Mid September, 298 AC
Sansa undressed herself carefully, laying her clothes aside as she slipped on her shift. Her tummy felt odd, though she wasn't sure if it was from the feast, the wine, or her nerves. The Hound had frightened her, he had threatened to kill her, but he seemed so sad, so lonely.
At least the Hound had a reason for being the way he was. Joffrey scared Sansa more than his dog, and he had no terrible scars or brutal older brothers.
For weeks Sansa had dreamed of Joffrey, but they were not the dreams she'd had at Winterfell. Those dreams were of a lovely future, where Sansa was Joffrey's queen and they had beautiful babies with his golden curls and her blue eyes, or her auburn hair and his green eyes.
These new dreams were of the past. Sansa had seen Joffrey, a little shorter than he was now, hitting Tommen until the chubby little prince cried. She'd seen a younger Joffrey, perhaps seven or so, cut open a poor cat. That dream had been so awful she'd woken crying.
But nothing compared to her first nightmare about Joffrey. Why would Joffrey steal a knife? A prince could surely ask for the finest knives to be made in his honor. And why would someone attack Bran, attack mother, with Joffrey's knife? They had done nothing wrong. Mother was a great lady and Bran was a sweet boy.
Father was so busy, Sansa still hadn't been able to talk to him about her dream. She fretted over whether to bring it up when they dined in father's solar, but he always looked exhausted. Father was Lord Hand now, he had troubles enough without Sansa's silly dreams. Bran had woken up almost a month ago, and Father hadn't said anything about a man attacking Bran and mother. Perhaps it was just a silly nightmare, brought on by a miserable day of travel and her anger over Lady's death
Sansa heard a soft creak in the distance- Arya was opening her door, her steps almost noiseless as she crept down the hallway. Water dancing might be a strange thing for a lady to do— Sansa still couldn't believe Father allowed it— but at least Arya no longer stomped everywhere. Sansa cracked her door open and beckoned Arya inside.
"How was the tourney?" Arya whispered. She was clean for once, her face pink from scrubbing.
"It was better than the songs, but..." Sansa sighed as she curled up on her bed. Arya climbed up beside her, her long face scrunched up in confusion.
"But?"
"I could hear everything - not just the crowds, but the squires scrubbing armor in the tents, the knights gulping wine after a joust, the king and queen saying awful things to each other," Sansa confided.
At first the noise had made her want to cry, but then she'd covered her ears for a little while, letting them adjust. She was getting better at picking apart different voices and layers of sound.
"I didn't think of that," Arya said, absentmindedly rubbing her own ear.
"The smells were worse." Sansa shuddered. Thousands of sweaty people, the stink of horses and their leavings, the rusty smell of blood.
"Did you see him?" Arya asked.
"Joffrey sat beside me at dinner," Sansa said, her tummy roiling with unease. She should have been delighted to sit beside the prince at a great feast. It was an honor to Sansa and to the Starks.
"And? Did he say anything about Lady? Or me?" Arya demanded. Sansa shook her head.
"He was perfectly charming, the soul of courtesy. But..."
Sansa paused, confused over how to describe how it had felt conversing with the prince as though nothing had changed, as though he didn't haunt her nightmares, as though he hadn't smiled when the queen demanded Lady's pelt. Arya elbowed her.
"But what?"
"It felt false," Sansa whispered. "I... I heard him talking to someone during the tourney, about Ser Gregor." Arya made a face, confused.
"He's one of Lord Tywin Lannister's knights, the Hound's older brother- he was huge, Arya, bigger than Hodor. He chopped off his own horse's head." Arya's eyes grew wider than dinner plates.
"Joffrey said Ser Gregor was a brute, but a loyal brute. He said Ser Gregor got rid of some of the Targaryens for his grandfather— he sounded gleeful about it."
"King Robert killed Rhaegar, the Kingslayer killed Aerys, and Viserys escaped. So who did Gregor kill?" Arya said, puzzled.
They sat for a moment, thinking in silence, then Sansa remembered her books. Septa Mordane had carefully packed Sansa's favorite books of songs and poetry, but she had also packed a book of lineage so Sansa could be sure to recognize the great families at court. Sansa fetched the book from its place, then spread it open on the bed, flipping through looking for the end of the Targaryen section.
"Here—" Arya said, pointing at the book and stopping Sansa from flipping to the next page.
King Aerys Targaryen, born 245, died 283 in the Red Keep
Queen Rhaella Targaryen, born 246, died 284 at Dragonstone after giving birth
Issue of King Aerys Targaryen and Queen Rhaella Targaryen
Rhaegar, born 259, died 283 in the Battle of the Trident
Shaena, 267, stillborn
Daeron, born 269, died 269 at six months old
Stillborn baby, 270
Aegon, born 272, died 273 at three months old
Jaehaerys, born 274, died 274 at four months old
Viserys, born 276, fled into exile 284
Daenerys, born 284, fled into exile 284
"She had eight babies and only three lived?" Sansa whispered.
"And she was only 13 when she had Rhaegar," Arya replied, making a face.
"Septa Mordane says ladies shouldn't have children until at least 17 or 18— the maesters say younger ladies die or become barren," Sansa said, appalled.
"Well, he was called Mad King Aerys, maybe he didn't care," Arya said. They both kept reading.
Princess Elia Nymeros Martell of Dorne, wife of Prince Rhaegar. Born 257, died 283.
Issue of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Nymeros Martell of Dorne
Rhaenys, born 280, died 283
Aegon, born 282, died 283
"The only living Targaryens were Rhaenys and Aegon," Arya whispered. Sansa looked up from the book and stared at Arya.
"He killed a three year old and a baby?" Sansa said, horrified. The Mountain looked monstrous, but how could anyone kill a helpless little baby? Tears dropped down Sansa's nose, and a look of panic filled Arya's face.
"The sapling is getter bigger— it put out a leaf," Arya said quickly. "The kittens are getting fat, too. And I dreamed about Nymeria! She was in the Kingswood..."
Sansa barely heard her. A baby was crying, somewhere in the keep.
