Disclaimer is in the beginning.
I'm trying to nail the time stretch as evenly as possible, but please understand that this isn't going to be exactly on par with the book's time. Sorry, but Robb is still alive right now, as well as Joffrey and several others. Some of the events haven't happened, some of them had. Just...try to focus more on the storyline than this fanfic's minor details please?
Sansa sat in her room, plucking at the strings of a lute that had been left in her room. It was quite old, its wood worn and faded from what must have been a rich dark cherry. The strings were stiff at first, but with a little playing, they had warmed quickly to her fingers.
She remembered her evenings in Winterfell, where sometimes her mother would sit in her room and teach her to play a lute.
It had been different then. She had hated the thing, thrown it, tried to worm out of playing it. But her mother had charmed her with fairy tales and songs, and she begrudgingly learned a few short tunes. She'd always preferred to listen to music, rather than play it herself. But now she plucked at the cherry wood lute, wishing she could have her mother now, wishing they could play together in her darkest evenings.
Perhaps Jaime Lannister could play for her.
Choking back a sob, she threw the lute. It crashed into the other side of the room, disappearing in the scarlet curtains that fanned out from her enormous window. "Shut up!" she screamed at her own head, tangling her hands in her red locks. Her own dreams mocked her, resounded in her head, reminding her of the hopes and fantasies that had once pranced through her childish mind.
Here I am, marrying a great knight, she thought to herself. He's highborn and handsome and golden. I'm getting everything I wanted, aren't I? Who cares if he's a murderer, if he won't care for you, if he's the uncle of a monstrous king. He's just like the stories describe, isn't he.
Her father's face drifted through her mind again, and a few more tears burned her eyes. No. I'm getting everything I deserved.
The heavy oak doors creaked open, and Sansa sighed. It was past time for her bath to be run, and she had been waiting on her maids for nearly twenty minutes. "Alice, Jocelyn, have you finished-"
Prince Joffrey stood before her, resplendent in a black vest and a green tunic with billowing sleeves. His hair was handsomely tossed, but the expression in his narrow green eyes frightened her. She stood immediately, resisting the urge to flee. There was nowhere she could go, anyways; he stood between her and the only door out.
"Were you pleased with my announcement of your betrothal, Lady Sansa?" drawled the young man easily, taking a smooth step into the room. She again fought her own urge to step backwards. "I was sad, you know. We could have been like in the songs; the married king and his lady lover. I could have come to see you when my queen was asleep, kept you warm at night and return to my wife in the morning."
"I...I am honored, your Grace," she made herself say. "Both to hold your affection and to be betrothed to your gallant uncle." Joffrey seemed disappointed with her response; no longer was he pleased when she found the right thing to say, rather upset that he could not hound her for mistakes.
"It's too bad he didn't kill your brother in the last fight," said Joffrey forcefully, "because then he could have shamed the wolf boy both on the battlefield and in bed. I wonder how Robb Stark feels, that though he's bested my uncle in battle, Ser Jaime will still be fucking the wolf's sister once he returns."
"That's a horrible thing to say," gasped Sansa, tears stinging at her eyes. She tried not to cry, truly she did, and yet his words were a slap in the face of her family and her honor. She wanted terribly to call him a monster and tell him how much she wished her mother had cut Ser Jaime's throat when she had him, but that would be treason to side with her family, and her head would end up cut off and stuck on the wall beside her father's. So she swallowed her angry words and bowed her head and said nothing.
Joffrey sighed. "You're awfully boring tonight," he said, after realizing that he was unable to pull a reaction out of her. But when he began to move quickly towards her, Sansa stumbled backwards. "I'm sure my uncle won't enjoy a maiden. The servants say he's experienced in that sort of thing. Perhaps he'll want you to be, too."
"Your Grace!" squeaked Sansa, ashamed when her voice came out cracked and frightened. "Your Grace, I don't -I mean- please, Joffrey!"
"My love!" cried another voice from across the room. It was light and musical, and Sansa could have cried. Margaery stood there, lovely in green and golden silks. "Oh, what a pleasant surprise! I'd just come to whisk Sansa away with me for a little walk in the moonlight of the courtyards!"
"Margaery," said Joffrey, the noble king once again. He turned from Sansa and embraced his slender bride-to-be. "How good of you. I would be delighted to accompany you both." Sansa met Margaery's eyes for a fraction of a moment before the young girl laughed prettily. How does one turn down a king?
"Oh my handsome Joff, but what would Sansa and I speak of if not our betrothed? Sire, we women would prefer to confide privately about the men we love," she said gracefully, brushing his cheek with her soft fingers. It was extremely well-done; Joffrey looked at once flattered, confused, and lustful. In that light, she took Sansa's hand, and the two women skipped away.
Once in the courtyard, Sansa turned her desperate eyes on the young rising queen. "Margaery, help me," she pleaded, caring little for anyone dropping eaves. Margaery looked more concerned about that though, subtly checking for anyone around. "Please, you have to take me away from here! I can't bear it anymore, I just can't!" The older girl held out her arms, and Sansa allowed herself to scoot close and rest her head on Margaery's shoulder.
"Sansa, it's done," whispered Margaery, holding the young girl close. "We can't, it's done. Lord Tywin proposed a match between Willis and Queen Cersei, and my family cannot turn that down! It would be a most horrific insult, to reject the queen regent!"
"I...I...isn't there anybody else?" she begged, clutching the soft gold fabric of Margaery's sleeves. "Anyone, a cousin, a half-cousin, a nephew...there isn't anyone else?" The Tyrell family was large, like the Lannisters, and there simply had to be someone she could escape with!
"I'm afraid that's not the point," whispered Margaery, ever watchful for people walking by. So far, the courtyard had been silent and abandoned, most of the guests preparing for sleep. "You see, the betrothal is set! We have nothing to offer them for you, the price on your claim is far too expensive. Winterfell is the bargain, not you, and we simply can't afford to haggle it from the Lannisters!"
"Winterfell? But my brother Robb is the heir to Winterfell," she gasped quietly. "I have no claim!"
"This is war, Sansa," murmured Margaery even more softly than before. "They anticipate his death already, and are preparing someone to rule as Lord Protector over your land."
"Jaime Lannister," Sansa breathed, horrified. "But he's cruel and bloodthirsty, he's a war monger! The Northmen won't accept him either, they won't follow him!"
"Perhaps not, but they'll accept and follow you," said Margaery pointedly. "And a wife belongs to her husband. They only need you as a figurehead, to wait until your brother is dead."
"Then help me escape!" she hissed, her eyes deep and blue and frightened. "I can't let this happen, I can't let the Lannisters have Winterfell, too! I already let them have my family, didn't I?" her voice grew more shrill with every word. Margaery touched her lips with a finger and hushed her warningly. Sansa let the hysteria slip from her, composing herself again. Margaery waited until Sansa seemed in control to remove her hand from the other girl's mouth.
"By all means, dearest, try to escape, but the Tyrells cannot be connected to it. If the Lannisters even suspect that we attempted to undermine their plans, then everything will be off for us! We could lose everything, and frankly it's not worth it." Sansa gaped at her, open mouthed, but Margaery's expression softened and she sighed. "Oh, Sansa, when I'm truly queen and Cersei is sent away to Highgarden with Willas, I will take care of this. I'll bring you back, I promise, and we'll fix this."
"You...you promise?" sniffed Sansa, sitting up. Margaery's eyes were gentle and sorrowful, the same shade of brown as her brother Loras's.
"I promise."
Sansa spent as much time as possible with Margaery over the course of the next few weeks. Unfortunately, Margaery's royal wedding had been delayed because the roses to be sent from Highgarden were struck with disease, and so they had to grow entire new batches to swath the wedding in fragrance.
She took comfort from Margaery and her cousins, and it was easy to pretend that she was a Tyrell, nimble and free and still hopeful for the future. They certainly welcomed her into their fold, and she spend many a moment giggling and gossiping and riding with them.
She wished she could put spur to her horse and ride away, but the Kingsguard accompanied their rides all the time, especially when Joffrey joined them. Luckily for Sansa, when Joffrey was around Margaery, he was the picture of chivalry. No doubt advised against angering the Tyrells, Joffrey treated Margaery as gently as one handled a kitten. Sansa could have been jealous, but she knew better. She was glad that his hand fell to Margaery instead of to her; she hoped dearly that Joffrey would never touch her again.
In fact, over time, she forgot that she was betrothed. She forgot about her husband-to-be, and hoped against all hope that he would be captured again and never set free, so she would remain a maiden until she was returned to her brother. It was easy to imagine; in times of war, all sorts of things might happen to a man out there. And so, her flicker of hope burned deep and secretly inside of her, until she forgot that she was betrothed.
Sansa began to smile again.
She had abandoned her large, empty room for residence in the Maidenvault with Margaery and the Tyrell cousins. It was a beautiful section of the palace, many rooms all connected to an enormous common room with a hearth and cushions and tables. Many a night she spent sitting merrily with the Tyrells, listening to music and making jokes.
A new singer had come to the Palace, and Margaery's ladies laid claim to him instantly, and he spent his days playing for them in the Maidenvault. He was young and handsome, exactly as Sansa had always dreamed of singers, with curly black hair falling to his shoulders and soft pink lips. His dark eyes lingered on Sansa as he played 'Three Maids Faire' and 'Lady Love,' and at the end of his songs he cut a lock of his hair with his knife and tied it around her little finger, making her promise to wear it always.
His name was Redrick, and Margaery's cousins often teased her about his clear preference for Winterfell over Highgarden. He would accompany them on rides and walks, and though he knew Sansa was betrothed he wrote new songs every day dedicated to her beauty. He called them the 'Ballads of Winter,' and some of them were quite bawdy. However, he never seemed to mean her harm, and was satisfied with mere tokens of her affection for him, such as candies or a wildflower she'd pluck for him as they walked.
He stayed with them for many days, and slowly but surely he wooed Sansa Stark.
One day they were all seated by the fire, listening to Redrick play on his harp and sing, when suddenly Sansa noticed that all of the other girls were asleep or had wandered off to the kitchens to snatch some tarts. Redrick was sitting quite close to her, strumming his harp gently in the dying embers of the fire.
"That was lovely," said Sansa honestly, wishing he would go on. "What was it called?" The young singer laughed and plucked a cord, his dark eyes humble and kind. Sansa's heart melted as they met hers.
"It's called 'The Lady and her Cat,' I made it myself. It has words, if you'd like to hear." She scooted closer to him and nodded, eager for his passionate, throaty voice to continue. He strummed the cords again and cleared his throat.
Sansa sat listening to his song about a great lady, whose pet cat was a ferocious beast. He sang about how it clung to her, and how it bit and hurt the lady, and how finally her hero threw it from her and made her see the scratches.
Long before he was done, she had figured out the characters. She was the cold lady of the song, and Jaime Lannister must have been the cat. But who was her hero?
"And pray tell, how does he dislodge the cat? It can't be so simple a matter," she teased, touching the harp gently. "If the cat is so great as he seems, anyhow."
"With song, of course," said the singer, grinning toothily at her. "Everyone knows that a beast can only be tamed with song."
"Am I a beast too, then? Since you've decidedly used your harp to draw close?" she asked him, wondering at her own daring. But the singer laughed, touching her cheek gently. His eyes were affectionate and filled with desire, but his touch was not the same lustful grasp as Joffrey's. She could have loved him then.
"Oh my lady, you are no beast. Your sigil might be a direwolf, but to protect its pretty ladies. I would never dare call you a wolf."
"But dare you must, because as pretty as I might be, I have always been a wolf."
"And too soon a lion..." he whispered sadly, his mouth twitching down at the corners. "My love, come away with me. You don't have to do this. Come with me, to the Vale. No one will find you there, we can marry and raise a brood of chicks."
"I...I..." she stuttered, blushing deeply. Her heart thudded in her chest, and had she been the same girl she was before she learned of treachery, she would have taken his offer in an instant. "I can't, Redrick, I can't escape. There are guards everywhere, they're always watching me!"
He leaned closer, ever closer, until her lips brushed his and she could taste the orange on his breath from their supper. It was a chaste kiss, and it didn't last long. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, and all over her face until tears pushed through her eyelashes. They were tears of longing, despair, and grief for the dreams that had died in her long ago. She sniffed but did not cry. She had grieved enough.
"Come away with me, we will go into the night and never look back. You don't have to be Sansa Stark of Winterfell or Sansa Lannister of the Iron Throne or Casterly Rock or wherever, you can be just Sansa. Sansa, the wife of Redrick Helhart. Sansa, the mother of the loveliest children on the earth. We'll have daughters who will sing like me, sons as fierce as your wolves. Come with me, Sansa, be my lady love."
He spoke words that she'd dreamed of since she was a child.
"Yes," she whispered into his hair as she clung to him. "I will come with you. Take me away, tonight, and I will come with you. But I want to go home, to Winterfell. Bring me to Winterfell and I will marry you."
Suddenly the door to the Maidenvault burst open, and there stood Alla Tyrell, one of Margaery's cousins, accompanied by two of the Kingsguard.
"He's back! Ser Jaime is back!"