So um...I've been sitting on this chapter for a while. SO sorry guys, my summer was absolutely atrociously busy and I didn't even want to LOOK at my documents. But fear not, I'm not abandoning you :)
Disclaimer: Jaime and Sansa are not mine.
OH! Also it'd been brought to my attention that the Hound peaced when Joff died in the books? I knew he left, but I wasn't sure exactly how soon after...so I tweaked the story a little bit. Author's privilege heh heh
They expected to present a broken woman to the Royal Court.
Sansa Stark was the vision of the tormented soul, her suffering pure and exquisite. Though her gown was ragged about her, her head was high and her face was clean. She looked neither right nor left as she approached the towering stands where members of the court loomed high above her. Her face was neither contrite nor impudent.
Cersei's lip curled as she was confronted by this person of perfect control. Her catlike eyes, so exactly like her brother's, measured this slender young girl's worth and found a begrudging respect for the quiet courage she found.
But it wouldn't satisfy her.
"Sansa Lannister, you have been summoned to the Royal Court to account for the heinous crime of murder, the victim being King Joffrey the Innocent." The speaker was High Priest Hamle, the eldest and wisest of the spiritual court. Sansa regarded him with equal parts resignation and awe.
'Great,' she sighed in her head. 'He's already got a nice little title, and one that further incriminates me. This should go wonderfully.'
"You have been reported by many a witness to have been holding the cup upon which the gentle king choked, as well as maintaining a jovial attitude immediately following this gruesome event. How do you plead?"
Sansa bowed her head in thought and momentary prayer. "I plead guilty to the reports, High Priest. I plead guilty to holding his cup, and my lack of grief was apparent, but I did not kill the king." The crowd murmured; it consisted mostly of the scattered members of court, of the smaller lords and ladies. Sansa stood judged by the Queen Regent, by the Hand, by the most powerful, and it was no comfort. They murmured with each other at her statement.
"You once loved the king, did you not?" cut in Cersei, and Sansa was surprised at the unexpected assistance. But she did not trust the source, and so she did all she could; she blushed and lowered her eyes.
"I did, Your Highness," she replied quietly.
"And you were jealous of the Queen Margaery for replacing you as his bride?" cut Cersei unmercifully. The court murmured again, and Sansa flushed bright pink to her ears in anger. Her eyes were filled with hate when they rose to meet Cersei's, but the woman was unshaken.
"I was glad for her," she said in a calm, albeit shaky voice. "I love Queen Margaery dearly, and I was happy to have her join the Royal household. Joffrey and I ended our relationship before her arrival, and maintained on good terms." It wasn't a lie, technically. Joffrey had been more than friendly towards her, and though disgusted, Sansa had never become hostile towards him.
"So you say," replied Cersei sweetly, and she sat back to watch her words damage Sansa. Everybody in the courtroom was whispering about the heartbroken girl who killed the man she'd loved in a moment of jealousy.
"Love is indeed a forgivable passion," eased High Priest Hamle. "If such was the case, Lady Lannister, then I am sure that this good court will understand. We have all been young, and in love once." His ancient brow raised and Sansa saw where her cards were stacked. He was trying to get her to plead guilty of a fit of passion, so he could ship her off to the Wall or a nunnery. But Cersei would never abide that. Cersei would see her dead, she knew.
"I am afraid not, High Priest," she said firmly. "I once loved the king, many years ago, but it has been a long time. I love my husband now, as a good and true wife should." Sansa couldn't even tell if she was lying anymore. She hated Jaime with all of her heart, but she grieved at the thought that he might never come back to her. But what did she know of love? She had thought Joffrey loved her, and he killed her father.
"Yes, yes…a good and true wife, you said? We have somebody here who might plead differently." He turned and Sansa's mouth opened in a small oh! when they brought Redrick in.
"Sansa was the wife of my heart, she told me," said the man who had once claimed to love her. "I of course was devastated when she married Ser Jaime, but I had already given her up. She came to me with her hair undone, and told me she still loved me, but I said 'Sansa! My love! I adore you more than the sweet air of the Maiden's breath, but you are a married woman now!"
Sansa's ears burned at the devastating words dripping from the singer's mouth like poison. She could not tear her eyes from him, sure that he could feel her betrayal, but he never once looked at her. His deep blue eyes stared up at the Queen, at the members of the court. He looked for all the world an innocent young singer; it had been that look to which Sansa had been drawn, his cherubic features.
"I couldn't resist her, in the end. Who could? She's so lovely, so beautiful, my maiden of the North. My enchantress, to hold such power over me. I don't know if Sansa loves the king or her husband. I don't even know if she loves me; but, my lords and ladies, she did for one night." His face was so wistful and romantic that she could have cheerfully shredded it with her nails, but the court looked bought. He was nodded away and Sansa briefly wondered who had bribed him, and what her cost had been.
"It appears your love is rather cheaply bought, my lady," said Cersei snidely. "My, my, your husband, your king, and a singer? And everybody says the North is cold…"
She should have been penalized for such a comment, but since she was the queen everybody chuckled politely. Sansa could have been close to tears if she wasn't so icy inside. They froze up and became her daggers.
"Yes, it is not infrequent that one battles between love for my husband Jaime and one's king." She directed the comment at Cersei and had a brief moment of satisfaction as the queen turned white with rage. But she kept her queenly mouth tightly closed. Sansa, however, paid for that comment.
"So you do confess to loving the king alongside your husband?" pressed the priest, and Sansa realized her mistake and bowed her head slightly.
"As a brother, High Priest," she said demurely. "As a friend," she corrected. 'Joffrey could never compare to my brothers. I would not shame Robb and Bran and Rickon with such a companion.'
"But you said you battled," wheedled the high priest, and Sansa sighed with silent frustration. "That implies a certain competitiveness…"
"I misspoke," burst Sansa impatiently, "I do not love the king."
"Indeed," murmured the priest. "I would like to call the young Margaery Tyrell to speak."
Sansa's jaw dropped as her friend, dressed in the loveliest of cream gowns, mounted the stone stairs and sat in the cold chair above her. She looked radiant in a headdress of silver flowers.
"I…I spoke often with Sansa, as a friend of course. We are very close, you see, and she's spent much time riding with us and sitting in the Maidenvault with my cousins and I. They are so distraught, they could not bring themselves to come to the trial, Most Holy. I apologize for them; they simply couldn't believe that their closest friend would do such a terrible thing." Margaery's voice was hoarse with crying, her eyes still a little bit red. Her brown eyes met Sansa's blue for a few moments before the continued. "But…it is true, she had little love for my Joff. She spoke often of her distaste for him, of her pity for me which I could not understand. I believe it was a distaste born and bred of bitterness, my lords. It is not her fault. It is simply…Joffrey did not love her, and so she no longer could love him."
Sansa nearly broke there, nearly crumpled in a heap of tears and despair. Her lip quivered, but she grew cold all over and she was a Stark again. She stood by impassively as Margaery continued accounts of where Sansa had made derogatory remarks towards their king.
Margaery stared at the High Court for the rest of her statement. Sansa wished that she would look at her friend again, because one look would tell the young Tyrell that her friendship with the Starks had ended. If Sansa made it out alive, the first thing she would do would be to invade Highgarden.
But at the end, Margaery did meet her eyes. Her lustrous, tear-filled eyes touched Sansa's, and all of the anger washed out of her. There was something she couldn't understand, but an unspoken word passed between them and she let her go.
"Do we need more evidence?" asked the High Priest slowly. "Or are you prepared to confess what happened?" The court held its breath; whether or not Sansa was truly innocent, it was hard for them to swallow. And Sansa knew that should she deny a confession, they would march out another batch of witnesses to some heinous thing she'd done.
So she tossed back her hair and met the court with fiery eyes.
"I can see you have no fair trial for me today," she said coolly, her blue eyes almost grey with frost. "I do not know which friends of mine will step forward and fight for me in words. I have few friends here, I know that for sure. But I am confident that somebody will step forward and defend me with their sword."
Cersei laughed, a shrill, triumphant sound. "You dare call upon my brother?" she shrieked derisively. "He is a member of the Kingsguard. To defend you means to turn his back on his dead king, his kin, as well as his expulsion from the court. He would be killed, you stupid girl!" Her face was so smug, so sure in its success.
"Jaime is not a member of the Kingsguard," said Sansa, "not since the moment we were wed. Besides, he is not the man of which I spoke. My brother is coming to defend my honor, should the court allow him time for travel."
"Your brothers are dead!" screamed Cersei in a moment of rage. "You are mad! They're all dead!" Sansa didn't flinch in the face of the enraged queen. She simply smiled, an empty, clever smile.
"I still have one if you don't recall, sweet Queen. He will be coming from much farther north than Winterfell I'm afraid, so we must give him time."
The court erupted in cries of delight or anger. Her judges sat silently amongst them, each regarding her with cold calculation. Slowly the room subsided and it was quiet for a few moments.
"You are indeed entitled to a trial by combat," said the high priest reluctantly. "Queen Cersei, who will stand in for the dead king?" All heads turned to her but there was no hesitation.
"The Hound, Sandor Clegane of course," she said smoothly. "We'll see how the wolf pup fares against him, won't we."
Sansa tried not to imagine her slender brother fighting Joffrey's giant dog. The last time she'd seen Jon, he'd hardly been taller than she. She hoped that in these last few years he'd gained more than a few inches, like Robb. But she didn't allow Cersei to see her reaction to this.
"Your trial, then, will be held seven days from this night," decided the priest. Sansa bit her lip uncomfortably; they were cutting the travel terribly close for her brother, but she didn't say anything. The gods would help her. "Until then you will return to your state of confinement-"
"In the dungeons?" spat Sansa loudly, so that all might hear. "I had thought that the daughter of a lord, the heiress to Winterfell, might earn a higher respect than that. But if you disagree, by all means tuck me back away. I'd rather dine with the rats than with lords of such dishonor."
"You're a traitor with a claim she hasn't yet earned," snarled Cersei. "Even your lord father was a traitor. You can rot in the dungeons alongside him."
"My trial has not yet proven me guilty," replied Sansa with dignity. "I am neither guilty nor innocent as of this moment, sweet, forgetful Queen." Cersei looked for a moment as though she was about to fly at Sansa, her talons bared. But after a brief flash of rage in her sparkling green eyes, she settled back and examined her with contempt.
"Fine. You shall have your rooms, little harlot, and I hope you enjoy them. These shall be your last nights in my Palace." Cersei swept from the rooms in a flash of gold. Two large guards came to escort her to her rooms, but Sansa did not need to be restrained. She went with them as quietly as any lady of her status should.
It was shallow of her to want her own rooms, but deep in the dungeons all she could think about was her father's time there, and how it ended with his head on the wall. For some reason it felt like a curse to stay there any longer.
She almost laughed at how Cersei did not order her to Jaime's rooms, which by right as his wife would be hers too. Instead she was given the room she'd stayed in as a charge and hostage, the rooms she'd had when she was an unmarried girl.
It didn't matter anyways. Sansa sat on her neat bed, listening as they slammed the bolt shut in her door. It would be better here, where she could see when the sun came up and down and entertain herself with her things.
Time still dragged on as she waited for the seventh day, for any news of her brother's arrival. There was the ugly side of her gamble, where Jon didn't arrive, but should that occur, she was confident that somebody would step forward. Winterfell might be cold, but her lands were rich in property, game, and titles. She was sure any knight would offer her his sword for the chance of being a lord in a handsome castle, perhaps even at the hope of wedding her and becoming a lord over the entire realm.
But she doubted the fire of ambition. Though Petyr had failed her mother, she believed that true love could persevere over any obstacle, be it brotherly or that of a lover. The hope and innocence that once lived inside of her would not leave her at a time such as this.
The sun moved slowly across the sky, so slowly, and it sank with equal measures of sloth. Sansa grew listless; at the beginning of her imprisonment she had sewn, sang, drawn, and done all she could to keep herself occupied.
As the days wore on she could only sit at her window and watch the sky. The sun burned a path through the milky blue but at night she was comforted by the silent silver moon, the serenading of the crickets. The air had a high autumn chill to it, and yet they persisted in their song.
Days passed, marked by Sansa in her small leather-bound book, but still no one brought her news of her brother. She sat drumming her fingers against the sill of her great window, her eyes wandering the billions of lustrous stars.
Sansa's heart thudded deep in her chest, marking every moment she waited alone. It thudded the arrival of her trial, a fixed battle she would have to face alone if nobody came to her rescue. Her hand touched her pale, slender neck for a moment as she imagined how it would temper against Ilyn Payne's sword. Would it be soft, like fine cloth? Would it snap like a blade of grass?
There was a scuffling sound outside of Sansa's door. She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and her heart pounding in terror. 'She's done it! Cersei has sent somebody to finish me off before my trial!'
A low grunt, the sound of a body hitting a wall. Sansa squeaked in fear and raced to the back of her room. She grabbed a small stool by its legs and stepped forward cautiously. She wished that she was in Jaime's room, equipped with his extensive armory. She trembled slightly but her grasp tightened on the stool.
The door burst open, and there stood Jon.
Sansa dropped the stool in surprise, her breath leaving her for a moment. He had grown so tall and handsome, his dark hair sleek against his pale face. The black cloak hung with easy grace from rather broad shoulders. She faced not the callow boy of her memories, but a grown man of the Watch.
"Jon," she whispered, tears in her eyes. Her mouth trembled with love, apology, exquisite agony at how similar he looked to their deceased father. But all she could manage was one more word before collapsing into tears. "Jon!"
He came to her as any true brother would. His brown eyes lit with concern and he leapt all obstacles with extreme grace, bounding to her and enfolding her gently in his arms. She cried hard into his night-dark cloak.
"I heard about father," he told her, his voice so much deeper than she had remembered. "I heard about Robb, and mother, and Rickon and Bran. I heard about Arya, about Hodor, and Theon Greyjoy. I know about everything, Sansa. The world has taken everything that I've given up."
She clutched him tight to her, trying not to be distressed at the tearless tone of his voice. But then, suddenly, it deepened in anger. "But I'd be damned if my only living relative was in danger and I could finally do something about it."
"Then…they know you've left? They know why?" she asked, drawing back her head a little. He smiled grimly.
"If they knew I'd left because of family matters, they'd hunt me down. No man leaves the Watch, and even if I intended to return, I'd still have put something above the importance of it. No, they think I'm recruiting, and even if messages come in I'm much too high ranking for them to speak differently."
Sansa couldn't find words. Her mouth failed her, and all she could do was stare at her brother, the brother she once despised, so tall and handsome and brave. Her chin quivered as she finally opened to somebody who would understand her.
She cried all night, holding onto Jon. Through her tears she told him about Joffrey, about how he touched her and told her horrible things. She told him about how they forced her to marry Jaime, how he'd promised to bring her back, took her maidenhead and left her. She told him about her one source of light, Margaery. But, mostly, she told him about Jaime.
He listened with endless grace and patience. The only reactions he let leave him were squeezes of his hands on her back. They trembled when she talked about Joffrey, and she knew he wished he'd killed the young king himself. They stroked her comfortingly when she spoke of Margaery. But when she told him about her forced marriage, about Jaime's brutality, they squeezed so hard that her breath left her for a moment. But he apologized in a low voice and waited for her to speak again. Finally, in the quietest whisper she had, she told him about Jaime and Cersei.
"But you're here," she breathed tearfully. "Somebody came to get me. And now we'll go home, finally, finally, Jon!" The hope and joy was overpowering after so long a time of grief.
"I have to return to the Wall," he told her gently. "I will bring you back to Winterfell, I promise. But you truly are the heiress, Sansa, and it is yours alone. I cannot help you once you're there. You'll have to do things on your own once we pass the gates." She was sad that her only living brother could not stay with her, but she knew he'd have to return. She nodded solemnly and gave a rather un-Sansalike cutting smile.
"There is much to be learned from watching a good ruler," she told him evenly. "And more to be learned from being a bad one. I suppose I can do fairly well after watching the worst king in history for as long as I have." Jon laughed at that and tousled her long reddish hair.
"I knew court would make you clever," he said fondly, and she smirked and slapped his hand away. But she remembered how vapid and shallow she had once been, and sighed in acceptance. "But I knew it could never take your goodness from you."
"I was always so terrible to you," she said suddenly, feeling guilty. The corners of her mouth turned down as she finally faced her lost brother. "I…I thought you wouldn't come. I thought I'd been so awful to you that now, when you were strong and I was weak, you wouldn't come to me." The confession felt good, but Jon's brow knit.
"That's silly," he said quietly. His hand came up and touched her cheek, wiping her eyes carefully of tears. "You were just a little girl, nothing you said could hurt me. You might not have thought me your brother, but believe me when I say you've always been my little sister, as superficial as you may have been."
"Thank you," she said quietly. His arms around her, encircling her protectively, made Sansa feel the safest she'd been since she arrived at King's Landing. She clung tightly to her brother, her breath soft in the still air. She was tired, but couldn't quite sleep. "Are you afraid?"
"No more than you are," he replied just as gently. "Have faith in me, little sister. I will not let them hurt you anymore."
And Sansa believed him wholly. Her eyes closed and she nestled in her brother's arms as she slept more peacefully than she could ever remember.
The next morning, four palace guards came to get Sansa. She noticed that they treated her with significantly more respect when she had her silently fuming brother with her. Perhaps it was the absolute distaste in his eyes whenever someone in the Lannister colors approached them. Either way, they made sure to give him and the sword he slung around his hip a wide berth when they reached Sansa.
"Lady Lannister, your trial is about to begin," said one of the guards humbly. "If you would please..."
She nodded and walked with the first guard, her head high as she bathed in the sound of her brother's angry steps behind her. Despite her confidence in his protection, she still felt a flutter of nerves as they entered the courtyard. The Hound was a large, strong, experienced man; could Jon defend her? Or would this be the end of the Stark bloodline?
Her eyes greeted the queen with a chilling glance. Cersei's eyes were bright red with grief, and for only a moment she almost pitied the terribly sad woman. But then Cersei's mouth tightened into a snarl, and Sansa knew she could never forgive her.
The courtyard was filled with members of the court, royal guests, guards, and all who cared to watch. Even peasants who hungrily followed the trial dangled over the stone walls, mixed curiosity and loathing in their gazes. Sansa paled slightly at the amount of people in the smallish yard. She tried not to wonder where Ilyn Payne was.
"Is this your champion?" asked the High Priest, gesturing towards her tall brother. Sansa's mouth opened and her hand found its way into the crook of Jon's arm.
"No."
The voice wasn't hers. She whirled around, confused, until she saw someone handsome and golden behind her. Her mouth still hung open as Jaime Lannister strode quickly to her side.
"I am."
The courtyard seemed to explode with the force of rage and disbelief. Peasants howled with surprise, Cersei Lannister nearly crumpled and fell, and the High Priest struggled in vain to regain control. Sansa could only stare as he faced the enraged crowd, his chin high and his glittering green eyes tight with courage. He looked every part the hero; his golden armor, still spattered with blood as though he'd ridden straight from battle, reflected brighter than the sun. Sansa couldn't move, so filled with wonder was she.
THWACK!
Jon had moved too fast for Sansa's suddenly slowed perception of time. She jerked out of her trance, staring in surprise at her brother who now towered over a figure on the ground. Before the could remember what he'd done to her before he left, she ran and dropped to Jaime's side. Her husband's gloved hand was at his mouth, from which a stream of blood leaked.
"Sansa! Get away from him!" roared Jon, his fists tight. His dark eyes were hard; Sansa feared he might do something very rash in this moment. Her arm flew protectively across Jaime's chest, and then moved slowly back as her confused mind sorted through where she stood with him at the moment.
"Don't, Jon," she pleaded, her hand lifting as her brother drew his sword. "Please, please don't! Just...just wait!" She remembered what had happened, what Jaime had told her...how he'd treated her. She withdrew from his side reluctantly, but her eyes were caught in his. He had come back for her...she didn't know how, or why, but he had come to stand with her against his own family.
"He loves me," she whispered tearfully. Her hand pressed Jon's wrist until the sword lowered. "He loves me."
"That's not good enough," hissed Jon coldly. "He's not good for you, Sansa! Look at what he did to you..." Sansa flinched. Jon knew everything, of course. He had heard it from her own mouth. Nothing had changed; he had lied to her, betrayed her trust, mistreated her...but she couldn't let her brother just kill him.
"I know. I'm not forgiving him," she said slowly. "But you can't kill him here. I'm already on trial for killing the king, you can't kill the queen's brother!" Jon's breath slowed a little as he realized the truth to her words. But he turned and pointed his sword at Jaime Lannister, who was very still on the ground, propped onto his elbows. To his credit, the lion didn't flinch.
"I will deal with you when I am done here," said Jon in a low, threatening voice. "You will not touch my sister again, I promise you that." Jaime clambered to his feet, not bothering to brush the grass from his tangled locks.
"I have no words for you," said Jaime quietly. "but that you will not defeat Sandor Clegane. He was Joffrey's finest sword, and has twice your age and more. He will kill you quickly." Sansa and Jon both flushed a little at the dry diagnosis, but she didn't need speak.
"What makes you so sure you could win, then?" huffed Jon. He still stared with open dislike, but understood the weight of Jaime's words. Sansa could almost have laughed when her cheeky husband smiled.
"Because I am Cersei's finest sword, and I have defeated him before." His confidence was very near to being reassuring, but Jon had a way of sealing corners. He still pointed with his sword, as though he still intended to kill Sansa's lover.
"Before or after you lost your sword hand, Ser?" he asked coolly. Jaime flinched slightly, and lifted his golden hand enough to look at it with disgust. He stared for more than a few moments; the courtyard had begun to settle down, and now they tried desperately to hear of what the small group spoke. Sansa tried not to look at Cersei; she couldn't imagine the queen's fury.
"If I lose," said Jaime throatily, still staring at the hand. "Then you need to get her out of here." Sansa's shocked gasped cut in the clear air. Jon looked as though he would say something, but quieted at the intensity of his sister's emotion. Sansa felt as though the world was draining out from beneath her feet. She moved to him, silently thanking her brother as he merely stepped aside. Her hands found Jaime's face, and she cradled it tenderly. His glowing eyes were only for her.
"Why?" she cried hoarsely, trying not to feel anything. "Why are you doing this?" Her hands caressed his face, and he leaned briefly into her gentle embrace, sighing and closing his eyes. He smiled lightly, as though it was all he had ever wanted in the world. When his eyes opened again, they were frozen over with deadly intention. Her hands held onto his neck, keeping him there with her for as long as she could.
"Lannister's defend their own," he murmured, his fingers brushing across her belly. He smiled sadly, leaned forward, and drew a short, sweet kiss from her that still left her breathless. He stepped back and exchanged a long look with Jon before drawing his sword in his left hand.
"If it looks like I'm going to lose, take her and kill as many as you need to get out. The crowd should be thin and cowardly by the south gates, and the commoners will try to stop you...but won't be armed. It will be easy."
"Why don't we just run now?" asked Jon in a low, urgent voice. Jaime laughed and tucked his godlike loveliness away beneath a golden helmet.
"Because I must defend my lady's honor!"
Sansa couldn't tell if he was joking anymore as he turned and walked to his certain death.
Okay, I'M SORRY if there are mistakes. They're going to happen, I unfortunately forgot to bring the books back to school with me...be grateful hahaha
Also, sorry for the lemon. I know for a fact some of you are going to scream about abusive relationships and yeah, it's true, their relationship is kind of messed up. But hey, they're hard to get out of for a reason, ya know? This isn't SUPPOSED to be a perfect world.