It takes Theon three days to find Wyl at the docks, and he leads him to his sister's house, where he's to stay. Wyl puts him to work, loading and unloading the ships from his master. It is tedious and hard work, and Theon swears up a storm back at the house, before even considering following directions from a smallfolk boy, but Wyl's sister turns a deaf ear to him and Wyl laughs in his face when he says he would stay at home, so Theon goes before they throw him into the street. It's not home, but still, Theon was raised among sailors and ships, and some days he can even pretend he's back on Pyke, on the hottest days of summer, watching his uncles get ready to sail.
He hears the whispers, too. He knows he cannot trust everything, but he hears anyway. Of Sansa, and what Joffrey does to her for every victory Robb wins. He wishes he could take Joffrey's head himself, and even starts planning it as he works. How to infiltrate the castle. He would only need a handful of men, if he can find some way in. Maybe twenty men, and he would even have time to fuck the Queen come nightfall.
But he can't. If he ever were to fail, he would lose his head. And he can't be the reason Sansa is further abused.
It is near night when they come fetch Cerelle. She walks to Stannis' tent with her stomach in her throat, nausea building and building and making her grit her teeth.
Stannis is waiting for her. He has a red-haired woman by his side, who she assumes the red witch she has heard about. Cerelle's not one for shitting on foreign religions, but there's something she doesn't like about the woman.
There's something dangerous about her. It could be the unnatural shade of her hair—Cerelle loves red hair. It's the color Robb's hair shines in the sun, the color she hopes some of their children get. But this witch's hair is not that shade. It could be the way she's only wearing a dress when the wind has started to pick up, unbothered by the cold.
And the expression on her face—serene, like she knows all her secrets.
"Petyr Baelish was here, when it was still Renly's camp." Stannis starts. "He brought something, I would assume he meant to meet you here."
"Petyr Baelish? Last time I saw him was at my wedding. I have not heard from him since then. Why would he—?"
Silent sisters some in with a large chest, and they put it at her feet. They go stand at the entrance of the tent.
"What is this?" Cerelle asks, looking at Stannis and his red witch. She doesn't dare open it. For something to be carried by the silent sisters, it could only be—
"Lord Stark's bones. Some of your guard can take it back to Winterfell, where he belongs."
"We do not have any agreement yet," Cerelle says, cautious. Would Stannis ask for something in exchange? They do noy have much to offer. Her offers are more bluff than real actual military power.
"I respected Lord Stark. This is a token of good faith."
"And about the alliance?"
"Terms will have to be drawn—A marriage contract, too, for Brandon Stark and Shireen. He will be styled Prince Consort, should Shireen succeed me, and any sign of the Northern Kingdom threatening the Iron Throne will result in his head rolling. We shall delimit our borders and renegotiate trade. Though I'm sure that can be arranged at a later time. For now, tomorrow we will discuss plans for attack."
Cerelle can breathe. She tries not to let it show, but surely some of her relief must bleed through in the slope of her shoulders and back.
"Ravens should be sent to Riverrun at once, so Robb can plan ahead," she says, crossing her hands as she rests her elbows on the arms of the chair. "I'll send three men with whatever plan we can come up with tomorrow, but time is of essence right now. Tywin will rush to King's Landing if he so much as hears you will attack."
"We will go to Storm's End tomorrow, at first light. There we shall find a septon to witness the contract, and we can send the ravens."
"I would see my father, then," Cerelle says, trying not to sound hesitant. She needs to be confident. They are equals, now, her Uncle and she. She needs to believe it.
"It can be arranged." Stannis nods, and goes back to something on his desk. The red woman smiles at her. Cerelle, dismissed, rises to stand. The red woman speaks before she can turn.
"You should rest, Your Grace. This war won't be much longer, but you won't find rest for a long timeafter. I'm sure you will find joy, nevertheless."
Cerelle freezes where she is, and stares at the woman. What does she mean? Does she know something, or is it just fishing for information? Cerelle resists the urge to touch her belly, and instead just hums and turns to leave, trying not to run out of there.
The sky is overcast when they enter Storm's End. The castellan comes to her, offers her salt and bread and then shows her the crypts. It has been years since she had last been here, but there is something familiar in the winding staircase that leads into the ground.
There are no torches lit down except for the ones they carry and the ones they lit themselves. Down there, it is a maze of stone halls, but it is not hard to know where to go. She follows the man until they reach her Father's tomb, and he leaves her alone in there.
Every Storm King, and every Lord that followed, had statues atop their graves, much like how it was on Winterfell. Made with black stone, they lay atop their tombs with clasped hands and closed eyes.
Her father doesn't. Tthere's no statue yet, but there is a stone crown there. It is just like the gold one he wore when he was alive. Cerelle goes closer and touches it. It is smooth and cold under her touch.
She wants to weep. Her father had always seemed bigger than life, invincible. Even in his last years, he had always seemed like the man who knocked Rhaegar Targaryen down, who killed him from a swing of his hammer. He might have been fat, but he was still strong.
Down here, he was just another body decaying. Who had done the rituals for her father? Had it been Renly? Had it been a silent sister? They were supposed to be done by someone who loved him. Cerelle had always thought she'd do it. Who had washed his hair with rainwater? Who had cut his hair and trimmed his beard? Who had blown air across his forehead seven times, for the seven times Storm's End had been built before it could stand strong?
Gods, she would have liked to say goodbye. To kiss his cheek one last time, to hear him laugh, that booming laugh that used to make her want to cover her ears as a child. To have his heavy hand on her shoulder as he told her how to better swing a sword.
In the light of the torches, she feels like a child again, desperate for a touch, for a look, for a word from him. One gesture and she had been happy for a week back then, and now she feels the same feeling building in her chest, the need to have him close and near. One gesture and she would be content for the rest of her life, she promised. Just one chance to say her goodbyes.
It is on the walk back from the docks when it starts. Myrcella has sailed form the shore, and once her ship grows small on the distance, the Queen allows them to return. They are heavily guarded, but it doesn't stop Sansa from feeling unsafe. There are two handmaids with her, who most certainly owe their loyalties to the Queen, and they cower behind her as they walk.
Lady Lalia is in front of her, walking with another Lannister. One from Lannisport, married to a knight that was captain at Lannisport's City Watch and now was on King's Landing's. As they walk, Sansa notices they start to walk slower, each second closer to her.
Then the shift hits the King, and hells break loose. Lady Lalia and the other Lannister come to her then, and push the handmaids away, each grabbing one of her arms. They lead her to an alley, and a City Watch guard covers their back as they go.
"This is as far as I'll go," the other Lannister says once they come to the other side of the alley. The man is still looking around, and he pulls a knife from his side and offers it to Lady Lalia.
"You know how to use this, I trust?" he asks, and Lady Lalia nods as she takes it. The woman hugs Lady Lalia and whispers something, and then Lady Lalia is taking her arm and pulling her away as the man and woman go back where they came from.
Sansa keeps looking back, but Lady Lalia's grip on her arm keeps her walking.
Suddenly, she feels someone grip her around the waist, pulling her against a body. The smell of onions hits her, and a man grins at her as she looks up. He's not dirty, but his clothes are old and worn.
"Hello, little lady," he says, and then suddenly she hears a gurgle, and when she looks at Lady Lalia, blood is running down her hands and a man lays at her feet.
The man grips Sansa even harder and turns them to run. But he falls, gasping for air, his hands going to his side, where Lady Lalia's knife has made a wound.
"Sansa!" Lady Lalia yells, and Sansa, holding back her terrified tears, follows her blindly.
"Where are we going?" Sansa dares to ask, trembling from head to toe. There is blood on her pink dress, now, where Lady Lalia is gripping her. She tries to pull away, the reality hitting her. This is a Lannister woman. Is she going to kill her? Maybe this is how Joffrey wishes to be rid of her. Maybe Lady Lalia is to dump her body on the Blackwater for the City Watch to find.
"Just follow me," Lady Lalia hisses, taking her hand, pulling her close.
"Where are you taking me?" Sansa keeps trying to pull away, but the Lannister's nails dig into her skin, her grip too strong, and she tugs her along like she's a doll.
"This is it, Sansa. Only one chance," Lalia says as she keeps pulling her through streets and slim alleys. Sansa follows her. One chance of what? She made it sound like something good. The blood on her dress and the knife in her hand make people think twice before approaching, but even still, the streets are almost deserted, and the sounds of the riot keep getting faintier and faintier.
They reach a house with a wooden door, and Lady Lalia knocks in a certain pattern. A woman opens the door, letting them come inside, looking both ways to see if anyone is around. She has a little boy on her hip, munching on his own hand. He gives Sansa a smile, waving his hand up and down.
"My brother?" Lady Lalia asks, and the woman nods to the back of the house.
"Waiting for you. Boy wanted to say his goodbyes. He's waiting in the first room. The man for the girl is in the second. Be quick about it."
Lady Lalia walks to the first door and pushes Sansa to the second.
"You'll be safe. There are clothes for you."
She's gone before Sansa can ask who the man is. She walks to the second door, which is nothing more than a curtain. She hesitates before pulling it to the side slowly. The room is small, with a straw bed in one corner, and a man looking out the little window.
A familiar man.
"Theon?" Sansa asks, and Theon Greyjoy turns around. He sends her a smile. He looks the same, even after all these time, and it brings tears to Sansa's eyes.
"Sansa," he says, and Sansa runs to him. He lets her jump into his arms, burying her face where his shoulder meets his neck. He smells like salt and sweat, and Sansa hasn't smelt anything sweeter in years.
"Come, now. Change. We need to leave soon if we want to make it out." He lets her go and makes to leave, but Sansa grabs his wrist before he can. The blood from Lady Lalia's kill is dry by now, but the sight makes Sansa drop Theon's arm.
"No. Don't leave," she begs still. She's afraid if she lets him out of her sight, everything would turn out to be a dream.
"I'll be right outside. You'll be able to see me."
He stands with his back to the room, just past the pulled curtain, and Sansa changes into a modest brown dress without taking her eyes off him. When she is ready, she goes to him.
In the main room, the woman is sitting with her babe on her lap, and Lalia has her brother under her arm, and is whispering something against his hair.
"We have to go now," Theon says, and Lady Lalia turns without letting go of Tyrek. Her face is solemn, and here, without anyone to judge, she lets her tears fall freely from her eyes.
"You know the ship, and you know how to get there. Keep her safe, Greyjoy. Don't mess this up by running your mouth to the wrong person." Her face is dead serious, but there is fondness in her voice, and it reflects in Theon's face when he answers.
"You never complained about my mouth before." Theon smirks, but even that lacks his usual energy. Sansa should maybe be surprised by what he's implying, but she's not.
"Come with us," she says instead, pleading with Lady Lalia. The woman has been her only friend in the past months, and it hurts her to think that she will have to stay behind in this awful place.
"Oh, my sweet girl," Lalia says, finally coming close and embracing her. The long sleeves of her dress blanket Sansa's back for the last time, and Sansa wills it into memory. The tickle of her blonde hair against her nose, the sweet tones of her perfume. She doesn't even care about the blood. "The war's not over yet."
"But it's so dangerous here."
"A great risk comes with a great reward. And for Cerelle, we would do anything."
We. It calms Sansa some, for her not to be alone in this.
"What's your plan after?" Theon asks, taking a dark cape from a chair and pulling it around Sansa, using its hood to hide her hair. It is Lady Lalia he asks, though.
"Wander around, look lost. Someone will find me, sooner or later. I'll make something up. Don't worry too much, Greyjoy."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Lannister."
Theon turns around, looks at Lady Lalia. Tyrek is looking at his sister too, but for this moment, it seems like Lady Lalia's eyes are only for Theon.
A second longer. The moment passes.
Lady Lalia turns to Tyrek, and Theon turns to Sansa.
They go through narrow streets, down long stairs and through a tunnel, until they reach the water. They hadn't been very far from the port, Sansa realizes. There is a small boat waiting for them, hidden by some rocks. No one is around, save for a boy sitting on the boat.
"My lady," the boy bows his head, offering his hand to her. Theon holds the other when she steps into the boat, and follows after swiftly. "You'll have to help me row, my lord, if we want to make good time."
The ship is not flying any flags, and has its sails up. It could be any ship on the harbor, but it's not. This is the ship that will bring her to safety. Home. They are not safe yet, but Sansa feels herself start to relax.
When they are close enough, they throw a rope for them to climb into. Men pull her up. She half expected to see her brother there. Robb, with hair shinning auburn in the sun, in his Northnern armor, straight from her sweetest dreams where he comes to rescue her. Instead, there are only strange men.
There is a hand on her back, and she jumps.
Theon chuckles behind her, pulling her close by throwing his arm around her shoulder. She lets herself be pulled, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling the wind whip her hair around.
Home.
THERE. The reason Lalia is who she is.
For those who only watched the show, Tyrek is a nephew of Tywin. They marry him to a baby for her lands and he disappears in the riots.
Or that's what the wiki says.
Can you guess who the other Lannister is? She has only been mentioned in the story.