The title of the chapter comes from the song Tears of an Angel by RyanDan. I couldn't stop listening to it while I wrote this, it's beautiful! And so sad... The cover by Amy Guess is also very good, and you can imagine Sansa singing it!

47. Cover My Eyes, Cover My Ears...

Sandor stood unnoticed in a corner of the hall, watching the crowd of people dressed in black mourning clothes in front of him. The grand majority of them were politicians, governors and senators of Westeros. Others were also politicians, but from other countries; presidents, princes, foreign ambassadors from all over the world that had travelled to Westeros to attend the funeral of the very loved and respected President of Westeros, and of Catelyn Stark and Talisa Maegyr-Stark. Although Robb had been in office for only a year he had managed to do enough good things to make his sudden death a devastating event for many people.

The Baratheon/Lannister family was in the opposite side of the hall from where Sandor was, and he watched them with disgust. He didn't direct that disgust towards Myrcella and Tommen, who were no more than innocent kids that felt genuine sadness. No, the people that Sandor glared at with disgust were Joffrey, Tywin and Cersei. The three of them were wearing black mourning clothes just like everybody else, but it was just a pose; they would be wearing clothes fit for a celebration if they could. Tywin and Cersei had managed to engage in conversation with the President of some European country. Both Lannisters maintained their facial expressions and their tone of voice serious and serene to appear that they were sadness by the recent events just like everybody else. On the other hand, Joffrey remained quiet and still besides his siblings while he waited for the time to leave the Winterfell mansion. He also had had the decency to leave the Starks alone as soon as he was done greeting them when he arrived at that place.

The family of the deceased were not in the hall like everybody else. Instead, the Starks, Tullys and Maegyrs had retired to the parlor, where they could wait in peace and share their grief together as a family. The only one who had not joined them was Sansa, who was upstairs in her old bedroom. She was too distressed and emotional to see anyone at the moment, and she needed some rest. The day was going to take a big toll on her, and that wasn't good. The doctors had recommended her to attend only the Mass and skip the rest of the ceremony, but she had refused and insisted that she had to be there for the entire funeral. It was her mother and her brother that they were burying, after all.

Sandor wanted to go upstairs and keep her some company in those terrible moments, but he had been ordered to be in the hall with the rest of the bodyguards and he couldn't just send those orders to hell and go upstairs with Sansa. He hated how alone she was. She had her brothers and her nephew left, but they couldn't help her, they couldn't get her out of there, they couldn't save her and what was worse, she couldn't tell them what was wrong. Sansa refused to put anyone else from her family at risk, so for the moment she found herself in a situation in which she had a family to protect, a psychopath husband to please, a country to keep fooled and a child on the way. Things couldn't be worse.

Everyone knew already of Sansa's pregnancy, and they pitied her. "Poor woman," Sandor heard people whisper. "I don't know how she can handle it."

You useless halfwits are certainly not helping with that! Sandor wanted to yell at them. Couldn't they see? Couldn't they see that their pity did nothing to better Sansa's situation? Couldn't they see through Joffrey's lies? Were they really so blind?!

Rickon Stark appeared in the hall then, and half the people there turned to look at him. He ignored them and looked around the hall as if he was searching for something or someone. Sandor observed him. The youngest Stark sibling looked like shit. In the few occasions in which Sandor had seen him Rickon was always cheerful, with the sole exception being Theon's funeral. But now the smiles and the laughs were gone, as was the mischievous glimmer in his youthful eyes. All that had been replaced by dark circles under his eyes, which were swollen and red, and an expression that was both pitiful and scary. Rickon Stark irradiated not only sorrow and grief, but also a deep anger that burned like the fiercest fire in the world. Sansa had mentioned once or twice before that her brother had anger management issues. Sandor didn't know if the young Stark was going to explode at some point (in which case the bodyguard hoped that he would direct all that anger towards Joffrey,) but at that moment Rickon seemed to be managing his emotions just fine.

"Ned?" Sandor heard Sansa's brother calling his nephew, who was not in the hall. "Ned?"

"I'll go get him," Sandor offered, and Rickon looked at him and nodded his head in approval.

Rickon Stark left the hall again to go to the parlor while Sandor left at the same time, but he went in other direction. He had seen little Ned before, and he had a slight idea of where the child might be. Sandor had never been in the Winterfell mansion before, but he had walked around the place before to get to know it and he knew where all the rooms were and what each one of them was. He proved to be right on his assumption of where the child was when he entered the office that had once been the working place of Ned and Robb Stark and many others before them, and found the youngest member of the Stark family there. Ned was standing in the middle of the room, looking at a painting that was hanging on the wall.

Of all the members of the family, Ned was the one that was suffering the most besides Sansa. Everyone had lost a very important person, but they were all adults and they had experienced loss before so they knew what that kind of sorrow felt like. Grief didn't come to them like a knife ready to stab them in the chest and rip their hearts out. Little Ned, however, was just a child... And he had lost both his parents just like that. In a second they were gone, and his entire world had been shattered and crumbled to ashes at his feet.

Sandor didn't say anything to make his presence in the office known, though he knew that the child must have noticed him. He just took a few slow steps forward, carefully approaching the boy. Ned didn't tear his gaze off the painting- a portrait of the Stark family- at any moment, not even for a second. His eyes were just as red and swollen as his uncle's had been moments ago, but in his gaze was reflected the infinite and dark desperation of a child that had just lost everything and did not know what he was going to do. Little Ned's heart was broken, and it would be very difficult for it to ever heal again.

"I never asked him what was in it," he suddenly murmured. His voice was low and raspy and broken after so much crying. It sounded so wrong to hear a child's voice sounding so... hopeless. "I always wanted to, but I never did."

"What was in what?" Sandor asked, taking a few more steps towards the child until he was beside him. Ned was still looking at the portrait on the wall, so Sandor looked at it too.

"In the safe," Ned answered him. "On the wall. Behind the portrait in the Red Keep mansion. I know there is one here too, but I wanted to know what was in that one."

"How do you know that there is a safe there?"

"I found it the day we moved there," little Ned simply replied, slightly shrugging. "I wanted to ask then what was behind it but... But he caught me."

Sandor noticed the way in which the boy's voice dropped even more, and his sad tone became angry. That was what shocked Sandor. He had never seen that little boy angry or scared, and he was both at that time.

"He?"

"Joffrey."

The name was whispered as if it was a taboo, and the fear in the child's voice made Sandor shudder. He frowned, wondering what in seven hells could have happened to make a child so scared of someone for apparently no reason. He knew, from an old conversation with the child, that he did not appreciate his political uncle, but from disliking to being afraid... There was a big difference there.

"I told him I didn't like him," little Ned confessed to Sandor, surprising him. "My uncle Theon didn't like him, and uncle Theon is dead. Grandpa Ned didn't like him either and he is also dead."

"Ned..." Sandor murmured, fearing that that might be going too far. They could be heard by the wrong ears, and the last thing he needed was little Ned Stark also getting in trouble because of Joffrey. He couldn't silence the boy, though. Finally, Ned looked away from the portrait to glare at Sandor, meeting his gaze with eyes full of tears.

"My father didn't like him," the child spat, and Sandor knew then definitely that Ned was angry.

The worst part was that it was all true. Sandor felt pity for the child, who should not be experiencing that, but he also was amazed. What others had not been able to discover about Joffrey, that child had seen it so easily... Ned had deciphered the truth about Joffrey's dark nature and his actions like if it was merely child's play, an easy puzzle to solve.

Sandor never lied, so he couldn't bring himself to tell Ned that was he was saying was foolish. It was all true, but it was dangerous. However, if he admitted it to the boy it could become even more dangerous.

He opted in the end to simply change the subject completely and pray that Ned didn't notice they way in which Sandor's expression revealed that Joffrey was indeed a murderer.

"Your uncle Rickon is looking for you," he said. "Maybe you should go with him."

He thought that maybe Ned would protest and say that he didn't want to go. Sandor was afraid for a second that the child would accuse him of knowing something and not telling it, but nothing of the sort happened. Ned simply sighed, tired and sad and broken again, and he walked to the door while keeping his gaze on the floor. Sandor followed him with his gaze, and something inside of him made him speak:

"I lost my parents too," he told the boy, who stopped walking and turned around to stare at him. His eyes were suddenly very wide; he seemed surprised with that reveal. "When I was a just a little bit older than you."

"Really?"

"Aye," Sandor nodded his head. He approached Ned and ran his hand over his face before kneeling in front of the boy, who had completely turned around to look and listen to him. "My mother died when I was ten. She was sick."

"I'm sorry," Ned said, genuinely sad. "Do you miss her?"

"I-" Sandor didn't know what to say. He ran his hand over his face once more and sighed, almost cursing under his breath. Fuck, he hadn't talked about that or thought about it on so long... He wasn't used to talking about that personal stuff. He had told about it to Sansa, but Sansa was the exception to everything in Sandor's life. She was special, he told her everything, she was the only person in the world to whom he had opened up and shared everything with. He wasn't used to talking to little boys... He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to say, or even if he should say anything, but part of him knew that that sad and lost little boy in front of him needed help, and he needed to hear what Sandor had to say. "I don't think much about it now," he finally confessed, "but yes. I used to miss her very, very much. It hurt, actually, to not have her there every day. I suppose I was in denial for a long time and that was how I learned to just not think about it, but I did miss her. I remember how scared I was in the beginning, and I didn't know what I was going to do. And then my father died, and I didn't have anything left."

"What did you do then?"

"I moved on. That was what I had to do. And I'm sure that that's what your parents would want, for you to be strong and brave and carry on."

"It's hard," Ned cried and tears fell down his face. Again, Sandor almost cursed. Who would have thought that seeing a child in that situation could be so devastating? He had never given a fuck about children, so what had changed? Maybe... Maybe it was because he would soon be a father, and that changed his view of the world so much without him even noticing. He hadn't thought about it, but he knew that would loathe to have his child in the same situation as Ned was at the moment.

"I know it's hard. It is very hard. But..." he tried to find the right thing to say. What could he say to that child to make him understand? He had to choose the right words, and Sandor wasn't good with talking. However, after a few moments of thinking, he had an idea. "You like superheroes, don't you?"

Ned nodded his head.

"How many of them are like you? How many have lost their parents?"

Ned thought about it for a second.

"All of them... I think."

"Who is your favorite one?"

"Batman."

"And what did Batman do after he lost his mother and father?"

"He became brave and strong," Ned answered with renewed confidence. Sandor gave him a small smile.

"Then that is what you have to do," he murmured, rubbing the child's hair with affection.

Ned smiled back- he was still sad, though, and it was still evident. It would take him a long time to smile like before- and then he left the office and disappeared down the corridor in direction to the parlor, wanting to join his family.

Sandor was about to exit the office behind Ned, but then he stopped and turned around to look at the portrait on the wall and remembered what Ned had said. It was true that there was a safe behind the portrait at the Red Keep mansion, he had seen it many times. He had even had access to it sometimes back when Robert Baratheon was President, and also when Joffrey had lived there. There was always something different hidden there; sometimes important documents, sometimes personal belongings, sometimes money. Sometimes even weapons. Sandor hadn't seen the interior of the safe in a long time and he didn't know what was being currently kept in it, and he had never cared. However, Ned's curiosity was contagious.

Maybe I'll find out when I go back there, Sandor thought, and then he left the office.

Sansa was sitting alone in her room, on her old and unused bed. She had locked herself there ever since she arrived at Winterfell yesterday, and she had only opened the door to let her brothers in to talk for a few minutes- even though she had cried more than she had actually talked- and to let the maids bring her some food, though she barely touched any of it. She knew that she should eat and sleep and take care of herself for the sake of her baby, but she felt too tired and too weak to do anything other than to sit there and look out the window for hours and hours without moving.

It was the first time that she was in Winterfell in four years. Everything looked the same as it did when she left, but nothing felt the same anymore. The mansion was the same but it was empty, quiet. It wasn't filled with the happy laughs that once echoed though the corridors. The library was the same, but her father wasn't sitting on the armchair in front of the fireplace reading a book. The gardens were the same, but her mother wasn't there taking care of the flowers. The office was the same, but her brother wasn't sitting behind the desk under mountains of important documents. The rooms were the same, but they were cold and empty and abandoned. Arya wasn't running around there making a mess of things, Bran wasn't spending time with his friends, and Rickon wasn't playing with the dogs and scaring the hell out of people. Yes, Winterfell was the same in appearance, but its soul was dead.

Sansa had dressed herself for the funeral. She was wearing a plain and warm black dress, fit for the cold weather of the North. She had put her hair up in a simple bun, and the only make-up she had applied on her face was to hide the dark purple circles under her eyes. She was sitting on her bed next to the window; the side of her forehead was resting against the glass and her eyes gazed lazily at the garden of the mansion in which she had grown up. Her eyes looked, but they didn't see. Her mind was far away, in another time that was almost forgotten, a time when she and her siblings were children and they played and laughed in those same gardens, back when they were happy and safe.

Her room was the same as it had been when she had left it. The last time she had ever slept in that room was when she was twenty-two years old, but her career and her adult life had made her stay more frequently at hotels than in her own room. The walls were painted of a very light blue color, and the furniture was white. She had dolls from when she was little, and the few clothes that were in the closet belonged to a younger and less-mature version of herself. She had some pictures on the bedside table, and a few small paintings on the wall.

She had visited Arya's room last night. Her sister's room was also like she had left it years ago. It was painted in a dark blue color and the furniture was dark, unlike Sansa's. The room wasn't the mess that it was when Arya had been a teen, but maybe that was because she had cleaned it before moving to King's Landing. There were posters on the wall, and lots of pictures. Sansa had cried while she took a look at them; there was Arya with Jon, with Robb, with Bran and Rickon, with their mother, with their father, with Sansa, with Ned... In some pictures she was with several of them, and in some with all of them. In some pictures she was with Theon, and in others with her friends and with Gendry. Arya had long hair in those pictures and she was wearing colorful clothes; she looked so different from the last time that Sansa had seen her, with short hair and black clothes, a gun in her hands, and murder in her eyes. The Arya in those pictures was so happy...

How did we get here? Sansa had asked herself while she looked at her sister in the pictures. How could this happen to us?

Sansa was still distractedly looking out the window when the door of the bedroom opened, and when she looked to see who it was she found Joffrey looking at her.

"It's time," he told her while he smirked. He was enjoying the way in which she looked: miserable and destroyed.

It was time... Time for the funeral. Time to say good-bye forever. Sansa had dreaded that moment; she had wished that it would never arrive, but she could not freeze time, and now she had to play her part. As always, she would have to be strong and try to make it to the end of the day without being consumed by everything that was happening. She should be used to it by now.

She nodded, letting her husband know that she was coming. She hoped that he would leave then, but he did no such thing. Joffrey stood there at the door waiting for Sansa to get off the bed and come to him. When she eventually did that his smirk became even wider.

"You look beautiful today," he mocked her, knowing that there was no one there to hear him.

He is enjoying this, Sansa thought, feeling a sharp pain in her chest. He is enjoying this like a child enjoys his birthday...

She was weak, and she was grieving and she was numb, but all that quickly became anger as soon as she heard Joffrey mock her in such a way, and it allowed her to find the strength that she needed to confront him. She had to stand her ground.

"I know that you have to come to the funeral because you are now the President, and because you were Robb's brother-in-law and my mother's son-in-law. But-" she started saying. Her voice was low at first, barely a whisper, too weak to actually sound louder. However, as the words came out of her mouth, more strength came to them until the whimper became a threatening hiss, "-I don't want you anywhere near me. I don't want you near my brothers, and I don't want you near my nephew. I don't want you near the caskets. If you so much as dare to come anywhere near a Stark today, I swear I will forget about all this farce that I have been putting up for years."

Joffrey didn't say anything, he just stared at Sansa while she gave him her warning. His smirk disappeared from his face, replaced by deep seriousness.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said, sounding harsh. "Now let's go. People are waiting for you."

Without another word more, and already having given Joffrey the warning to let him know that she wanted him as far away from her as possible during the whole day, Sansa left her old bedroom. It was time for the funeral of her loved ones, and if she had to go through that horrible experience at least she would do it how she wanted to.

The air was cold in the North that day. The sky was grey and the clouds were dark, but it didn't rain. The air felt heavy around them when they left the mansion.

The Starks were the first ones to leave the mansion. Sansa was the first one, with her brother Jon at her left and Bran and Rickon at her right. She was holding Ned's hand in her own, and they all made their way to the black car that waited for them in front of the mansion. They were followed by the Tullys and Maegyrs in two other cars, and then the friends of the deceased left the mansion. The last ones to come out of Winterfell were the politicians from Westeros and the foreign dignitaries. They all entered other black cars that were waiting for them and had been specially designated to them, and little by little the cars left the grounds of the Winterfell mansion.

The black cars drove all the way from the mansion to the Cathedral in the city, where the Mass in honor of the deceased was going to be celebrated. Normally, the funeral would have taken place in King's Landing, but Robb had left in his will- which he had prepared in case anything should happen to him- that he wished to be buried in the North with the rest of his family. He also wanted a simple ceremony, and not to make an spectacle out of the funeral. Everyone had made sure to respect those wishes as much as possible, but then again, that was the funeral of the President.

Sansa looked out of the window in the car while they were being taken to the Cathedral, and she saw the crowd at both sides of the street that were looking at the cars that drove in front of them. They were all normal people, citizens who dressed in black to show that they were grieving for the loss of a great President and a great man. There were thousands of people there, and it warmed Sansa's heart a little bit to see that her brother had been so loved. Talisa had been a wonderful First Lady as well, and Catelyn... Sansa knew that the country loved her mother. Catelyn Stark had done a lot of things for that country, always standing behind her husband and her son, counseling them on what they should do. Maybe they didn't always listen to her, but Catelyn had done her best until the very end. But above all she had been a wonderful mother. Sansa loved her, and she didn't know what she was going to do now that she wasn't going to be there anymore. The first tears of the day managed to escape her eyes after she thought of her mother.

The Starks were the first to get out of the cars once they parked in front of the Cathedral. They walked up the steps to the front gates and were followed closely by the Tullys and the Maegyrs, and they were followed by the Lannisters and Baratheons and politicians and foreign dignitaries. They entered the Cathedral and found it beautifully decorated with white flowers. The Cathedral was full of the people that were invited to attend the funeral but had not gone to the mansion before, but the front rows were empty and reserved for the people that were now entering the Cathedral. A few cameras started flashing from the corners.

The Starks walked to the front row, and then Sansa looked forward and saw the caskets in front of the altar. Robb was in the middle, with Talisa at his right and Catelyn at his left. All three caskets were covered in the flag of Westeros. The caskets were, due to the nature of the deaths, closed. As soon as she saw them there Sansa whimpered. It was a low, broken sound, and only those that were right beside her heard her. She saw from the corner of her eyes that their brothers had become pale, and she felt Ned's hand squeezing her own. She looked down and saw that tears pooled his dark eyes.

I have to be strong for him, she reminded herself, and managed to regain her composure. It took her a great effort not to faint on the front pew.

The ceremony passed in a blur for Sansa. She didn't hear most of what was being said and she didn't quite notice the events that were taking place around her. Once again she felt too numb, too tired, and her mind took her far, far away, to a blank place where she didn't feel anything. She was almost at peace there.

She came back to her senses when the Mass was done, and the caskets were being carried out of the Cathedral. The Stark, Tully and Maegyr families walked behind the men carrying the caskets outside the Cathedral, and waited on the steps while the caskets were being put on a caisson pulled by black horses. Military columns had been formed outside the Cathedral, ready to escort the caskets and the families and the rest of people attending the funeral to the cemetery where Robb, Catelyn and Talisa Stark were going to be put at rest.

The first military columns started marching, and them the caisson started moving forward. It was followed by the Starks, who were once again followed by the other two families while the rest of people were left behind. They went all the way from the Cathedral to the cemetery on foot, escorted by the military, while the Marine Band led the funeral procession.

Sansa was once again holding Ned's hand tightly on her own, and she held on to Jon with her left arm around his to keep her from stumbling down while she slowly walked. The sky was a little bit more grey than before they entered the Cathedral, but it still wasn't raining. However, that sky and the cold made everything feel ever sadder than it already was. It was as if nature was also grieving.

The people that had been at both sides of the road before were still there, waiting for the caskets of Robb, Catelyn and Talisa Stark to pass in front of them, and they saluted with respect. Sansa saw many sad faces in that crowd of strangers. She made eye contact with some of them, and as soon as that happened those strangers gave her kind and comforting little smiles. Sansa made an effort to try to smile back, but it was the hardest thing that she had ever done. She felt her entire body shaking, and she was sure that she had seen Ned from the corner of her eye grimacing because her grip on his hand was way too tight.

Little by little, every one of her small steps took her to the cemetery. The gates were opened to let them in and the caisson was the first to enter the eerie place, followed by the families of the deceased and the people that followed them from several feet behind. The Starks had a family crypt in that cemetery, but since a few generations back members of the family had started to be buried in the grounds of the cemetery, beneath the open sky. Catelyn Stark was going to be put at rest beside her husband, who was also buried there, and Robb and Talisa would be buried beside them to rest together as a family for all eternity.

The cemetery was big, and the procession took some time to cross the place. They all walked in silence behind the caisson on a path that was surrounded by tombstones until they reached the place where the Starks were buried.

Sansa gasped when she saw her father's grave. It was the first time that she saw it, for she had not been able to attend his funeral; Joffrey had forbidden it. Jon put his arm around his sister and held her tightly and tried to soothe and comfort her, knowing how terrible that moment was being for her. Sansa sobbed and was unable to take her eyes off her father's grave. It was simple, like he would have wanted it; Ned Stark did not like extreme luxuries, and so his simple but worthy grave was perfect for him. Sansa could not tear her eyes off the name carved on the tombstone; images of his death invaded her mind again, and somehow seeing his grave made everything more real, more painful... She realized that her father had been buried right next to his sister Lyanna, whose grave was a beautiful statue of a female angel with long hair and sad eyes...

The caskets were taken out of the caisson and put on the ground next to the six-feet-deep holes that would soon become the graves of the Starks. The families and the rest of the people attending the funeral positioned themselves around the graves and remained in silence as the priest that had come with them to the cemetery said some prayers in honor of the deceased, to bid farewell to them and pray for their souls to be welcomed into Heaven.

The three caskets were lowered into the Earth at the same time, slowly disappearing from sight. Sansa held on tighter to Jon, who remained still through the entire event. From the corner of her eye Sansa could see Bran and Rickon; her brothers had managed to remain serene during the funeral, but at that moment their walls were cracking and their emotions were pouring out of those cracks. She saw tears streaming down Bran's face, and Rickon's jaw was tightly clenched. Her youngest brother's hands had turned into fists that were so tight that his knuckles were white and the rest of the skin was dark red, and for a moment she feared that he would hurt himself. But the person that worried her the most was little Ned. Her nephew was standing still at her side, trying his best to be strong. He was such a brave boy... Sansa looked down at him and him biting his lip, trying to stop himself from crying his eyes out, though without much success. She wanted to comfort him, but she was a mess as well and she wouldn't be of much help...

Cameras flashed around them, angering her. Who had the nerve to take pictures at a time like that? She knew that it was for the newspapers, but she hated that such a painful moment for the family was being immortalized. She wanted to glare at the cameras and let them know that she did not welcome them there, but she felt weak even for that.

She watched her mother, her brother and her sister-in-law disappearing down into the earth. When the caskets were at the bottom of the graves, each member of all three families took white roses and approached the holes; the Starks, Tullys and Maegyrs dropped the roses on top of the caskets, saying their goodbyes. Ned went to do that with Bran, and right after them Sansa did the same. She dropped a white rose on Talisa's grave; she had been a great woman and friend, and Sansa was deeply sorry for her death. But the hardest part came when she was standing in front of her mother's and her brother's graves. Sansa looked at them for a few seconds, and then she dropped one rose on her mother's casket.

"Good bye, Mom," she whispered, and then she dropped the last rose on Robb's casket. "Good bye, Robb..."

She felt like she had been frozen in place in front of those graves, but little by little she took small steps and walked away from there. Jon was there again to catch her in his arms, and she wept into them. She finally allowed all of her sorrow to come out in long broken sobs and mournful cries. She couldn't hold all that inside her for a second longer.

"A shame," she heard someone murmur a few feet away. "We have lost a great President."

Not just a great President, Sansa wanted to scream. He was a great man. He was a wonderful son and a loving father and husband, and a great brother...

And he was gone. Just like her mother was gone.

Sansa kept crying, not feeling embarrassed or self-conscious. If anyone dared to judge her because of her sorrow then that person could be damned! She needed to cry, and she was going to cry; she needed to let it all out. She moved away from Jon and walked a few feet away, wanting to be alone for a few moments to keep crying and let it all out. She was sobbing so hard that it hurt her chest and her ribs, and she had to hold her sides with her arms. She regretted having moved away from Jon now, because her legs were trembling and she felt like she was going to fall.

Someone's hands touched her arms then, holding her, and she opened her eyes to see who it was. Her tear-filled eyes made it difficult to see, but even though her sight was blurry she recognized the blonde hair and green eyes. Joffrey had approached her to pretend to try to comfort her in front of all those people, wanting to offer them the fake image of the perfect husband that wanted to be there for his wife.

Sansa felt sick, and she felt furious. She had warned him to stay away from her and her family that day, she had warned him... Almost without thinking, she pushed him away from her with all her strength.

"Don't touch me!" she cried.

Joffrey almost tripped when she pushed him away, and he stared at her stunned afterwards. He was too taken aback by her reaction to actually react in a proper way, let it be anger or surprise or confusion. He expression was almost blank, with the exception of his eyes, which were wide-open. The entire cemetery was suddenly silent, and Sansa could feel the weight of all the stares from everybody on her. She didn't see them, though; she didn't even look at them. She didn't care.

Still crying, she lowered her gaze to the ground and stumbled away from Joffrey, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. She was almost blind because of her tears, and that made her crash into someone's big, hard and muscular chest. She was about to react badly again, but then two strong arms surrounded her and she felt safe, she felt at home... She blinked to clear her sight and looked up, finding Sandor there. His expression was serious, with not a hint of affection in them, but Sansa knew it was just a pose. She continued crying, she couldn't stop, and her sobs were just becoming worse and worse, louder and more painful as time passed.

Sandor started walking away and taking her with him after realizing that Sansa couldn't remain there for a second longer or she would collapse. As they walked away, Sansa turned her head around to take one last look at the graves and at everybody. Everyone was still staring at her; some with pity, some with confusion, some were stunned, others seemed understanding. They had all just witnessed a very strange moment between Joffrey and Sansa, and it wasn't likely that they would forget no matter how they interpreted it... Cameras were flashing, and reporters were filming everything that was happening and broadcasting it live. Sansa caught a glimpse of Joffrey glaring at both her and Sandor, and she quickly turned her head around to stare right ahead again, not wanting to meet Joffrey's angry eyes.

She had pushed him away and almost yelled at him in front of the whole world... She was too weak at the moment to realize the repercussions that that could have. However, she could hear the whisper starting behind her back... And there was no way of shutting them up.