A/N – Okay- I promised that there would be Sansa interludes in the story, so here is the first one. The first part of this chapter is a flashback, and the rest of it is in present time, interweaved with Arya's story. Enjoy!
Sansa POV. 1 Year Ago.
Midday light streams through the windows of Joffrey's office. His office is on the twentieth story of the building, providing a breathtaking view of San Diego. Sansa stands at the window, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her fingernails digging tightly into her small waist. It's a beautiful day, yet everything in her life seems to be crumbling to pieces.
"Marry me," Joffrey repeats. Sansa slowly turns around to face Joffrey. He's staring at her; his normally playful eyes are cold and calculating. There's a golden ring sitting in his open palm, a large, pure diamond set in the center. It's beautiful. Stunning.
She wants to throw it in his face.
"Marry you?" She says, her voice high and tight. "You fired my father today, and now you're asking me to marry you? What do you expect me to say, Joffrey? I loved you, I love you, but how am I supposed to marry you now? How am I supposed to keep on loving you knowing what you did?"
Joffrey narrows his eyes. "I didn't fire your father. He quit. And I don't see what one thing has to do with the other."
"How do you not see it?" Sansa digs her fingers deeper into her waist. "My family is everything to me. You know that. I don't want to marry you. Not after what you did to my father."
"You will marry me, and you will do it happily." Joffrey takes a step forward, and Sansa finds herself instinctively backing up against the window. There's a fury in his eyes. A fury she's only seen a few times in the past year. A fury that makes her stomach tighten with nerves and her face pale with fear.
But she won't let fear win.
"No. I won't marry you."
Joffrey shakes his head slowly as he continues to approach. "You stupid, ungrateful bitch." The words slice through Sansa, and her bottom lip starts to tremble. "You marry me, or I will sue your father for every penny he's worth. And then I'll throw him in jail. You marry me or your precious daddy will rot away in a cell while you turn old and gray."
Tears start welling in Sansa's eyes, and she furtively wipes them away, smudging her eyeliner and mascara. She tries to keep her voice steady when she speaks. "Why are you being so mean, Joff? He hasn't done anything wrong. I haven't done anything wrong. You can't put him in jail. Please don't. Please."
"Maybe I can't put him in jail, but my lawyers sure as hell can. Now say yes, and get the hell out of here."
"Why would you want to marry a woman who doesn't want you?"
Joffrey sighs and rubs his face. "I forgot how stupid you could be. My darling, fragile, innocent Sansa. How can I explain this to you?" Joffrey pauses. "Let's see. Despite your father's rather sudden absence, the Stark name is still a powerful name in the industry. Let's just say a lot of our clients will be upset when they hear about Eddard leaving the company, and I'll be thrilled to tell them that his beautiful daughter Sansa is still with us. It'll put their stupid little minds at ease to hear that the Starks and Baratheons are still united as one."
"That's awful."
"That's business."
Joffrey takes a final step forward so that he is only an inch away from Sansa. He grabs one of her hands and pries open the clenched fingers. Sansa bites her lip sharply and looks away as Joffrey slides the diamond ring onto her finger. He's won, Sansa thinks, he knows I'd do anything to help my father. Joffrey looks up, his eyes flickering with pleasure, with success."Now take the ring and get out. I'll see you at eight for dinner. They'll be some prospective clients there, so be sure to wear something tight, and make sure your face isn't all red and blotchy."
"All right," Sansa says. She takes a step forward, but as she passes Joffrey, he grabs her tightly by the wrist, jerks her forward, and plants a cold kiss on her ivory cheek.
Current Time
The night after the race, Arya runs through Sansa's dreams, speeding down the roads into pitch-black horizons. Sansa calls out for her sister, but Arya never hears her, never stops racing forward. When Sansa wakes up, pale light is shining through the curtains. Her heart is racing wildly and her skin is pale and moist. "Arya," she whispers in the empty room. But no one answers.
She saw her last night. She knows she did. It was just for a second, but she could spot those trained cat-like eyes in the largest of crowds. But then Arya was darting through the masses of people, disappearing into the throng. I have to find her, Sansa thinks. I can't let this silence continue.
She hasn't seen her little sister for over a year now, not since Joffrey proposed. When Sansa told her parents she was going to marry Joffrey, they told her she was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. But the engagement hung heavy in her heart, and she hasn't returned home for a year. She can't face her family. Not like this. Too many lies are piled up on top of each other, and one wrong word to her mother could have them all tumbling to the ground.
At first, Sansa tried calling Arya, texting her, even sending her the occasional email. But there was never a response.
And who could blame her stubborn little sister? Arya has every right to be mad. If it were the other way around, if Sansa thought Arya was marrying was Joffrey without any logical explanation, she would be just as angry. She would scream at her sister, call her stupid and selfish, and turn her back with simmering anger.
And that's why I have to explain to Arya what Joffrey is making me do. Our parents can never find out. Father would make me come home immediately. He wouldn't understand that it's a sacrifice for the whole family, not just for him. But Arya, I can tell Arya. And she will keep my secret, and we will be sisters again.
Sansa sighs and climbs out of bed. It's still early. She was never one to sleep in. The birds rise at dawn, and so does she.
Her computer is sitting, humming softly on her desk. Sansa sits down, drumming her fingers on the table. Now how do I find that little weasel...
After a few moments of thought, Sansa pulls up the website of her bank and types in Arya's email address for the username. The password is easy: CERSJAR. Arya and Sansa have been using the same password since they were little girls. It's the first initials of every member in their family. It's probably a dumb password- their accounts would be easy to hack into, but if Arya is like Sansa in any way, than she's never gotten around the changing it.
Sansa is rewarded when the password is accepted and the website moves through to the next page. She clicks on recent transactions and smiles when she sees a $42 charge under Super 8 Motel off of El Cajon Boulevard. Sansa knows the place well. She drives past it every day on the way to work. And today I'll make a special pit stop.
It only takes a few minutes of flirting to charm the man at the front desk into giving away Arya's room number. Room 26. Sansa circles the building until she finds the right room. The shades are pulled close, but Sansa recognizes Arya's car parked out front. She approaches the motel door and takes a small breath before rapping loudly, three times. After a few moments, the shade flickers, and the side of Arya's face appears and disappears within a second.
"Go away," Arya shouts from behind the thick door.
"No." Sansa expected nothing less than a stubborn, pigheaded greeting.
"Go. Away."
"No."
"You can't stand there all day."
"Want to bet? I know Nymeria's in there. I heard her barking, so you might as well stop trying to muffle her. She'll have to come out and use the bathroom sometime. And you'll have to eat. So I'm not leaving until you open the door."
A minute passes. Silence. Another minute.
And then the door opens, and Arya is standing there. Arya- her sister who she hasn't seen for an entire year. And Sansa is shocked.
She only got a quick glimpse of Arya last night, so she didn't have time to notice how much her little sister had changed. Arya is at least a few inches taller than last year, and her curves have filled out. Her face has lost all of its baby fat, and she's, well- stunning. The scrawny, oily haired girl has disappeared and turned into a beautiful woman.
"You're stupid," Arya says.
At least she hasn't changed completely.
"I know," Sansa responds. "Now can I come in?"
"I don't know." Arya looks down at Nymeria and asks her dog, "Do you think we should let Sansa in?"
In response, Nymeria treads forward and starts licking Sansa's hand, rubbing her head against Sansa's stomach. "Nymeria says yes," Sansa says, trying not to sound too smug.
Arya rolls her eyes. "Traitor," she tells Nymeria. She opens the door a bit wider. "All right then. Come in."
The motel is dimly lit and empty. Arya's suitcase sits on the floor, a mess of tangled clothes inside. "You haven't been here long," Sansa says.
"Just a couple of days." Arya heads back to her bed and sits cross-legged on the mattress. Sansa was always jealous of Arya's skinny legs. Her sister could eat every last drop of food in the house, and she never gained a pound. Sansa had to work hard to keep her trim figure. "How did you find me?"
Sansa shrugs her shoulders. "Looked at your bank records."
"Smart. I should probably change my password."
"Probably." Sansa clasps her fingers together, nervously playing with Joffrey's ring. "You never returned my calls."
As Arya glances at the ring, her face hardens. "So?"
"So you're my sister. And I've missed you."
"You never seemed to like me much in the first place."
"That's not true, and you know it."
"You're a traitor." The words are sharp and slicing.
Sansa shakes her head, trying to stay calm. She's always been the emotional one in the family, but she can't help it. To her, feelings are as alive and real as any tangible thing. And harsh words cut like steel. Her throat feels thick, choked. "You don't know what you're talking about, Arya. You don't-" she takes a breath. "You don't know what I've sacrificed for our family."
"You're a liar. You've sacrificed nothing. You've been playing pretty princess with Joffrey fucking Baratheon while our father-"
Sansa's temper suddenly snaps. She came here on a mission, and she isn't going to let her little sister bully her out of it. "I said you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you try shutting up for two seconds, just two seconds, and let me explain. Do you think you can do that Arya? Don't you owe me at least that much?
Arya looks up. Her eyes filled with cold, empty. "I don't owe you anything."
Sansa has to collect herself before speaking again. She has to tell herself that Arya doesn't mean the cruel words falling from her lips, that she's saying them out of anger, out of spite and ignorance. Finally Sansa says, "Please. Just let me explain what happened. And if after that you're still angry, I'll leave and never bother you again. All right?"
Arya looks to Nymeria before answering. The large beast is lying on the floor, head resting on her paws, staring at Arya with trained, sharp eyes. "All right."
"You look nice," Joffrey says as he pulls out a chair for Sansa. She's late, but hopefully her dress makes up for it. Tightly fitted with long sheer sleeves. After explaining everything to Arya, they spent the whole day catching up with each other. It wasn't until seven that Sansa looked at the clock and realized she was supposed to be at dinner.
"Thank you." Sansa looks around the restaurant table. Joffrey's mother is there, along with his uncle, and his racer Sandor. The older, scarred man is staring off into the distance, completely uninterested in the people around him. Sansa finds herself glimpsing at Sandor all too often. Something about the harsh man makes her skin tingle, with excitement, and more so with fear.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Joffrey asks the table.
"Stunning," Cersei responds. "A true rose."
"I can only hope to age as well as you," Sansa responds. "I swear you don't look a day older than thirty."
"You're sweet." Cersei smiles. "But a liar."
"I am no such thing. You're as beautiful as the day I met you, and I was only a young girl then."
"You're still a young girl," Cersei responds.
"Shall we order then?" Jaime asks. "I'm starved."
"You're always starved," Joffrey says. "Good thing you make so much money or I'd fire you for eating through our profits."
The empty threat hangs heavy in the air. Even though Jaime is twice Joffrey's age and his uncle, Joffrey could still fire him without a moment's notice. Joffrey has too much power for a man that still acts with the mentality of a boy. When he turned eighteen, his father Robert made him a partner in the company. To this day, prospective clients ask why a boy was made partner before he even graduated from college.
Sansa sips her water quietly, not wishing to involve herself if Jaime retorts with a snide remark. She sneaks a glance at Sandor who is still sitting silently, his twisted face trained on the white tablecloth. Sansa doesn't know why Joffrey insists on dragging his racer everywhere. She asked him once, and Joffrey said Sandor was his bodyguard. Sansa snorted and asked why on earth he would need a bodyguard.
After a year together, Sansa learned the answer to her question. Joffrey makes enemies all too easily. There are plenty of people out there who would want to hurt him, especially those on the racing circuit. Sansa remembers one night in particular when a disgruntled racer accused Joffrey of cheating, tried to attack him, and Sandor beat the man to a pulp with raw, bloody fists.
Sometimes she still dreams about that night. And many others like it, her stomach turning with distaste at the horridness of her fiancé.
And Sandor's constant presence makes Sansa uncomfortable. He's never said more than ten words to her, but sometimes she'll catch him staring, deep, black eyes looking straight through her. And sometimes, when Joffrey has had too many glasses of wine and gets a bit too rough, she'll notice Sandor standing silently by with clenched white knuckles and a tremor in his scarred cheek. If you don't like watching Joffrey be a tyrant, than do something about it, she once wanted to tell Sandor. Starring doesn't help anybody.
"Sansa. Are you listening to me?" Joffrey asks. Sansa's attention is jerked back to the present as Joffrey grabs her thigh, gripping it tightly.
"Sorry, dear. What is it?"
"Tell Jaime why my father is passing the presidency to me and not him." Robert has determined that he will resign in the coming year. I'm sick of the whole damn business, he yelled one night, his face red with wine. Jaime almost had a fit when Robert named Joffrey the heir. He's my son, Lannister, Robert said, you're a good brother-in-law, a good worker, but the company goes to my son. Jaime had laughed harshly and said, you're son Robert is only twenty-two and an utter fool.
"Go on then," Joffrey repeats, "Tell Jaime why I'm going to be the president."
"Because you're Robert's son," Sansa responds. "And you are smart. And cunning. And will do this company only good. Because the man I am marrying is a strong man, a great one." Joffrey beams at her when she finishes, his hand loosening it's grip as it slowly moves up her bare thigh towards the hem of her dress. Sansa wonders if her voice sounds empty to him. She wonders if he cares at all.
A/N – I hope you guys liked the chapter! I hope Sansa's voice was fitting to her character. We will be back to Arya and Gendry next chapter.
Thank you so much for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites. It really keeps me writing.
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Mrschuckbass10 – Yes, in this story, Cat IS Jon's mother. I still wanted them to have a very strained relationship, and he needed a reason to leave home, so that's why I wrote in the accident with Bran.