Sansa knew she should've been floating above the clouds with happiness as she sat in the queen's personal carriage with the princess Myrcella and spoke with such highborn, important women about all manner of subject. And yet no matter how much she smiled and remembered her courtly courtesies she couldn't help but get the nagging feeling that something was wrong within her family. Something she hadn't been privy to before they left Winterfell to travel south so her father could take his position as the Hand of the King.
Before they'd left it had seemed that Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower climbing. Why he insisted on doing that when their lady mother had warned him multiple times before not to go so high she would never know.
But Maester Luwin had looked after him for several days before finally her lord father had talked the king into the necessity of leaving for the capital since Bran still had not awoken. Her lady mother had taken time from watching over Bran to see them all off at the gate: her face drawn and lined in a way that Sansa didn't like to see on her normally smiling parent's face.
Now that she'd been on the road, she'd had nothing but time to reflect since her father was busy riding with the King whilst Arya and Jon spent their time gods only knew what up and down the train that comprised of the royal party, her father's personally chosen guard as well as the camp followers and servants who had come along with both parties. Hopefully they wouldn't be making too much trouble seeing as how doing so might make a bad impression on the Queen Cersei or worse her betrothed Prince Joffrey.
Of course, given the way things were developing that may well have been a vain hope on her part.
Jon had refused to give up visiting the brothel in Wintertown or his practicing his strange foreign religion no matter how private he was about doing so.
Arya had grown more quiet yet somehow seemed wilder than she'd been before Jon had left despite all the extra time she spent with Maester Luwin.
Her father was mostly silent and withdrawn unless he was with the king.
Even Lady, Nymeria and Ghost had seemed on edge as the journey had pressed past the Neck into the Riverlands. Well, that wasn't entirely correct. Lady seemed much the same as ever: prim, well-behaved and innocently affectionate. It was only once she was around her littermates that she seemed to grow uneasy: as if their newfound wariness was affecting her mood.
Sansa felt she could relate somewhat.
She hadn't spent much-well, any really- time with Jon and Arya this trip and so had no idea what exactly it was they did away from everyone. But determined as she was not to think about it too much it still managed to plague every smile she shared with Princess Myrcella and every politely subdued laugh she gave at the Queen's wit.
As they came to Plowman's Keep, the ancestral castle of House Darry, in the afternoon the trains of people began to settle down near the Ruby Ford. There was a quiet peace in the sunlight and the still air as the blades of grass seemed to reach toward the sun overhead.
Lady was in front of her, the leather leash on the harness she wore in Sansa's hand as she took her for a walk in order to stretch both their legs after so long a time being cooped up.
As she was passing by an area where many of the King's men appeared to be congregating, she heard a voice calling her. Her heart beat a bit faster as her golden haired prince appeared from out of the men, an easy smirk to his handsome features as his fierce looking and heavily scarred bodyguard Sandor Clegane followed a step or two behind unfalteringly.
"I had never thought to catch a glimpse of your beauty amidst this stinking heap of dogs Lady Sansa."
Nervous about her appearance in a way she'd never felt before meeting her prince and falling so hard for him, Sansa hurriedly curtsied and felt a blush bloom in her cheeks as she answered him.
"I thank you for your kind words my sweet prince."
She avoided looking at Sandor Clegane, not wanting to offend the man with staring as it seemed he was somewhat sensitive about people looking upon his scarred face for too long. Though she had evidently not been as subtle as she thought when her prince brought his hand to gently hold her chin with his thumb and forefinger as he glanced at his bodyguard before speaking again.
"Does his appearance frighten you my lady?" Joffrey asked kindly, smirk still in place. He turned to Clegane to address him.
"Away with you dog! Your face is upsetting to my lady." He commanded, sounding very much like the golden prince he was.
Clegane turned and walked without so much as a word, his hulking form seeming more intimidating than most with the dark armor that adorned him and the two handed greatsword strapped to his back.
Joffrey smiled again before gesturing toward the fields nearby.
"Let us enjoy the natural beauty of this place without the sweat and stink of the camp." He said.
Sansa could only nod happily, her heart beating faster in response to the sun glinting off his golden hair as she and Lady followed along behind him.
As they walked beneath the bright sun along the grass with only the sound of the Trident River breaking the silence of the atmosphere, Sansa couldn't help but think that this was like something out of one of the stories her mother had used to tell her and Arya when they were young ladies of Lords who courted their future Lady Wife by wooing her. Except she wouldn't simply be another Lady: she would be the Queen of the seven kingdoms. The Lady by whom all other ladies set their example. It was a sacred honor and responsibility that only the loveliest and most deserving of noble daughters could ever hope to be given.
"Would you like some wine my lady?" Joffrey asked, interrupting her train of thought as he offered a wine skein he had taken with him without her noticing.
"I don't know my Prince." She demurred, trying not to disappoint him but unsure whether she should or not. "My lord father doesn't permit us to have more than a single goblet of wine at feasts."
Joffrey's brow furrowed and his mouth took a severe downturn for a moment before smoothing out into a displeased but imperious expression.
"If my lady wants to have wine, she'll have wine." He answered as they came into a clearing directly next to the running water of the Trident.
As she was about to apologize to her beloved, Lady attempted to pull forward on the leash: causing Sansa's attention to look ahead of them to find a strange sight.
Ghost and Nymeria were on their stomachs nearby the thundering water of the Trident, Nymeria with her tongue out as she idly panted while Ghost simply watched the humans who were in front of he and his sister wolf.
There were three humans in front of them: only two of whom Sansa recognized. The one was her younger sister Arya and the other was her bastard brother Jon. Arya was perched next to an old and gnarled tree upon a nearby rock outcropping that wasn't even higher than the young girl's height but was apparently enough for her to consider it a suitable seat despite how much Sansa thought it must be staining the plain roughspun dress she was wearing. Jon on the other hand was wearing what appeared to be a wool tunic with a leather vest covering it, his belt holding a sheathed knife at his left side while his riding boots and leggings were unremarkable in comparison to her golden Prince's finely made red leather tunic and leggings with golden buttons and shining boots that appeared to have just been polished that morning. Strangely though, she noticed that Jon appeared to have a small misshapen red sash tied to the right side of his belt that she'd never seen before.
She couldn't imagine where he'd gotten the thing, it was such a rough work only the most incapable of seamstresses could've made it. Which meant it was more than likely that for some reason he was keeping a token of Arya's sewing work tied to his belt.
The third figure was one unknown to Sansa but looked to be in between her own and Arya's age in namedays. His lank brown hair and unremarkable brown eyes made him a figure of indistinct looks rather than extraordinary ugliness or outstanding handsomeness. He was slightly heavy but nowhere near as overweight as her Prince's father King Robert. All of his frayed woolen clothing spoke to him being one of the smallfolk. Perhaps of the train that had come with her father from Winterfell, perhaps of the train that had come with the King. Or even from the lands nearby Plowman's Keep for all she knew.
The smallfolk boy was paying a great deal of attention to Jon as he appeared to hold a fist in front of him and explain something about it. As she looked on in confusion, Lady took advantage of her inattention to bound over to her packmates with a loud and happy bark.
With five sets of eyes turning toward their presence, Sansa couldn't help but notice a gleam enter her Prince's eyes as his left hand idly rested on the engraved lion's head pommel of the short sword he kept sheathed at his left side.
"Excellent." He said lowly, a smile coming to his face as he strode forward.
Sansa had no choice but to follow behind, wondering why he would consider an interruption to their stroll to be a good thing.
"And what might we have here?" Joffrey asked imperiously, his smirk firmly in place as her sister's slight smile abruptly became a displeased frown.
No one answered Joffrey for the moment, and Sansa's face began to flush with embarrassment. The silence was awkward enough without her siblings looking at her and her betrothed as though they were intruding upon something.
"Well?" Came Joffrey's voice in a slightly sharper tone.
"Do none of you not know enough to answer your Prince when he asks you a question?" He rebuked the three.
The smallfolk boy paled a bit before quickly stuttering out an answer.
"A-Ah, he was jus' teaching me to fight milord." He said, pointing to Jon, whose hands had come to rest by his side and whose face had assumed a strange expression of neutrality that reminded Sansa of their father when he was waiting for her siblings to explain their most recent mischief.
Joffrey zeroed in on the smallfolk boy, taking several strides toward him.
"I'm not a lord. I'm your Prince." He corrected, a definite tone of anger in his voice now.
"And what possible use could a peasant like you have for bare knuckle fighting?" Her betrothed remarked derisively.
Jon chose that moment to interject, increasing Sansa's mortification further.
"As I was just explaining to Micah, a skilled enough fighter can be a match for an armed man who doesn't know how to use his weapon." Her bastard brother said quietly, his voice carrying despite his mild tone. "The same principles apply between armed and unarmed combat. It's simply a difference in execution."
Joffrey turned his head to look at Jon, a sneer on his lips.
"Truly?" He asked sarcastically. A queer somehow perversely cruel smile came to his mouth then.
"So, if I were to draw my Lion's Tooth, would you be able to fight me using only your hands bastard?" He asked, his right hand gripping the handle of his sword.
Arya started to get off her rocky perch, apparently intent on saying something. But Jon looked at her, grey eyes communicating something to her own identical grey gaze that Sansa couldn't decipher. Despite her lady mother's physical chastisement the one time she had thought to insinuate such Sansa couldn't help but think that it was some strange quirk of fate that had placed Arya within the wrong mother: that she had meant to be born as Jon's twin rather than his younger half-sister.
Her sister settled back upon the rocks, an unhappy look on her face as she did so.
"I would wager so yes. Though I would think such a course of action unwise on both our parts." Jon answered, slowly moving so that his back was to the gnarled tree beside Arya.
"Perhaps I want to see such a thing for myself." Joffrey mused aloud moving so that his own body was facing Jon's. "It should be a good amusement if nothing else."
"Not if you remember the most important rule of handling blades your grace." Jon said, a calm to his voice and his posture that Sansa certainly didn't feel as she stood paralyzed where Joffrey had previously stood beside her, wineskein clutched between her hands as though holding onto it tightly enough would prevent this entire encounter from devolving further into disaster instead of merely uncomfortable.
"And what might that be?" Joffrey smirked, his right hand starting to draw his blade.
Before Sansa could blink, Jon's right hand flashed forward to grip Joffrey's own atop his sword handle and pushed it back into its sheath while his open left hand blurred toward her prince's face as though to strike his beautiful features. But instead it seemed to strike just below his chin, causing Joffrey's hands to fly towards his own pale throat coughing and wheezing. As he did so, Jon's right hand remained on the sword's handle and pulled her prince by his belt toward her half-brother's right side, his left forearm coming up to cover Joffrey's hands as they protected his throat.
Spinning in a quick half circle, they'd now reversed positions with Jon's back facing the field and Joffrey's back facing the tree. Jon stepped close to Joffrey, his left forearm quickly pressing into her golden prince's throat even as her lion tried to reverse the direction his hands were facing to instead push Jon's arm off him even as her bastard brother's stance definitively trapped his neck between the tree and his forearm.
"The most important rule of handling blades," Jon said as he drew Lion's Tooth from its sheath, causing her Prince's eyes to widen with an abrupt expression of terror.
"Is that you never draw steel unless you intend to use it." He said, as he brought the blade up to their heads. Seized by an abrupt horror that her bastard brother was going to kill her betrothed, Sansa started to run forward.
"Jon, stop!" She shouted, intent on preventing Jon's baseborn nature from getting the better of him.
But instead of driving it into her prince, Jon drove the blade halfway into the trunk of the tree next to his head, the sharp sides facing up and down while Joffrey's ear was just beside the flat of the slightly quivering sword. Before either she or her prince could react to the sudden reprieve, Jon's forearm had left Joffrey's throat: allowing him to take one deep breath before Jon's left hand gripped the back of her betrothed's head and slammed him face first into the flat of the blade that had been beside his head.
Her prince gave a yelp of pain as the force caused his head to rebound so sharply he fell to the ground on his back. As Sansa hurried over to see whether her prince was hurt, Jon used both hands to drive the blade almost up to the handle into the tree.
"Something to keep the lesson in mind your grace." Jon remarked quietly.
"Arya, Micah. Let us find our way back to camp and get something to eat."
Arya got down off the outcropping a smile solidly back on her face as she moved to follow Jon without hesitation: her expression clearly showing she didn't seem to understand how dire it was that Jon had attacked the crown prince. Micah followed along more slowly, his wide eyes going back and forth between Jon and the sword pommel sticking out of the tree as though he couldn't believe the events he had just witnessed. Ghost and Nymeria followed behind them whilst Lady remained in the clearing with Sansa and her beloved prince.
Almost as though she could sense her concern for her prince's hurt, Lady quickly moved over to Joffrey: nuzzling near his face with a slight whine.
"Get your damn bitch away from me!" Came his scratchy exclamation as he angrily swatted Lady's snout with the back of his hand. Lady moved back, a pitiful expression in her eyes as though she were sorry she had worsened his temper.
"My prince, I'm so sorry for my bastard brother's behavior!" She babbled, not wanting his ire to turn into a reason for him to call off their betrothal. "I swear to you, I didn't know he would do something like this, I-"
"I don't care whether you're sorry or not!" Joffrey declared in a raspy voice, pushing himself to his feet as his right hand absently rubbed at the front of his throat. "Just get out of my sight!"
Almost in tears, Sansa obeyed, Lady trotting alongside her loyally.
Hours passed in what seemed like minutes to Sansa as she returned to her family's part of the camp and brooded over the entire disastrous encounter when a Lannister man-at-arms found her to tell her that her presence was being requested in the great hall of Plowman's Keep.
Wondering what she could possibly be needed for, Sansa obeyed the summons promptly.
As she entered the hall, she noticed many of the king's retinue such as his Kingsguard, the Queen, her golden Prince and many a Lannister solider were present. By contrast, only her father, Jory Cassel, Jon and Arya were the only members of her own household she could see in the hall.
She noticed that there was an ugly welt across Joffrey's forehead and Lion's Tooth was absent from the sheath at his side. The connection immediately became apparent when the queen asked Sansa be brought before the king.
"Sansa Stark, come forward." She said formally, her golden hair appearing to give her a slight halo in the sunlight that could be seen through the nearby windows.
Trying not to shake from nerves from the lack of warm courtesy the Queen had showed her at the grand feast in Winterfell and on the road thus far, Sansa obeyed: curtsying before the king as her mind raced in wondering what was going to happen.
"You know why you've been called here girl?" The king asked gruffly, his complexion somewhat ruddy and his eyes slightly squinted as though in some amount of pain.
"I must confess ignorance your grace." She answered.
The king sent a glance toward the queen that seemed to radiate exasperation.
"I would think that answer would prove well enough whether the boy is lying or not." He said sarcastically.
"Are you certain there is nothing you wish to confess?" The queen asked, ignoring the king's statement. Her green eyes were intent on Sansa's own blue as she continued.
"There was nothing that happened this afternoon when you were with Joffrey?" She said.
Sansa felt her heart sink to her knees.
"There…there was a minor quarrel between Prince Joffrey and my bastard brother." She said, her voice only half as tremulous as her heart felt.
The queen's gaze grew sharp as a blade.
"Your father's bastard assaulted your betrothed; the crown prince of the realm. Is that a minor offense in your eyes Lady Sansa?" She rebuked.
"No your grace!" She hurriedly protested. "Of course not!"
"And yet not a moment ago you labeled a bastard instigating a fight with the crown prince a minor quarrel." She said, waving her left hand in a dismissive gesture.
"I didn't-I mean, I didn't mean-" Sansa tried to explain, her hurry to explain what she meant causing her to draw a mental blank on what exactly she did mean to say.
"I'm going to make this very simple little dove: who instigated the fight? Your bastard sibling or your prince?" The queen asked.
"Your grace-" Her father loudly attempted to interject.
"I asked her the question, Lord Stark. I expect her to answer." The queen snapped without taking her sharp green eyes off Sansa's increasingly nervous form.
"Than for fuck's sake let her answer woman!" The king roared back in exasperation.
Sansa couldn't help how her eyes darted from Jon to Joffrey to the King to the Queen and back and forth in the seconds she had as every gaze in the hall dug into her flesh like dull knives.
"It-It all happened so fast your grace. I couldn't say for certain." She finally got out.
"LIAR!" Came the angry scream from behind her as her hair abruptly pulled her head back.
"YOU FORK-TONGUED LIAR!" Came the female voice she realized belonged to Arya as Sansa yelped in pain from her pulled hair yanking her scalp.
"Lord Stark, control your daughter!" The queen commanded over her sister's enraged shouts.
"Arya! Enough!" Their father rebuked, pulling her off Sansa as Sansa's eyes watered and her right hand inadvertently reached up to massage the part of her head that had been pulled by the hair Arya had grabbed.
"She's lying father! Jon didn't do anything!" Arya declared angrily.
"Then perhaps we should ask the other witness." The queen said. With a snap of her fingers, the smallfolk boy was brought forward from behind the Lannister men-at-arms. He looked as miserable and nervous as Sansa felt.
"And who is this meant to be?" The king asked gruffly.
The boy seemed paralyzed, unsure whether he was to answer or not.
"The butcher's son." The queen answered. "He was present when Joffrey was assaulted."
"Is this true boy?" The king asked without ceremony, looking increasingly irritated by the whole of the proceedings.
"Y-Y-Yes, your grace." He stammered. "I-I was there. It, ah, it happened as the Lady said. Too fast for anyone to see."
"Micah?" Came the softly shocked question from Arya, whose grey eyes were wider and looked as though she were seeing something painful occur right in front of her. Sansa noticed the butcher's boy never looked over at them, instead keeping his gaze firmly fixed between the royal party and the floor.
"Did you even manage to hit him boy?" The king asked her prince.
Joffrey foundered for a moment before he came back with an accusation.
"He attacked when my back was turned! She distracted me for him!" He accused, pointing at Arya as he did so.
"As though I needed any help to disarm you." Jon answered quietly.
"What was that?" Came the Queen's sharp question.
"So you confess that you assaulted the crown prince, the heir to the iron throne?" She elaborated, as though wanting to be sure everyone present knew Jon's crimes.
"What in the seven hells does it matter woman?" The king blustered.
"Seems to me all that proves is that the boy didn't pay enough attention to the damn master-at-arms." He continued.
"Do you intend to let the people think it is no crime to attack your blood? That there are no repercussions to attacking the blood of the crown?!" The queen demanded.
"And what would you have me do woman: lop Snows' hands off because my ponce of a son doesn't know how to fight his own battles?!" The king shot back in return.
"Lash him then. So he learns a lesson in striking his betters." She riposted.
"How many times did he even strike you boy?!" The king demanded of her prince.
"He-it was…what does it matter?!" Joffrey tried to bluster, his eyes suddenly darting and fearful.
"Twas no more than twice your grace." Jon offered quietly, taking a step forward from their family as though tacitly offering to accept the punishment.
"Jon!" Their father tried to warn.
"It seems clear enough I'm to be punished Lord Stark. May as well save everyone wasted time arguing." Jon said, resignation clear in his voice.
Sansa felt unable to move, unable to decide, unable to do much of anything in the face of this newly developing disaster. She didn't want Jon lashed, not when she had just been trying to get him to be well-thought of by the royal family.
She thought Tyrion Lannister had sarcastically asked if Joffrey was going to administer the punishment himself or if he was going to have Cersei do it for him again at one point but she couldn't be sure.
It was quickly deemed that Jon would suffer ten lashes for every strike he had landed upon the prince's person. She had thought that with Jon's confession that would make the lashes number twenty. But Joffrey claimed that Jon had struck him four times, doubling the number he had to take to forty.
Jon was stripped to the waist and had his arms tied to a training post where the men of Plowman's Keep practiced their morning drills. As the way Jon was tied to the training post had him facing the nearby wall, there was nothing to see but his back as each lash administered by Illyn Payne drew a line of crimson forth.
And yet all through the punishment Jon emitted no sound. Had it not been for the tensing in his back muscles every time the whip was about to strike, Sansa could truthfully not have said whether he was awake or asleep he bore so little visible reaction.
When at last the forty lashes were finished, he was untied from the post. As if the feeling of his hands being freed was a signal to his tired and abused body Jon collapsed to one knee, his back hunched and as red as a Lannister coat of arms. Disregarding everyone else as she did so, Arya raced forward to put his limp right arm over her shoulders and helped lift him up.
Surprisingly, Lady moved forward with her: her pitiful whines and licks to Jon's face seemingly attempting to try and help him in what limited way she could. Jon managed to stand mostly of his own power even as Sansa couldn't get a strange ringing and the phantom sound of additional whip cracks out of her ears as Arya and he slowly turned to bring him back to the castle.
As she hesitantly began to move forward to help her obviously fatigued and almost unconscious half-brother, Arya shot her a look of such venomous loathing that Sansa involuntarily took half a step backward. As Lady followed alongside her sister while they brought Jon inside Plowman's Keep, Sansa couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach that told her she'd made a terrible mistake.
But what else could she have done?
A/N: Not gonna lie: this really doesn't feel like my best work. A great deal of thanks goes to Will O' The Wisp for helping me make sure the events of this chapter struck true in a canon personality sense but otherwise...man, it's a lot more difficult than I thought it would be to get into Sansa's head. Especially a Sansa who thinks she's in love. But in any case, now that my work schedule has calmed down a bit and it looks like I'll at least have one full Sunday off every week, it's most likely that when I post new chapters, that's when they'll go up for all of you who want to know if I'll have any kind of consistent uploading going on. That's unfortunately the closest I can get due to how temperamental my ability with words is turning out to be. Hope you guys will let me know what you think and if there's anything I can do to make this chapter better. -Mx4