authorsnotes: chapter 2 here we go.

I'm enjoying writing this story ... in a sense, it is very sad and angsty, for now, there will be some joy, ... soon.

I hope you enjoy, do review and follow/fav

songrecs: when the party's over - billie eilish (expect to see a lot of billie, taylor, olivia, a splash of camila - all the angsty pop girls basically)

The ribbon at her waist tightened, squeezing her non-existent stomach in, highlighting the flat lines of her ribs, pulling her in. The ribbons in her hair were tightened too, tugging at her red locks, though she didn't feel a thing, not even as they pulled and secured, weaving plaits in a traditional Southern style, she didn't flinch or whine, not even as her skull burned.

They'd already bathed her. Bathed off the grime she'd accumulated during her days in her cell, they'd scrubbed her until she was pink and once again, she hadn't moved, hadn't flinched away, had just let them scrub at her skin in a steaming hot bath, wash her hair and scrape her scalp with a brush, had let them dry her, and dress her.

No modesty, no moving, no pain, she didn't care, how could she care?

Before she'd fallen asleep, she'd curled into a ball on her bed, thinking, hoping for something, anything, any kind of release from this. Perhaps to die as she slept? Like a little mouse that hides under the leaves when its time is near? Or perhaps to be told she'd be executed, to have the decision taken from her. Or maybe even she could live if Tyrion were found innocent and they could carry on their sham marriage, maybe.

But that didn't matter, none of those things had happened, she hadn't been lucky enough to stay married to a man she just barely didn't hate, or lucky enough to die.

As was life apparently.

The Gods had abandoned her, were punishing, or laughing at her, all seemed plausible at that point, perhaps most of all the latter.

'Your Father doesn't believe in the Gods?'

'He believes in them; he just doesn't like them very much'

Rue the day she agreed with Tywin Lannister, but that day had come.

Sansa Stark was going to be married again.

She'd been shaken awake, hurried into a robe, and then presented before the High Septon who'd quickly declared her marriage annulled on the grounds of non-consummation and the charges against Tyrion.

That had been the first piece of news.

Then the High Septon had declared her innocent in the view of the Gods of any wrongdoing in Joffrey's murder and had apparently announced it at mass the day before, in front of the large crowds, promising them her innocence and her 'weeping' for King Joffrey.

She'd never been a violent person, had never even held a sword, but she'd felt a flash of wanting to punch the High Septon as he'd read that off to her.

She'd felt a pang for Arya, for she knew she'd have done it for her.

Two pieces of news, she'd barely stirred at either, had just blinked, her handmaidens either side of her, Cersei's creatures, heads down. She hadn't even been able to be embarrassed the High Septon in all his finery was seeing her in a robe.

She just felt numb, the endless numbness since her family had been murdered did not dissipate.

It had for a few moments as Joffrey had died, the thrill that had ran through her had been positively indecent, a joy she hadn't felt in so, so long.

Then admittedly a flash of fear as they'd carted her away, accused of murder.

And then once again nothing, nothing at all.

But then the third piece of news…

She should have seen it coming, with the one after the other, the double of annulment and innocence. She should have ran for the window, as probably was her last chance to do so. Should have sprinted for it and flung herself out.

To arc through the air, like a bird as she was so often called, red hair fanning around her, dancing in a circle as she flung herself into the abyss below.

Would it hurt? Did it matter? She was so numb at this point would she care? Would she throw herself with joy? To see her family again, or would she be scared? She couldn't imagine the latter.

If she'd have known she wouldn't have cared, wouldn't have thought it through that much, if she had known what was to come, who was to come through the door, she'd have ran for it, forget the fear or 'what comes next' would have ran for the window and flung herself out of it, into the darkness, into death.

Better than this.

But no, she was too numb, her mind full of clouds, didn't even notice everyone go rigid, everyone stand still and look on in fear.

As Tywin Lannister entered the room.

She just about managed a bow and a mumbled, 'My Lord' as she realised he'd come. And then she felt something close to fear, creeping up her neck, but as he spoke, and she felt as though she were hearing him under water, as he spoke … she realised it was too late for the window.

Too late, too late, too late.

"Lady Sansa" He spoke, stiff, rigid, terrifying, even she felt that, especially as he continued, "I'm here to inform you of your new betrothal"

"Betrothal?" She asked, as though her mind were in a fog, it was, had been for a long time, even Joffrey's demise couldn't pull her out of that.

"Yes" He said, impatient, Tywin Lannister was not a man to repeat himself, "You'll be marrying my son"

"I already did" Why did she say that out loud? One of her Handmaids even gasped.

"You did indeed" Tywin ploughed on, never taken aback by something so small, he was a man that didn't rattle, evil as he was, "But that has been annulled as you have been informed, is that correct High Septon?" He asked, clicking his tongue.

"Yes, my Lord Hand" The High Septon hurried to say, nervous now, "I have just informed the Lady Sansa"

"Good" Tywin continued, "And so Lady Stark, you will be marrying my other son, Ser Jaime"

And the fog lifted.

Her eyes widened, head snapped up, her gaze meeting the terrifying, infamous Lord Tywin's. Her hands shook, and for the first time in a long time she felt like screaming.

Terror, hopelessness, a need to weep, it all bombarded her at once. Being numb for so long, for longing for an endless sleep but never the wherewithal to do so … this was too much, too overwhelming.

Tyrion had been one thing, a hated Lannister yes, but not truly one of them, the least offensive. He had made her laugh once or twice, had never taken her virtue, never darkened her bed, had never taken advantage. He'd even tried to protect her, failed many a time but tried.

'No one can protect me'

But this? Jaime Lannister? The Kingslayer? Golden handed man and if rumours were to be believed Joffrey's Father? She felt sick at the thought.

No, no, no!

She didn't realise she was saying it loud, but she was, eyes wide, cheeks drained of any semblance of colour, hands shaking as she tried to back up to the wall, like a feral animal caught and held down.

She was that a wolf in a trap, jaws clamped down on her, draining the life from her and holding her still.

Why hadn't she jumped?

Jaime Lannister wouldn't allow her the courtesy of clean sheets on their wedding night. He wouldn't make her laugh or try to care for her. He wouldn't leave her be as Tyrion had, wouldn't let her weep alone and with some dignity. He had hurt her Father, had mocked everyone around him, had tried to kill her brother and was cruel, mean, he was his sisters doubled.

Perhaps she'd be sick, she would have wondered idly if Lord Tywin would execute her for vomiting on his shoes were she not too terrified to be idle.

"Calm down" Tywin said and yet she could barely hear him, as the panic crawled up her throat. Worse than dying, worse than dying, worse than Tywin Lannister's wrath.

Married to the Kingslayer.

"Get a Maester" He ordered, and she shook her head, sinking to the floor, shaking, trembling. Fear had come back to her. "And get Lady Sansa some essence of nightshade, to help her calm"

"You'll be wed at the end of the week, before Tyrion's trial, you'll be prepared today" And that was that he turned on his heel as Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled in, bottle in hand, she didn't even protest taking it.

Why would she? Anything was better than being awake, than confronting the truth, and she'd slipped into sleep happily, for numbness was better than this, than the wolf trapped in the jaws of a trap, than the fear running through her skin, than the Kingslayers face flashing through her mind, than any of it.

Sleep had come, but it had not been restful.

That had been the morning, now midday had passed, and the sun had come up, beating down over the Capitol.

Now she stood in front of the mirror, as Handmaids tightened her plaits, rearranged her dress, one of deep purple, and placed a necklace at her throat, cold silver bracelets at her wrists, and then helped her into silver slippers at her feet.

She was betrothed, the news would be called at dinner, she was to be presentable, to be beautiful, the pretty young bride to be of Jaime Lannister, released from his vows and to wed her.

Happy would be pushing it, and so they'd told her presentable.

And yet now she felt calm, perhaps the essence of nightshade still ran through her veins, perhaps she'd gone mad, and her mind had cracked, both seemed likely, but no, she knew the truth, she knew why she stood still after her outburst, knew now why she could not flinch and hold steady.

Her courtesies, her armour, it was all she had left, all she had to draw on now, and they had snapped back into place upon waking like an icy wall descending inside of her. They had returned to her as she'd needed them, and she was never letting them go again.

She could not panic, could not insult the Lannister family with a public display of fear, could not mourn her family, nor dance in joy over Joffrey's death; all things she wanted to do, but no. No, she would need to be stiff and proud, cold, and courteous, and smile as they called out her betrothal, rather than stick pins into her eyes as she'd prefer. No, no, she'd be their smiling little doll, to keep herself safe.

Because she knew, she knew they'd never kill her, she was too valuable, 'The Key to the North' but they could do worse, and so she knew for now she'd have to stay in line, smile and nod, courtesies in place, to survive.

Of course, she continually questioned the point of surviving, no family or home to long to return to now, except Jon, too far away, Winterfell burned and invaded. Nothing to live for.

Nothing, and yet she continued to live on, a flicker of her wanting to.

That flicker hadn't died yet, and so her courtesies stayed with her, until it did.

And so, as they ushered her to the door, hands fluttering, looks of actual concerns on the face of Cersei's spies, her Handmaidens that looked worried for her, she ignored them, she could ignore all of them.

There would be no going home one day, no family to return too, lest Jon who couldn't leave the Wall. There'd be Jaime Lannister, and no hope, perhaps children? Hadn't Cersei said as much?

'Love no one but your children, on that front a Mother has no choice'

Perhaps they could bring her joy, but then she wrinkled her nose in disgust, they'd be half Lannister as well, lions too, invading everything they could.

And any child of hers would be something the Lannister's could use against her, a knife to twist into her side if she could bring herself to love them,

Little hope to be had then, but she knew deep down she couldn't dive out the window, or slit her wrists with a knife, or throw herself into Blackwater Bay. She knew something was stopping her, she wasn't sure what, but it was.

And until that flickered away, until it was gone, she'd have to keep pretending, hands clasped, shoulders back, courtesies and that wall of ice in place.

Until.

soo thoughts?

needed a sansa chapter here, my precious bby. I put poor sansa through the wringer in every story I do I swear! but I usually give her a happy ending ... usually

next chapter - jaime's despair, to match sansa's lol, our unhappy loves

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speak soon