authorsnote: damn I actually found this chapter quite hard to write

I hope you enjoy, even tho it took me a little while to get out

do review

songrecs: skinny love - birdy (all the angst)

Everything had been stripped from her.

Her family colours, her pride, her happiness, soon enough her name would even be erased, Sansa Stark gone forever, Sansa Lannister would replace.

The very thought made her sick, both because it was further erasure of the Stark name, and because the thought of being one of them, of wearing red and gold, being named Lady Lannister … she'd rather be any other Lady, or a commoner even, better that than a Lannister.

But no, they had taken so much from her, now they sought to take more.

Was it never enough? How much more could they take from her? Would they continue to pull strips from her, take and take until there was nothing left? What would remain of her in the end?

Would there be anything at all?

Her own children she would be forced to bear would hold the name Lannister, they would grow up in Casterly Rock, or the godforsaken Capitol, not Winterfell. They wouldn't know summer snows or the Stark banner flying overhead, they would only know the deceit and evil of the South.

Perhaps she should find a way to procure moon tea, she'd rather have no children than Lannister children.

Though she remembered what the Queen had said to her once;

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

Would having children make her happier, give her some love in her life? She had none, another thing the Lannister's had taken from her; but then she thought of Jaime, she thought of having Lannister children, she thought of suffering his heirs, of giving away another part of herself, and felt sicker still.

The corridors were silent, empty, as she walked through them, a Lannister guard at each soldier, as silent as the Keep. Red surrounded her, Lannister colours, she supposed she should be thankful they'd let her wear purple to this dinner, she imagined she'd be in red, the hated red soon enough too.

Washing another part of Sansa Stark away.

Would anything be left?

The silence was almost oppressive around her, and yet she drank it in, the soft feet of her slippers and drag of her skirts made no sound, and she drank in the quiet, the silence surrounding her, she knew it would be gone soon, soon the air would be filled with talk, with Lannister's and Tyrell's, with politics and scheming and lies, soon she'd be wrapped in it, and not to escape.

And then she'd be married, soon if she could wager, Tywin Lannister was likely delighted with restoring Jaime to his heir role, and though she didn't know how it happened, she knew the Hand would take advantage of it, and marry her to him quickly.

Which meant any peace, any silence she could hope for would be gone, soon she wouldn't be alone for long ever again.

She'd be married, she'd be a Lannister, and if she weren't such a Lady she was sure she would retch into the bushes they passed on their way to the courtyard.

Then they reached the doors.

She could only take a second, just a second as a guard stepped forward to pull them open, just a second to make sure she was composed, though there was no danger of that, she never let her composure down in Kings Landing, she would never risk that, not surrounded as she was by enemies.

But it allowed her just a moment, a moment to enjoy her life as it was now, as Sansa Stark. She supposed she was technically Sansa Lannister thanks to her marriage to Tyrion, but it had never felt real, no one had ever called her it, and because of the lack of consummation it had never felt like her name had been taken from her.

She knew this time would be different.

As the Kingslayers wife they'd call her Lady Lannister, not just Sansa, and he wouldn't give her the kindness of sparing her maidenhood, he'd take it, and make her a Lannister for real.

And so just that one second as the doors opened she allowed herself, clenching her hands together, fingers twined, she allowed herself a single moment to breath, to let the thought of tears come to her, before she blinked them away, clenched her fists and entered the belly of the beast.

Everything would change now.

He would hope to be literally anywhere else.

He had been ordered to wash and look presentable, his Kingsguard armour gone, his white cloak taken from him, his golden helm never to be donned again. Instead he wore a gold and red doublet, breeches, a sword on the other side of his hip now, the Valyrian Steel that had once been Ice, a dagger next to it, one handed now he didn't bother with weapons on his left hip.

He had looked at himself in the mirror before leaving, he'd let his hair grow out a touch now, so it hung in front of his face more, as it had before his captivity, returning to his old self.

Though his old self was gone now, gone with his hand.

It was easy to fake still, the swagger to his step, and some arrogance remained, always would. Gone was his belief he could defeat anyone who passed him now, that he was invincible, that had been cleaved from him alongside his right hand.

His left was nowhere near as good, probably still better than most, his instincts were still brilliant, his skill, just never caught up to his left as they had been his right. Right handed him would have knocked left handed him into the dirt without a blink.

And so, now he trained with Illyn Payne, the tongueless man couldn't laugh, but could bruise him, could hurt him, and did, even as he got better, his ego dented, his right hand gone.

What did that make him?

Well now he was a Commander, now he was a Leader, now he was an Heir.

And the thought made him sick.

So, as he had arrived in the courtyard, set up for a dinner, a dinner where his betrothal would be announced, he did so with a scowl on his face, and a glare in his eye. He had no desire to take part in this charade, had only done so to protect Tyrion, to protect Tyrion from Cersei.

And that was what he kept coming back to, that in a way she had forced him into this.

What had happened to her? How could he love, or have loved such a hateful woman?

He did still love her, deep down, he knew that, and yet as he glanced at her as she arrived, he felt his insides twist with fury; she had put him in this position, as she had led him to the Kingsguard, as she had again and again pulled him by his cock. How was that fair?

Why did she take, take, take, as he gave, gave, gave?

He had murdered people for her, he had killed and debased his honour, and yet she had sacrificed little for him. She and Tyrion were more alike than she'd ever care admit (and she'd rage at him for such a suggestion) both self-centred, hungering for power, desperate to win the game.

He'd never had any interest in that, why would he? And yet he was being thrust right into it, as Lord of Casterly Rock someday he would be in the midst of it all. He couldn't think of a place he'd rather be less.

And by his side would be Sansa Stark.

He reached for his wine at the thought; what a joy that would be.

He had seen the girl once or twice around the Keep, shuffling along, head bowed low, cheeks pale, hair pulled back, always looking completely blank of any possible emotion. He knew he shouldn't resent the girl, he had bargained to marry her after all, and yet he had done so to protect her, to keep some semblance of the vow he'd given to Lady Catelyn.

What a failure he was, all he could do was see his brother not murdered, and Lady Stark married to him rather than returned home, Gods, she'd likely see that as a curse not a blessing.

And yet what else could he do?

He gulped down wine with an enthusiasm Tyrion would be proud of, ignored the glare his Father sent him, and only placed it down as the herald yelled out.

'Introducing Lady Sansa of House Stark'

Here they would go.

He reached for his wine again.

The dinner was somehow better than she had hoped.

Ser Jaime spoke little to her, just gave her a nod as she sat down at his side (on a slightly raised dais, no announcement had been made yet, and yet it was clear what would be made, as the Lannister's sat down one side, Tommen included, the Tyrell's the other, the rest of court further away), and then seemed to drink his meal rather than eat any. She picked at her food herself, and stuck to water, she had no desire to get drunk, how would that help?

How would any of it?

And so, she remained silent, a quiet little bird in her cage, thankful for the quiet. It was easy to block out the music, the chatter, Ser Jaime ignored her, she could ignore Lord Twyin glaring at them, ignore Cersei doing the same, Tommen cooing over a cat on his lap, Margaery scheming next to him, she could ignore them all, block them all out and just allow the quiet next to her wash over her.

She didn't want to marry Ser Jaime, she doubted he'd do the courtesy of sparing her the marriage bed, would erase Sansa Stark and replace her with Sansa Lannister forever, but perhaps if the marriage was this quiet, she wouldn't fling herself from the highest Keep window.

Perhaps.

But then of course the silence she'd managed to find was erased, as Lord Tywin stood to his feet, clapped his hands, and the crowd fell truly silent … though somehow, as the Hand began to speak it was far louder, no matter the hush that had descended over the courtyard, it was so loud it was like nails being driven into her head.

Here it was.

"Lady Sansa as you all know has been found innocent of the crimes of killing the King, King Joffrey the Good" She was thankful she had practiced her courtesy's so well, so not to flinch, her expression completely blank, for otherwise she would have surely laughed, or wept, at the idea of Joffrey ever being good, "The High Septon has also confirmed her annulment from my son, Tyrion Lannister on the grounds of annulment"

The crowd didn't dare titter, she should have, but remained quiet, silent, pale, blank faced, this was how she had lived the past few months, a quiet bird, pale and pretty but utterly devoid of any emotion; it had served her as well as it could, why let it go now?

What would happen if she let that all crumple? Would she be stronger? A player in the game? No, more likely she'd fall to the floor and never pick herself back up …

Though that didn't sound too bad.

"Lady Sansa wept when the King died, and her handmaids report she has wept the past week in her rooms" Cells, Sansa substituted, but again did not flinch, "For her devotion she will marry another more suited to her.

"My son, Jaime Lannister is being released of his vows to the Kingsguard, for his duty to King Joffrey, for his unwavering loyalty" Lord Tywin spoke with no emotion for either son, this was pre-rehearsed, only Lady Cersei couldn't keep the anger from her face, covering it by drinking more than Ser Jaime (who was blank faced too), which oddly gave Sansa a thrill of satisfaction.

Was she becoming vindictive? She reached for her own water, perhaps she was, perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

"He will marry Lady Sansa, uniting Lady Sansa with our house once again, this time permanently" Lord Tywin spoke, "They will marry at weeks end, before Lord Tyrion's trial commences" He nodded then, sat and the crowd began to clap.

So loudly, she felt as though her head might explode.

It didn't of course, she just stood as prompted, Ser Jaime next to her, and when he took her hand, as was tradition, she noted the callouses on his hand; what an odd thing to focus on, to notice when her betrothal had been announced, a betrothal that could ruin her, and yet focusing on those little scars on his hands somehow focused her.

He swiped his thumb over the back of her hand just twice, and she didn't allow herself to lean into the comfort of it, but it was there, she didn't know what to make of that; hatred? Anger? Comforted? None of them.

She just stood, forced a gentle, pretty smile onto her features, as the crowd clapped and clapped, Ser Jaime stood silent next to her, strong and handsome, like she'd always hoped for coming South. She stood, the hand not holding Ser Jaime's screwed into a fist, her nails digging into her palm, a little drip of blood escaping her closed fist, as she dug down, hard.

Bleeding here as her family had bled, and yet she'd never wished to join them so much as she did in that moment.

Yet, her face didn't betray a thing, to the outside world she looked like a new bride, quiet, shy, and yet with a little smile, just as she'd rehearsed, knowing it would be expected. Why she bothered with it all she wasn't sure, and yet she did, her courtesies so hammered into her she didn't dare let them go now.

Another prompt and Ser Jaime turned to her, lifted their joined hands and placed a kiss to her knuckles. She hard the coo's of the crowd, hated the fools thinking this was a romance, hated herself for having been one herself, so long ago now.

Her eyes met Ser Jaime's, his green brilliant, and yet so like his sisters she almost flinched, she only just managed to stay strong, her Tully blue, meeting his Lannister green.

"My Lady" He murmured, his tone was kind, and yet she knew that wasn't true, no Lannister was kind, perhaps just Lord Tyrion, just.

"My Lord" She replied, her words just a whisper, she couldn't muster anymore than that.

Thankfully she didn't have to, as Ser Jaime just nodded, and she thought, oddly, for a moment then, he was just as uncomfortable as she in all of this, and that somehow gave her the strength to turn back to the crowd as they clapped and clapped and clapped, and she wished she was far away, the blood from her hand now dripping onto the floor, wished as she did every minute to be with her family again.

Oh, how it would be sweet, like a song.

And yet as Ser Jaime clutched her hand and swiped his thumb in a cruel gesture of comfort once more, she knew …

Life was not a song.

poor sansa ;-; (I swear I say that in every fic, my poor bbygirl)

we will get some more insight into jaime next week, he is suffering too

let me know watcha think