Chapter 4: Reunion - I

Sansa was not sure whether she was happy or sad to see Prince Severus awake. On the one hand she had hoped for some respite (with the events at the wedding, she was certain that Joffrey would not torment her tonight), and on the other, a part of her just wanted to know where she stood with her new husband, what his expectations were, and how safe she would be. Perhaps it was better this way: at least the maester was here, and she was not alone with the prince. Yet, a small part of her brain reminded her.

A lady's armour is her courtesy, Sansa reminded herself, and endeavoring to be as polite as her septa has taught her to be, she greeted both occupants of the room. The prince, her lord husband, stared at her as if he had seen a ghost, and then, in moments, it was as if all expression had left his face.

"My lady" he answered, with a slight bow to his head, and then said nothing else.

Moments passed and still no one said anything. The prince looked lost in thought, and the maester was looking away.

"How are you feeling my prince?"

The prince's head jerked up, making eye contact with Sansa. He stared at her intently for a few moments, studying her. Then spoke, as if coming out of a haze, "I am feeling better. I thank you for asking." Then he added more clearly, "How are you feeling my lady? Would you like maester Frenken to tend to anything..."

Maester Frenken made a movement towards Sansa at this statment, but she interrupted, "It is very kind of you to ask, my lord, but I do not need maester Frenken's attention."

The maester bowed. Then turning towards the prince said, "My lord, please allow me to arrange for some broth to help with your strength. I will have it sent post-haste." With another bow, maester Frenken left the room, leaving Sansa alone with her husband.

An awkward silence filled the room. Sansa did not know what to do. The queen's ladies had told her what was expected of her when they had taken her to the sept for her wedding. She stood before her husband, waiting. Sansa had not been asked to sit anywhere, and she certainly did not want to join her husband in bed, though she knew that it was her duty. Would he want to bed her now? He had been unconscious just a while ago, just moments ago there had been a maester tending to him. Even now his head was in a bandage.

Sansa was afraid, she could not deny it, but she had been afraid ever since they had cut off her father's head. Sansa was a Stark of Winterfell with the blood of Riverrun running through her veins and she would not cower. She would do her duty, and hold her head high.

Family, Duty, Honour were the words of her mother's house, and she would rather die than abandon those words. Should she undress? That's what she had been told she would be expected to do. Should she ask? Somehow, even in bed, the man in front of her looked forbidding, and her instinct told her to wait for his direction. Yet at the same time, the wait was unbearable, she should ask, she decided, but could not get herself to ask the question forthrightly. She couldn't explain why. It was the way he had been studying her, perhaps. He did not look at her as most men did. Not like the Hound, or any of the Kingsguards or even like Joffrey. Sansa did not know what to make of it.

"My prince, what would you have me do?"

Her husband looked at her with sharp black eyes, and then replied slowly, as if he were measuring his words, "What needs be done, I suppose."

Sansa paled, and she felt her trembling fingers move to the laces at her waist, when she realised her husband hadn't finished talking. He was looking past her, as he spoke, his eyes on the wall behind her.

"Today's events are not completely clear to me. It was the fall, the maester tells me. I see that you are not unaffected by today's events either, my lady. May I ask why?"

Sansa tensed. Was this a trick question to confess her real feelings about the Lannisters or her feelings about her sudden marriage? Surely her husband knew what Joff had said. He was there! Was he being honest about the fact that he could not remember? Or was he just as cruel as the rest of them? What answer could she give that would neither offend her new husband nor the Lannisters?

"I was affected by your fall, my prince," replied Sansa. Surely the prince couldn't object to that. She looked at him to gauge his reaction.

"Indeed?" An arched brow, and a twitch of lips. "I am touched..." His tone was sardonic. Like how the Hound mocked her. The prince didn't believe her. Why should he? But she had answered his question, and he would not get any treasonous reply from her.

The prince got up from bed. He no longer looked weak or as if he were in danger of falling. He looked quite alert. Much more so than at the wedding before Ser Meryn had knocked him out. He walked to a table on the far side of the room, his robes billowing behind him, and sat down in the chair, his legs crossed. He gestured to the only other chair in the room.

"Sit"

Sansa sat.

The Dornishman spoke deliberately, each word enunciated with precision, "My lady, what would you have me do?" His eyebrows were arched in question. He was studying her intently, and Sansa felt uncomfortable, and afraid, she was unable to suppress a slight trembling. Dorne, she had heard in court, was famous for its bastards and bastards were born of lust, lies and weakness.

Sansa had heard stories about Dornishmen. Prince Oberyn, the Queen's bedmaid told her when she has come to dress Sansa for her wedding, had numerous bastards, and a bastard paramour whom he flaunted openly. The Dornish were lusty and coarse and did unnatural things. What these things were Sansa had never learned, but the evening was not unfolding the way she was told it would. Whatever he did, it surely could not be worse than anything Joffrey would do.

Sansa's septa had taught her to see the best in all men. Her lord husband sat before her. She would try to see the best in him, even if he were Dornish and indulged in unnatural things.

"Whatever please you, my prince"

"Why?"

"It will please me to please my lord husband"

The prince's eyes widened. He seemed shocked. Why, Sansa couldn't fathom. Did the prince think that Sansa would shirk her duty?

There was a pause - then, "I think you need a more constructive hobby, my lady"

"A hobby, my prince?"

He flinched at the title. Sansa could not make out why. Before she could puzzle out his reaction, the prince had started speaking again.

"Something one pursues for enjoyment or pleasure: music, for example," he explained. "Pleasing one's husband can be an unfulfilling pursuit, I hear. I'd rather knit or sew or cook. Perhaps even duel or sing."

Sansa fought against the tears that threatened her eyes.

All men were beautiful her septa had told her. She had wanted to try to find her husband's beauty, may be even get him to love her, and here he was, rejecting her attempt to please him, right at the beginning. Mocking her.

Her miserable thoughts were interrupted by a knock. A servant brought in a tray with some food. He lay it on the table, bowed. "My lord, Lord Frey's grandson is in the Tower of the Hand. Symon was not given leave to enter. He was told however that the young squire has been commanded by the King to be in the training yard in the morn."

The prince looked unhappy, but said nothing. The servant bowed again and left.

After the door closed, her husband examined the food closely, sniffed the broth, broke the bread and examined the crumbs. The odd ritual complete, he inquired politely, "Would you care for some food, my lady?"

Sansa declined. She was too nervous to eat.

The Dornishman looked at her strangely, then served himself a healthy portion and began his meal. The flagon of Arbor gold remained untouched. While her husband ate, Sansa pondered her situation. She started by counting her blessings, as her septa had taught her. Severus Martell was not Joffrey. While he was not handsome, he was not ugly. He was not a Lannister. And yet, even as she counted her blessings, she could not help but think that he was not gallant like Ser Garlan, or comely like Ser Loras and it was the Lannisters who had wed her to him.

The meal ended too soon, her husband stood up, and Sansa felt her reprieve vanish. This was it then...she stood up as well...

"My lady, I find myself tired, and wish to go to bed. I understand that our current circumstances are not to your satisfaction. Frankly speaking, they aren't to mine either, and if I can get my hands on the person who caused this mess, they shall be very sorry indeed. I do not believe it is your duty to to pursue any relations that may be unpleasant, especially if they fly in the face of all that is fair. The very idea is abhorrent. If you are afraid of any danger, or anyone's displeasure, well, they will know only that what you will tell them. Please excuse me, my lady, my head aches."

The prince marched back up to the bed and sat. He then gingerly touched the bandage and unwound it, flinching as he did so. Part of the bandage was soiled, and the wound was still oozing slightly but the prince seemed unbothered by it. He was instead examining the bandage with interest. He discarded the soiled piece of cloth on the bed next to him, uncaring about any stains. He then walked up to the trunk at the end of the bed, took out a clean muslin shirt, tore off a piece of clean cloth and replaced the bandage with considerable skill. Freshly bandaged, the Prince threw the soiled bandage into the fire, took off his boots, got in bed, pulled up the sheets to his chin, wished Sansa a good night and closed his eyes.

Sansa stared at the man in bed. Had he gone to sleep? She was not sure. His eyes were certainly closed. Did Prince Severus actually mean what he said about not pursuing their marital duties? She admitted to herself that was a bit of a relief, but what if Joffrey made good his threat? Would that not be worse? She doubted her prince would be able to save her from the King. Sansa wished that she could escape from King's Landing, even to Dorne. There was a Dornish party that was to attend Joffrey's wedding. Mayhaps they would let her go with them, now that she was a Martell.

With thoughts of the Dornish sun in her mind, Sansa changed into her bedgown, slipped into bed and went to sleep.

Harry did not have a good night's sleep. He had been given a place to sleep in what was called the Tower of the Hand. If the Maegor's Holdfast was Buckingham Palace, the tower was the equivalent to 10 Downing Street.

Lord Tywin's private staff all resided there, and Harry had shared a room with a knight and two of his squires. They were, in Aunt Petunia's words, uncouth, and Harry missed Gryffindor tower more than ever. Harry was not looking forward to the day, but he knew he needed to find a way back home, or at least get a handle on the problem. His schedule though was awful: find Snape, meet Joffrey, report back to Lord Tywin and find some time to meet his friends to discuss their situation in between it all.

As Harry walked towards Snape's rooms in Maegor's holdfast, he glanced Hermione heading towards the same direction. He slowed his speed to allow her to catch up with him.

"How come?" he asked.

"The queen's command..."

"Bit of luck"

"Yep. Let's save the discussion for Ron"

"Any idea where he is?"

"Nope, but he said he'll meet you at the training yard..."

"Cool. Let's see what Snape's up to"

They knocked on the door, and opened it gently so as to not antagonise Snape further. The school motto was Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus after all.

Snape had not spotted them yet and the girl, disheveled, still in bed, looked as if she had just woken up.

Snape on the other hand, was up and completely dressed. He was wearing orange, and looked more cleaned up, less bat-like. A nasty looking cut was visible beneath his hair, and a bruise coloured the corner of his forehead. Even so, Snape was seated at the table with a hearty breakfast, half-eaten lay in front of him. Another covered platter sat on the same table. As Snape's hand extended towards the juice, the man seemed to realise that the girl was awake. In an exercise of good manners that Harry had never expected from the bat, Snape stood to greet the girl.

"I hope you do not mind my presumption. I fancied a private meal rather than breakfast in the hall. I need to see the Frey boy at the training yard at nine," he said.

The girl blushed, and Harry wanted to puke. Hermione looked grim as well, her thoughts likely similar to those of Harry, knocked again, quite loudly, and opened the door wide. There was no way that they would not be spotted now, and they were right. Both the girl and Snape looked in their direction. While the girl looked confused, Snape's expression transformed into pure fury. In a blink of an eye, he was at the door, pulling them both in and slamming the door shut.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, POTTER!" he screamed, spittle flying in Harry's face. "IF WE EVER GET BACK YOU WILL BE LUCKY IF YOU ARE EXPELLED!"

"PROFESSOR!" shouted Hermione. Snape stopped his tirade for a moment and looked at Hermione in disbelief as if shocked that she could dare to interrupt him.

"My lord, I am Princess Sansa's lady in waiting. I am to see to her comfort and needs. May I see to her, Prince Severus?" she said before Snape could say anything else.

Snape looked gobsmacked, as if in his fury, he had forgotten that the girl was in the room. How he could forget, Harry could not fathom. If Harry had spent the night with a pretty girl like Sansa Stark, he would have a hard time forgetting. Harry knew Snape was a right bastard, but this seemed low even for him. Maybe it was because the girl was muggle. Snape was Head of Slytherin after all, and it was no news that they all held muggles (of whatever rank) in the greatest of disdain. Hell, Voldemort actually thought them sub-human. His mum had actually died because of it. Harry couldn't help but notice that Lady Sansa resembled his mum. Poor girl. She looked quite frightened. Harry hoped Hermione would be able to care for her, and stop any of Snape's excesses.

Snape was staring at Hermione, his lip curling, and brow raised, "and just who might you be?" he asked Hermione, his words dripping disdain.

Hermione, used to Snape's nastiness, took it all in her stride. "Hermione of House Spicer, my lord". She curtseyed, and Snape's brows rose even higher. The girl stiffened but said nothing.

Snape glared at Hermione for a moment, still looking murderous, then said, "very well. Potter! I believe you have a place to be. I shall accompany you. Lady Hermione," he said, his tone seeming to imply that Lady could hardly apply to Hermione, "do what you must. You know where to find us if we are needed." Then looking at the girl, he added, "I will be back here when I am done with young Frey, here. Gr- Lady Hermione will see to your needs..." Then, with a last threatening look at Hermione, Snape whipped around and stalked out of the door, pulling Harry with him.

"My wand, Potter," demanded Snape as they walked towards the holdfast's exit.

"You have no right to speak with Hermione like that, or treat Sansa Stark like rubbish," Harry said furiously, "I won't have it. You are no longer my professor and your wand's probably lying somewhere in the Shrieking Shack...and that's your own fault for not listening to reason!"

Snape looked apoplectic. "You presumptuous, arrogant idiot! You dare blame me?! I, who came to rescue you from a murderous werewolf and a man convicted of killing over a dozen muggles and betraying your parents! The utter gall! I don't care that we are not at school, I remain a master of Hogwarts School and Head of Slytherin House and you shall obey me. I am, in that capacity, also unfortunately bound by oath to ensure your safety. So moving on in our common interest, for the time being, any fanciful tale that you may have of Black's innocence is irrelevant. Our objective is no longer to capture Black (or Pettigrew should he be alive and your ridiculous tale true), but to understand where we are, how we are here and endeavour to return. Am I understood?"

Snape was irrational. A childhood grudge and a schoolyard prank stopped him from exercising even a modicum of fairness. If Sirius and Remus had joined them in this world, there was no way that Harry was going to obey Snape. But Snape was not looking for Harry's answer. He had already marched out of the gates and was stalking across the drawbridge towards the training yard.

Harry followed, equally angry. If Snape expected Harry's respect, he would have to earn it. Harry owed Snape absolutely nothing.

The training yard was adjoining the barracks. Two soldiers (Harry was not sure whether they were knights) were battling each other with onlookers cheering them on. Snape who had reached moments before, was standing at one end of the yard, Talking to Ron, who had obviously been waiting for Harry. Seeing that neither the King nor any of his entourage were present, Harry went to join them.

As Harry was about to reach them, Snape who had finished speaking with Ron, glared at Harry, and brushed past him, stalking back towards the Holdfast.

"What did Snape say?"

"Just wanted to know what I knew. Said Hermione can act as an intermediary and arrange meetings if it turns out we can't do so openly."

"Learned anything new?"

"I am with the Tyrell party. Sirius is here. He's Willas Tyrell's younger twin. Lupin's here as well. Goes by the name of Remus Clegane. I told Sirius we would meet for dinner."

"That's good. I'd hate to have to depend on Snape for magical knowledge..."

The two of them looked at Snape's retreating figure, and continued their wait for the King. As time wore on, Harry picked up a wooden practice sword and began copying some of the soldiers performing their exercises in the yard. Even that became boring after a while.

"Up for a mock fight?" Harry asked, picking up a practice sword and throwing it to Ron, who caught it adeptly. They fought each other without any particular technique, trying to tire out the other and get in the maximum hits. Both Harry and Ron had worked up a sweat when they realised that the King had entered the yard, accompanied by three of the Kingsguard and other two knights in crimson. The sun was shining high in the sky. They stopped their fight and bowed before the King.

"Your Grace"

Joffrey sneered. "Wooden swords! You fight like children." He turned to his guards. "Ser Boros, show them what a real fight is like."

Harry fingered his wand in his pocket and saw Ron do the same. With a nod to Ron, Harry stepped forward, picking up a live steel sword on his way. He bowed to Boros and took up a duelling stance (duelling was duelling Harry figured, whether sword or wand). He trusted that Ron would have the disarming curse at the tip of his wand should things go awry, and waited for Boros to make his move. The Kingsguard thrust, and Harry dodged. He thrust again, and Harry moved back. At the third thrust, Harry took cover behind the weapon stand and ducked, blocking himself from any blows. The gap was narrow, and not one that Boros would be able to breach. Joffrey laughed at this percieved cowardice and called the fight in favour of Ser Boros. Harry emerged from his "hiding place", the loser, but unharmed. Harry counted that as a win. Joffrey's opinion was meaningless.

His duty to the King done, Harry headed back to the Tower of the Hand. A raven sat on the balcony when he got there, a rolled missive in its claw. As Harry retrieved it, he saw a glimpse of his own name. It was sealed with the Frey sigil. Curious he broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.

Emmon gets Riverrun. Hareld gets a keep. Rains of Castamere shall play.

The words made little sense to Harry.

Rolling the parchment back, Harry repaired the seal with his wand, and took the message to Lord Tywin.