, but has to stop there because she doesn't know how to beg him not to do this with the others looking on.

He shrugs her hand off his arm. "I'll be right back," he addresses the group at large. "Wait here for me." Without waiting for another word, he disappears back the way they came into the dark woods. He doesn't even pause long enough to grab a torch to take with him.

Sansa is almost standing outside of herself with disbelief. Why would Jon volunteer to go back and—and do that? Theon is arguing with Asha again, but Sansa isn't listening to them. She strains her ears for another sound.

It feels like Sansa waits for hours, but in reality it cannot be more than a few minutes before she hears a single cannon shot.

Sansa feels like her insides have been scooped out and replaced with ice. She squeezes her eyes shut and wishes she could do the same with her ears when she hears Theon's whoop.

Suddenly, light that Sansa can see even behind her closed eyelids fills the woods. Trumpets sound, and Sansa's eyes pop open in surprise. The Targaryen coat of arms hovers in the air, the three-headed red dragon against the black of the night sky. The trumpet fanfare is joined by more instruments in what Sansa now recognizes as the royal anthem.

Sansa had almost forgotten about the parade of the fallen. She watches as the dragon is replaced by Jeyne from District 3, then Walda and Walder from 5, Alys and Harrion from 6, Mya and Edric from 8…and then there she is. Randa's face smiles down at her from the sky. The photo, taken on the last day of training, shows a clean, smiling face with clear eyes and curled hair—such a contrast to how she looked minutes ago. Sansa looks away, unable to face the image of the girl that wanted to be her friend.

That's when she sees with a start that Jon has returned. He's standing right next to her, though she hadn't heard him come up. The light from the parade gives his upturned face an eerie, blue-tinged cast and turns his eyes to chips of blue-grey ice. He looks like a ghost, like he's dead. They all look like they're dead.

Jon notices her gaze upon him and turns toward her. As he does, the red dragon returns, and suddenly his features are washed in blood. Terror freezes the breath in her lungs. She sees Jon's lips form her name, but cannot hear his voice over the final cacophonous strains of the anthem. He reaches for her with a red hand.

Sansa recoils from him before he can touch her. Jon instantly withdraws as though burned. The last note of the anthem stretches over the canopy above as Jon lowers his gaze from hers. Then the dragon disappears, and the stillness of night falls over the forest again. The sudden peace does nothing to ease the hammering of Sansa's heart against the walls of her chest.

The walk back to the Cornucopia feels longer than all the rest of the walking she's done that day combined. Her feet feel like dead weights attached to her legs, which feel like those wet noodles she had in the Capitol. Sansa's body is exhausted, but her mind is whirling. She still can't quite believe what Jon did. She's trying so hard not to think about it, but her thoughts keep coming back to it. Every time her eyes pass over his silhouette up at the front of the group, a little shudder goes through her.

She tries to look for something, anything else to think about, but the only other things surrounding her are the Careers and the dark woods. She doesn't want to think about the Careers either, and she knows nothing of the woods beyond that one experience with Jon, and now she's thinking about Jon again, Jon and the rabbit he killed, and she doesn't want to think about that, doesn't want to think about Jon killing anything, and now she's back to where she started, with Jon and what he did back there…

Her family. She should think of them. Perhaps they're gathered around the screen right now, looking on with the rest of District 12, praying for her. Or maybe they're together in their little house, having supper. It would be a small supper. Jon has been gone for a week, and though Robb is a decent hunter, he has less time to devote to it. Mother will insist that he keep up with his schooling, whereas she never cared about Jon's grades…

Now she's thinking of Jon again. Sansa tries to force herself to think of her mother or Robb, but the one who pops into her head instead is Arya. Arya, who is calling her names.

Sansa, you idiot.

That is so familiar that it almost makes Sansa grin. Of course the first memory of Arya to pop in her head would be of her little sister insulting her. She misses Arya so fiercely that it's a sharp pain in her chest. Arya would never believe it if she told her, but it's true.

Sansa, you idiot.

Sansa realizes belatedly that thinking of her family is probably a bad idea. It's like to make her homesick, and she needs to be strong right now. She's starting to realize just how much she has been relying on Jon's strength to steady herself. Well, no more.

Sansa, you idiot.

Now it's Arya who won't leave her head. Sansa probably should have expected that her memory of Arya would be just as stubborn as the real thing.

Sansa, you idiot…It was going to die anyway.

Surprised, Sansa misses a step and stumbles, nearly falling. What was that? Arya had said that to her once, but when?

"Sansa, you idiot…He killed it quick and put it out of its misery. It was going to die anyway."

That's what Arya had told her that time, the time she saw Jon kill the rabbit. As soon as Sansa had calmed down from her freak-out, Arya had pulled her aside to ask her what had happened. When Sansa told her, Arya had given her a look that said that she thought Sansa quite the stupidest person ever to walk Westeros.

"Sansa, you idiot. Where did you think Jon gets the rabbits he brings home? Of course he killed it. We all have to eat. Besides, he killed it quick and put it out of its misery. It was going to die anyway."

Arya had been right back then, though Sansa would never admit it to her. But this is different. This is not the same thing at all. It isn't…

The group finally comes to the edge of the clearing that holds the Cornucopia. As Sansa steps out of the woods, she looks up at the sky, her view of the stars finally unobscured by trees. The constellations are the same ones her father taught her as a girl, the same ones she had passed on to Bran when he was old enough. The sky is the same, it's just her view of it that's different.

A girl is not the same as a rabbit. But maybe Jon's actions then and now are more similar than she thinks, in motivation at least. He killed the rabbit because he and his family have to eat to survive, and this is the way Jon knows how to survive. And he did it quickly, with as little pain as possible. He had to kill the rabbit, but he did it mercifully.

And that's when Sansa realizes that she has been looking at this all wrong. She has allowed the horror of Joffrey's sadistic game to taint her view of what Jon has done. Joffrey tortured the girl and then called it mercy when he finally finished with his sick game. Jon, however, was the one who showed true mercy, by ending her suffering the only way he could.

Jon killed Randa out of mercy, and because he could not save her without sacrificing himself and his sister.

Loras and Myrcella have gathered plenty of firewood while the others were gone and have a good blaze going, and Joffrey has evidently had enough of running around the woods for one day despite what he said earlier about hunting through the night, so they all gather round the fire to cook and eat the two fish Jon and Asha caught as Joffrey boasts of the day's exploits to Loras. Sansa sits next to Myrcella and listens politely to her stammer her way through telling all about her day, which was relatively uneventful. She wishes to talk to Jon, but he is sitting quietly next to Asha a little apart from the group.

Eventually Joffrey assigns Loras and himself to first watch, and the rest go to take out their bedrolls. Jon throws his down near Sansa's, but not too close. Maybe he still wants to keep some distance with the Careers around? But when Sansa tries to meet his eyes, he seems to be avoiding her gaze. His shoulders are slumped and his head bowed, and Sansa can see that his mouth is tight and turned down at the corners. When he finally glances at her and meets her gaze, he quickly looks away again, but not quickly enough that she misses the guilt in his eyes.

That's when she remembers how she reacted to him in the woods, after. She had been horrified and flinched from him when he reached out to her. He must think that she blames him for Randa, perhaps even that she doesn't want him near her.

Sansa is ashamed of herself. It's like with the rabbit again. She has acted like a child, shaming her brother for an act that was necessary and even noble under the circumstances. As hard as it is for Sansa to come to terms with the knowledge that her brother killed a girl, how much more difficult must it be for Jon? He isn't made of stone; she knows that he must feel it. And now he also has to carry the weight of her judgement in addition to his own guilt.

Sansa wants to say something, maybe apologize, or reassure him that he isn't to blame, but she can't think of anything she could say in front of the Careers. After laying out his bedroll, Jon wanders back to where Joffrey, Loras, and Asha are discussing their plan of attack for tomorrow, leaving Sansa feeling helpless as to how to fix this.

Then her gaze lands on Jon's sleeping bag, and she has an idea.


It's been a long day, and Jon is more than ready to hit the hay (whatever that means). He's glad Joffrey gave him the dawn shift for sentry duty, that way he can get a night of uninterrupted sleep. Or try to, anyway. Sleeping by himself on the hard ground is not going to be fun. It never is, but tonight especially, after what happened today…

He can't blame Sansa for wanting some space from him. He's not too happy with himself either, truth be told, but he can't exactly avoid himself. He'll just have to live with what he did.

He's not even really sure why he did it. There are any number of reasons that he can think of now, after: Jon was likely the only one who could find her in the dark and return to the group without mishap, it would waste time for the whole group to troop back to find her when one person would suffice, and Joffrey was sure to torture the poor girl more if he went back. But he wasn't thinking of any of those things when he volunteered to go. The only thing in his mind had been to make it right.

Jon's belly curdles with shame that he went along with Joffrey's plan to use him and Sansa to torture that girl. He should have refused. Any one of them could have killed the girl quickly and almost painlessly. She might not have even realized what was happening. Instead, they had toyed with her, causing her all kinds of emotional anguish before giving her a messy, painful death. That doesn't sit well with Jon. So he'd gone back to…finish what they started. And to make it as painless as possible. That's not enough to assuage his guilty conscience, but it's done now and he'll just have to try to not let it keep him awake tonight.

As Jon approaches the other side of the fire, he doesn't see his bedroll. That's weird, he could've sworn he laid it out right here…

He hears a soft sound, like someone clearing their throat, and he turns to see Sansa, who is already in her sleeping bag but looking up at him and smiling softly. She raises the corner of her bag, and Jon realizes that it's actually his—she has zipped the two bags together to make one big sleeping bag, and she appears to be expecting him to get in it with her.

Jon slowly kneels on the ground next to her. "You sure?" He thinks of the fear in her eyes when she looked at him, after.

Sansa nods. "It's getting cold."

Jon can see no reason not to do as she bids, so he crawls in beside her, settling on his side with his back to her so he can zip up the bag.

He had thought to sleep turned away from her so that she doesn't have to look on his face, but not even a minute passes before he feels her arm slide around his chest, her front pressing up against his back. She releases a sigh, a little gust of air that he can feel at the top of his spine.

"I don't think it's that chilly out yet," Jon murmurs, even though his chest seems to be filling with warmth. He hadn't realized just how cold the night's events had left him until now, with the implicit understanding that his little sister has forgiven him. He covers her hand on his chest with his own, entwining their fingers.

"Yes, it is," Sansa replies. "After all, winter is coming."