Sansa Stark was terrified. She witnessed the brutal murder of her father, Lord Eddard Stark, by the order of King Joffrey Baratheon, her betrothed. She had been beaten, humiliated, and threatened by Joffrey and his mother, Queen Cersei Lannister, ever since. She had no friends in King's Landing, no allies, no hope. She prayed to the old gods and the new for someone to save her from this nightmare. Yet, her prayers were newer answered.
She knelt in front of the Warrior statue, in Great Sept of Baelor, Joffrey said she had to, because he will go to war soon, as her beloved, to end her brother's life and his uncles'. Sansa knew he was lying, yet deep down, she wished Joffrey would leave and return in pieces. Since Lord Tyrion arrived in King's Landing, her treatment had improved slightly, but the drunken dwarf couldn't be everywhere. Today he wasn't here. Her knees hurt, and she knew they would leave bloody marks, but she dared not defy the spiteful prince. He wouldn't hesitate to harm her even in the house of the gods. Ser Borros Blunt stood ready by the king, prepared to strike her. Cersei also pretended piety with her false smile, lighting candles, on the dais, beneath the Mother's statue.
The city's stench, carried by the breeze, struck Sansa's face as she stepped outside, onto the steps above the statue of Baelor the Blessed. She walked above Joffrey and the Hound, but something was amiss. She felt numerous eyes staring at the royal procession. Many angry and hungry eyes, and they blamed Joffrey and his court for their woes. They attacked the royal party with stones, dung, and curses. Sansa tried to stay close to Joffrey and his Kingsguard, but the crowd was too dense and chaotic. She lost sight of them and found herself surrounded by angry faces.
"Help me!" she cried out, but no one heard her. Hands grabbed at her dress, her hair, her body. She screamed as she felt a knife cut through her cloak, and was about to be dragged down and torn apart by the mob when she heard a voice.
"Stay calm, m'lady. I'm here to help you." The voice belonged to a boy, no older than ten, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a brown tunic and breeches, and had a dagger in his hand. He cut through the crowd with swift movements, slashing at anyone who tried to harm Sansa. He reached her side and took her hand.
"Who are you?" Sansa asked, bewildered.
"Just a little bird," the boy said. "My master sent me to find you and take you out of the city."
"Your master? But who?" Sansa said, she did not trust him, but she had no choice but to follow the boy.
"A friend," the boy said. "He knows you're in danger here. He has a horse waiting for you at the Old Gate . Come on, we have to hurry."
The boy led Sansa through the narrow streets of King's Landing, avoiding the main roads where the riot was still raging. He knew every shortcut and alleyway, every hidden passage and secret door. He was agile and quick, and Sansa struggled to keep up with him.
"Where are you taking me?" Sansa asked as they ran.
"To Maidenpool," the boy said. "There's a lord there who owes my master a favor. He'll protect you until Master can arrange for your safe passage to Winterfell."
"Winterfell?" Sansa said, tears filling her eyes. "Will I see my family again?"
"I hope so, m'lady," the boy said. "But we have to get there first."
They reached the docks and saw a small cart with a blue cover waiting for them. The boy waved at the merchant, who nodded back.
"That's our ride," the boy said. "Come on."
Sansa nodded and entered the cart.
She was exhausted, scared, and confused. She did not know who this master is and what he wanted from her, or what would happen to her in Maidenpool. She did not know if she would ever see her family again, or if they were even alive. She did not know who to trust, or who to fear.
She only knew one thing.
She was free.
...
The seagulls are calling. Once again, she finds herelf in King's Landing, running through the streets, chased by thousands of grimy faces. Every path is closed, nowhere to escape, and suddenly laughter, his laughter. On the dark horizon above, Joffrey obscures the view, covering the sky, nothing exists except him. His terrible laughter turns into rage until, with a slimy grin, he yells, "You think you can escape me, you little bitch!" His voice echoes through the city as his face melts into different masses, and "me, me, me..." resonates throughout the town. She was caught, surrounded by dark faces, their red eyes burning, mouths agape. Joffrey screams even louder now, "Ser Ilyn, bring me her head."
Sansa shrieks, but the dark city transforms into a dimly lit room bathed in morning sunlight. The air is salty but pure, she notices, cleaner than it was in the Red Keep. And the seagull sounds are real. She looks bewildered at the moderately sized and modestly furnished room, yet neat and adorned walls with reddish tapestries depicting motifs of the sea and a pool... Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool.
Her scream attracted the maids, who entered with breakfast and began cleaning the room as if Sansa wasn't there. Then, a woman entered, with long curly blond hair and a clean, powdered face adorned with purple eyes. But this is not a woman, Sansa thought, as the man looked at her, dressed in a golden chainmail more fit for a parade than a battle. It resembled an overly ornate armor Joffrey used to wear, pretending to be a great warrior. The blond man noticed Sansa's bewildered gaze but didn't take offense; instead, he offered her a smile.
"I shed tears when I first heard the tale of Florian the Fool and Jonquil. A wonderful story, almost foreign to the excessive virtue of your Westeros. Male and female forms exist for us to admire," he said in a melodious yet somewhat feminine voice, glancing at the tapestries depicting scenes from Sansa's favorite song. "Even the terrible storytelling abilities of Ser Franklyn Flowers couldn't spoil the impression. Lady Sansa, I hope you slept well," he continued with a smile.
"Where am I?" Sansa asked, realizing she hardly knew anything about what happened after wentering the horse carriage. The journey had been spent in darkness and slumber.
"In Maidenpool, a home for romantic souls like yours. As promised," said the unknown man, settling into a comfortable chair. Anticipating Sansa's question, he introduced himself. "My apologies, my Lady. So many things, one tends to forget basic courtesies. My name is Lysono Maar, a member of the famous and gallant group of heroes, the Golden Company."
Golden Company, Sansa thought, recalling her father's words—they never break a word. The mention of her father weighed heavily on her heart; integrity was what he valued. "And Ser Dontos? He promised..." Sansa nearly whispered.
Lysono's face grew more serious, yet he maintained his smile and cheerfulness. "I'm afraid Ser Hollard was working for another interest, paid with coins. An interest that doesn't bode well for you."
Can't trust anyone, she thought, in that city, everyone is fickle. Sansa's heart sank even further. She just wanted to go home, to her mother and brothers. Unconsciously, tears streamed down her face. "Winterfell, when will I see Winterfell?" she cried.
"My lady, please, if you cry, I'll have to as well," Lysono put on a mournful expression, "my king desires nothing more than for you to return home, to your family." He offered Sansa a silk handkerchief with a golden elephant embroidered in one corner.
As Lysono stood up and walked towards the door, he said one last thing, "Today, you will have lunch in Lord Mooton's grand hall. I have prepared a gown for you; you will look magnificent, my dear," he left, chuckling cheerfully, leaving behind a faint scent of powder.
...
The hall of Maidenpool's grand castle were adorned with flickering crystals and banners bearing the three-headed dragon sigil. It felt like she was in a strange dream, peculiar things were happening, and Sansa couldn't comprehend any of it. Like a stranger, she sat at the lord's table, where they had placed her, and even the beautiful gown couldn't ease her discomfort. The room buzzed with conversation, a tapestry of voices discussing the latest news and rumors from across the Seven Kingdoms.
On the other benches, a multitude of men in golden armor and cloaks impatiently awaited the feast's beginning. They all wore small golden skulls hanging as pendants in the shape of a chain. Their faces were unpleasant, marred by numerous scars.
Suddenly, a voice boomed, "All hail King Aegon, the sixth of his name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Sansa didn't know who that was; she had never seen a Targaryen in her life, but she had heard stories of some escaping across the Narrow Sea. Everyone stood up, and Sansa did the same, anxiously looking towards the door.
She was stunned. Those eyes, the face, and the hair. He looked magnificent, wearing a black doublet with peculiar intricate details and a red three-headed dragon on his chest. His short hair shimmered, reflecting the sparkling brilliance of crystals, while his deep purple eyes were like small jewels glowing on his porcelain-pale face. And looked somewhat like Lysono, but different at the same time; his beauty appeared more natural, and fitting. Sansa had to compose herself, lowering her gaze to avoid drawing attention. Looking at her own fingers, she scolded herself. Once, she used to admire Joffrey's appearance, like this, but that monster discarded the disguise of a prince. Yet, this king was even more beautiful than Joffrey ever was. Walking beside him was a plump lord with an overly red face, and another man of similar age to her father, wearing a simpler doublet with red griffins, his fiery red hair overshadowing the garment's crimson hue.
The King sat down across from her, donning the aura of royalty, and raised his hand to signal the beginning of the feast.
"Lady Stark, I am delighted to have you here with us," he whispered to Sansa, his voice framed in a mosaic of refinement and simplicity.
"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied, unsure of what else to say. The men from the Golden Company quickly devoured their food, oblivious to any manners. The tables soon became wet, messy chaos. With no appetite, Sansa gazed at the food more than she ate.
Being so near, the King noticed her displeasure, "If you wish, the servants can prepare a dining table in your quarters. I'm afraid courtesies don't play a role in the company of ruffian villains," he amusingly said to Sansa in a hushed voice, "...but I believe you'll get used to it," he continued even more quietly.
However, Sansa wanted to know only one thing, and she gathered her strength since morning to ask. She knew she might not get another chance soon. "They told me I will be able to go home soon. Is that true?" she inquired of the prince, gathering every trace of confidence.
After her question, he gazed thoughtfully at Sansa for a moment that felt like eternity. "Well, that is the intention, but..." Every word that comes after "but" means nothing, her father used to say, "...but I'll be honest with you. Lady Sansa, you are here for the same reason the Lannisters held you captive," he said.
"That you can use me as leverage against my family," Sansa interrupted the king, a storm of emotions blazing within her, wanting to cry, to be in her room so she could bury her face in a pillow.
A hint of pity appeared on the king's face, but he continued speaking as if the hint didn't exist, "...I know what they did to you. I promise you that no harm will come to you. Your brother Robb has declared himself a king, and he will have to bend the knee," he said in a deeper, more regal voice. A voice that wasn't his, just as the lord's face wasn't her father's. Sansa knew Robb was now a king; she received beating when the news arrived at King's Landing.
"I don't want to leave you in a bad mood, Lady Sansa," the king smiled at her, "in your room, there is ink and paper. You can write to your family in Riverrun. We will forward their response. I instructed Maester Keln to prepare one of the ravens for Riverrun, so you can have more correspondence."
Her heart wanted to explode. For the rest of the feast, she paid little attention to what they were saying. They mentioned Renly and the Lannisters, but it didn't matter. She wanted to be in her room as soon as possible. Lysono told her to write that the Lannisters don't have Arya. Sansa would do it anyway.