Hi! Sorry for the long pause in between the last chapter and this one, I'll try to be better about updating. Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing, seeing the comments makes my day! You guys are awesome. As usual, I own nothing involving Game of Thrones. Anyway, please enjoy!

TW: forced sexual favor performed in this chapter. It is short and not very graphic. Swearing and physical violence.

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Lightning cracked across the dark sky like a whip brandished by an angry god, momentarily highlighting the swollen black clouds that swallowed the stars and drenched the sailors in cold rain. The ocean fought ferociously for dominance over the storm, huge waves slamming into the structure of the ship and tossing it like a toy onto the next turbulent roll of hissing and frothing water. Thunder roared impatiently from the heavens, drowning out the shouting of the humans racing about the convulsing ship. It was a storm sent by the King of the White Walkers himself, according to the terrified whisper from the cook, who now sat huddled below deck with the rest of the non-essential crew.

Not that Sansa believed such nonsense, but the words still struck her heart with a sharp stab of anxiety as she curled her slender body around a support beam, her bad leg still throbbing as a grumpy reminder of the tumble across the room she'd suffered mere moments ago. Her eyes swept the room, over the trembling stock boys and the tired guardsmen until they met the impassive gaze of the Hound. He stood across the room, bracing his weight against a beam while Joffrey clutched at his chainmail for support, his pinched face paler than usual. Sansa's cheeks warmed with color and heat as she quickly diverted her gaze; they hadn't spoken since the…bedroom incident the other day. The Hound just happened to always be busy with something or someone, leaving the eldest Stark daughter to pine from afar. Biting her lower lip, she squashed the worry that he was avoiding her on purpose, that maybe she'd been too forceful. No, he hadn't seemed very remorseful when he'd slipped from her room like a fading shadow into the night. He was simply busy.

"How is your leg, my lady?"

Sansa's head jerked up, startled by the first words spoken since the evacuation to the holding cells. The back of her neck reddened when all eyes moved to her and Bronn, who stood smiling against the wall, somehow not being flung around like a rag doll.

"Oh…it's alright, Ser, thank you," she replied hesitantly, voice hushed. He gave a single nod and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a cheerful and extremely unexpected voice.

"My King, how gallant you remain, even in the face of such horrifying weather conditions!"

Every head snapped back to identify the speaker, several gasps echoing when they saw who it was. Tyrion Lannister gripped at the bars of a cell with a wide grin on his face, Podrick Payne huddled in the corner looking quite green and shaken. Ignoring the shocked murmuring, the uncle of the king turned his warm gaze to Bronn, who gave him a loose salute, and then to Sansa, who stared at him in stunned silence, lips parted.

"Ah, our future queen, alone and wounded while her brave betrothed fends for himself. Lovely to see you again, Sansa."

She was saved from having to frantically think of a polite response by Joffrey, who was finally snapping out of his shocked stupor.

"Uncle, how dare you sneak upon my vessel, uninvited?" he yelled over the crash of thunder, his words nearly drowned out. Tyrion gave him an innocent look, though his shrewd eyes assessed the pathetic king quite clearly.

"I did no such thing, Your Grace; I wouldn't dare. No, I snuck on board your father's vessel," he replied. Bronn snorted with a shake of his head and moved to Sansa. He gripped the beam she clung to and stood protectively behind her, to prevent the girl from continuing to slide.

"I shall have you punished for this, you presumptuous imp," Joffrey snarled after spluttering for a reply to his logic. Tyrion rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder in time to watch his squire vomit after a particularly violent rock of the ship.

"Podrick, collect yourself," he commented, as though the boy could control the rolling of his stomach.

"Yes, my Lord."

Bronn pulled a flask from his pocket and took a deep swig from it, not unnoticed by his friend.

"Did you bring enough to share with the crew, Bronn?" Tyrion asked, tilting his head.

"No, but I did bring enough to share with you."

"Proper answer."

The king watched in disbelief as the sellsword disentangled himself from Sansa and the beam, making his way to the Lannister stowaway with impressive grace, his body moving and bracing with each tilt of the ship to maintain balance until he arrived at his destination. He shared the wine with his friend as though they had casually run into each other at a tavern instead of being trapped in the cellar of a ship amid a storm.

"Can you believe this?" Joffrey snapped at the Hound, gesturing at the pair of fools. The Hound's dark gaze assessed them, bored and indifferent.

"Yes," came his dry reply. Sansa couldn't hide the little smile her lips quirked into, and her betrothed zeroed in on it like a bloodhound.

"Something funny, wolf bitch?"

Tully eyes flashed with fear as the girl's face smoothed back into the perfect porcelain mask that she'd mastered in her time with the Lannisters.

"No, Your Grace."

It was obvious that Joffrey was lashing out at her because he couldn't compete with Tyrion in a battle of wits, nor could he properly react to such impudence. But he knew he could do whatever he wanted with his favorite little toy. This knowledge lit his face with delighted malice.

"Really? Because it seemed that the disrespect towards your king amused you."

"It did not, Your Grace."

Joffrey scoffed, his knuckles whitening against the Hound's chainmail.

"I shall give you something to smile about, my dove. Come to me."

His lips twisted into a smirk at the look of distress that crossed her features at his command. Her lips quivered, as though she considered pleading or arguing, her eyes flicking about the room of people who avoided contact, their heads ducked in self-preservation. But resignation dulled those lovely eyes as she realized that there was no point in fighting the inevitable. Sansa reluctantly lowered her arms from the beam and carefully scooted back, scrambling to find balance as the ship rocked. She could feel the heavy gaze of the Hound, knew that Bronn and Tyrion had gone silent to watch her struggle, and she ignored all of them, her eyes focused on the floor, her neck and face red with humiliation as she slipped and went sprawling with the next wave. Joffrey laughed gleefully as though this were a dinner performance rather than his betrothed risking life and limb to cross the room at his request.

It was nearly impossible for Sansa to carry out such a foolish task, already at a disadvantage from the start because of her healing leg. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of giving up or crying. Shoulders back with determination, she picked herself up each time she fell, disassociating from his laughter and sneers, the chuckles from the cowardly crew, the pity from Bronn and Tyrion. She pretended this was some fantastical quest that she had to complete as the heroine of a bard's creative song.

By the time she reached Joffrey, she was exhausted and sore, her muscles trembling from exertion, pale skin already bruising on her arms and legs.

"Excellent. Queens are supposed to do anything for their kings, no matter the difficulty, without question, without arguing. That will be the lowest expectation as the honor of being my wife. Your life is no longer your own; it is mine. Do you understand?" Joffrey's eyes glittered as he smirked at Sansa, her head bowed as she gazed at her feet demurely, her hand gripping the beam that the Hound held as well.

"I am honored to have my life in your hands, Your Grace."

"Yes. You are. Now about that smile…"

His hand whipped out like the lightning that lit the sky, striking her across the face hard enough to knock her to the ground. Sansa momentarily lost her vision as she gasped against the wood, her cheek stinging so brightly it almost felt numb. As she blinked the black spots away, she was hauled back to her feet by the Hound, dimly aware that it was at the barked request of the king.

"The next time you smile at my expense, I will find a worse way to wipe it off your face. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Since you like to use your mouth so much, how about you get on your knees and suck the Hound's cock?"

Sansa's startled eyes met the Hound's, her face draining of color as panic bloomed within her chest. She could barely hear the crude laughter from the crew over the blood that pounded in her ears. Her mouth dropped open to protest, but the words caught in her throat.

"The king sharing his queen with his dog? Never thought I'd see the day. One would think the king would demand that her lips touch no cock but his own. How will you enjoy her mouth, knowing it's been on your dog's cock?" Bronn called out casually, a light smirk ghosting his own lips as they wrapped around the opening of his flask. Sansa's knees almost gave out at the immense gratitude that flooded her body. She looked at the sellsword with such reverence he looked away, flustered. But as usual, her relief was ephemeral.

"Maybe the idiot is right; I shall have to think about it. After all, I am quite generous. Suck my cock instead," Joffrey said without smiling, his expression completely serious. Sansa gaped at him, frustration building as her eyes stung with the threat of oncoming tears. But it seemed he was tired of being undermined and argued with. He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her to her knees before him.

"That's quite enough," Tyrion snapped. Joffrey flashed him a look of barely contained rage.

"Quite the opposite, actually. I am the king, I do as I please and I get what I want when I want it. Who are you to question me?"

"You sound like a petulant child. This is not some Baelish whore, this is Lady Sansa Stark, your betrothed, and you wish to degrade her before a room of your lesser? Have you no respect? You clearly lack common sense," Tyrion said, face tight with his own anger. The girl in question stared at the king's knees in silence, refusing to look up or speak, her hair clenched in Joffrey's fist anchoring her stiff body to the ground.

"Shut up! I've had enough of your arrogant mouth! Speak another word and I'll have the Hound cut your tongue out. The Stark name is nothing to be proud of, to be respected, as they are traitors to the king. She is to be a Lannister. As my betrothed, she is my property to do with as I please. It's about time I made all of you realize this. None of you are anything but my pawns to be played as ordered. Sansa will be an example; nobody is exempt from my power, not even my queen. Now tell me what an honor it is to suck my cock, and get to work," Joffrey shouted, violently shaking Sansa's handful of hair with each point of emphasis. Her hands flew involuntarily to her neck protectively, pain already tingling down her spine. Sansa's chest rose and fell heavily with each breath as she fought back sobs and the sight of Joffrey's furious eyes blurred with her tears.

"I am honored to be graced with such a royal task. I would love nothing more than to serve my king," Sansa said with surprising steadiness, trembling fingers undoing the laces of his pants. She refused to lift her eyes from Joffrey's erection, her mind slipping to a better place as her lips embraced him, her thoughts moving to another world as his salty skin slid along her tongue. Sansa wasn't sucking Joffrey's cock in a crowded room before Bronn, Tyrion, and Sandor. She wasn't hearing his feminine moans and whimpers. She was back at Winterfell, in their grand feasting hall. She was dodging clumps of food being flung at her by the mischievous Arya, laughing at a joke told by Rickon. Bran was detailing a forbidden adventure with sparkling eyes in a hushed tone, glancing around to make sure their parents weren't within earshot. Robb, Theon, and Jon were discussing hunting plans with their father, pretending like they didn't notice the admiring looks sent their way by lovely, visiting ladies. And mother was smiling at Sansa with warm pride and affection. The room was cozy and full of love and laughter, music well into the night, and she felt safe and cared for. Everything was perfectly fine in this world; they were together and untouchable.

Sansa swallowed Joffrey's hot spurts of cum past the lump of emotion that had lodged in her throat. She couldn't hear his whines as the music of the party faded from her head, and she didn't resist his yank at her hair as he pulled her to her feet. Blinded by tears, one escaping her lashes to trickle down her still stinging cheek, she continued to stare downward, shame prickling at the back of her aching neck.

"What do you have to say, Sansa Stark?" Joffrey hissed, his own chest rising and falling quickly as he came down from his own high.

"Thank you for honoring me with your cock, Your Grace," Sansa said steadily. He was silenced when her teary eyes finally rose to meet his, stunned to find a burning hatred simmering in those Tully pools just below the surface of her tears. The hatred was so intense and alive, so vicious and promising, that he found himself unnerved. Her fingernails curled into fists at her sides tight enough to bite into the soft flesh of her palm, and her gaze was unwavering. The Hound must've noticed, must've felt the sudden change of mood, because he intervened.

"You got what you wanted, send the slut back to her corner. The turbulence of the waves is too heavy, and I don't need her falling and knocking you out of my grasp," he rumbled. Too unnerved by Sansa's fire to argue, Joffrey simply muttered in agreement and waved for her dismissal. For a moment, Sansa didn't move. She continued to stand there, her eyes boring into Joffrey's.

"Go, child. You heard the king. Move," the Hound warned. A tense second passed, and then Sansa dipped her head and turned away. She made the dangerous trek back across the room, only adding a few more bumps and bruises to her collection, and then curled back up in her corner where she remained silent with her eyes closed for the rest of the storm.

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The sky was a breathtaking mixture of red, orange, and pink after the storm passed and dawn broke. Everyone had scattered to their expected areas to make up for lost time, and Podrick Payne had escorted Sansa back to her room at Tyrion's request. The Hound rounded the corner after escorting Joffrey to his room, where Tyrion was to meet him, and bumped into Bronn. He heaved a sigh at the sight of the normally good-humored man, not in the mood for jokes and stupidity. But for once, Bronn didn't poke fun at him.

"I'm sorry," the sellsword said, catching the Hound by surprise. His thick brows rose in question.

"I thought I was helping when I prevented Sansa from…pleasuring you. I didn't want her to be publicly shamed, but I guess I made things worse."

The Hound shook his head and clapped a reassuring hand against Bronn's shoulder.

"Stop. It won't be the last time he mistreats her. No point in dwelling on it," he said. He brushed past the man, striding towards the upper deck to make sure the crewmen were getting things back into order correctly. Bronn hurried to catch up.

"You really expect me to believe you're fine with what happened back in the holding cells?" he asked in disbelief. The Hound didn't break stride as he replied,

"What you believe isn't my concern. I'm the king's dog, and I'll continue to obey until we reach land."

"And then?"

"And then I'll make the little shit regret ever squeezing out of his mother's loose, incestuous cunt."

Bronn grinned, looking forward to the promised chaos. The anger that radiated from the Hound did nothing to intimidate him; he was invigorated by it. He knew that once the Hound was unleashed, there was no going back. Blood would be shed, and Bronn was much too glad to help spill it.

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