Flame Wolfe: Henrik is known for being headstrong, so he's definitely going to speak out. Thank you!
Henrik V
Nobody was doing anything. Henrik looked around and saw that most people's gaze was fixed on the King, wide-eyed glints of anticipation shining visibly, instead of Lady Sansa. Others tensed and looked towards the ground. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? How could they all just stand there?
"Get her up!" yelled the King impatiently.
An old man next to Henrik flinched but otherwise remained silent. The Hound pulled her to her feet. Henrik's chest burned as he glared at the King, who wasn't paying attention to him.
"Someone has to stop this," he muttered to Rubin. "Lady Sansa shouldn't be subjected to this. No one should, it's cruel. Why are the Knights not doing anything?" he demanded, catching a few interested glances from those close by who heard him.
Rubin gripped his arm tight, dissuading him from leaving. "Lower your voice. Don't you even think about it, Master Henrik," he hissed, narrowing his eyes. "I know you. Do not be foolish — it's not up to us to question his Grace's actions. The girl is a traitor after all, or have you forgotten that tiny fact?"
"That doesn't mean she should be made a mockery of in front of the whole court," he snapped back, furious that Rubin wouldn't see his way. "What kind of men are they? Treating a highborn lady like this. It's despicable."
He motioned towards the White Cloaks, jutting his chin out. Rubin clenched his jaw but refused to answer. Henrik scoffed and watched with bated breath as Ser Lancel Lannister stepped forwards on command of the King.
"Ser Lancel," King Joffrey spat, glaring daggers at Sansa, "tell her of this outrage."
There was neither pity nor kindness in the look Lancel Lannister gave Sansa. Henrik felt baffled. What had she done that was so terrible to invoke the anger of the King and be treated as if she were a straw dummy in the practice yard by his Knights?
"Using some vile sorcery, your brother descended with an army of wargs, not three days' ride from Lannisport. Thousands of good men were butchered as they slept, without the chance to lift swords. After the slaughter, the northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."
Lord and ladies alike gasped and raised their hands to their mouths, some fanning themselves. It looked as if most people believed it. Rubin made the sign of the seven-crossed star on his chest and whispered a silent prayer under his breath. Henrik was less impressed.
"Wargs and wild tales. Is he making some sort of jest?" said Henrik, shaking his head, feeling incredulous beyond words. It was as if he were watching this happen like a terrible dream. "That's beyond the realms of what men are capable of, even northmen. Don't tell me you believe that horseshit?"
"Mind your tongue, Master Henrik. And might I remind you that those men include House Farman's bannermen, your father's men," Rubin pointed out, tightening his grip against Henrik's arm. "Brave men, aiding him, who gave their lives to defend his Grace's Kingdom against a usurper. I would show a little more offence to that if I were you. The King has his reasons, you must see that. She could be aiding her brother without us knowing." Rubin tossed a suspicious look at Sansa.
"Forgive me," said Henrik, tilting his head, "I didn't realise that Lady Sansa was skilful enough to travel miles of land and slaughter our men by her own hands and travel back without anyone noticing." He raised an eyebrow. "Are you honestly hearing yourself? You sound like a raving lunatic."
"This isn't a joke, Henrik!" said a frustrated Rubin, yanking him closer. Rubin's voice lowered as people threw eager, inquisitive looks at the pair. "For your own sake, let this play out. Don't defend a traitor's daughter. Think of what your father would say."
Henrik's voice came out harshly. "Yes, well, he's not here, is he? And besides, she wasn't there in her brother's battle, can't you understand? Oh, no —" he shook his head, smiling humorlessly at Rubin's hard-set face, and gesturing with his eyes towards Joffrey. "I know what all this is. This is because his pride is wounded that he's losing this war so far. He's taking it out on Lady Sansa like the coward that he is."
Rubin's breath hitched and he closed his eyes, his thin lips taunt and white. Sansa trembled and Henrik noticed that despite the panic and fear she showed, her voice remained steady enough to plead for the King's mercy. Joffrey aimed his crossbow at her, cutting off her entreaties. Henrik clenched his fists and stepped forwards but Rubin quickly tugged him back with fierce strength. He glowered angrily at the older man.
"Let go," he warned lowly.
Rubin didn't look at him. "No, I won't let you."
"You won't let me?" repeated Henrik slowly.
"Forgive me, my young lord, but I won't let you take this irrational risk. This is beyond stupid even for you, it's downright suicidal. I'm doing this for your own good. We're already creating a scene."
Henrik gritted his teeth, loathing Rubin's voice and presence. "I don't give a flying fuck about that, and it's not up to you to decide what —" He was interrupted by Joffrey's loud voice.
"You'll just be punished and we'll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Boros. Meryn."
Henrik forgot Rubin for a second as he stared in horror, biting his tongue so hard that he swore he tasted blood. Punished how? Surely not. Ser Boros seized Sansa roughly. What the fuck —? Rubin was so surprised that he dropped Henrik's arm as his mouth lay open.
"Leave her face," Joffrey commanded nonchalantly, sitting back down on his throne. "I like her pretty."
Henrik's breathing slowed and so did his vision. Boros slammed a heavy fist into Sansa's belly, driving the air out of her. Henrik snarled, anger blooming in his chest, as she yelled doubled over, her face twisted in pain. Sniggers erupted from the crowd as they turned their heads to catch a glimpse like vultures clawing for bloody scraps of flesh from a corpse. It was a sickening image, one that made bile rise in the back of his throat. Everything he was sure of had tilted on its head.
Henrik had let his guards have the day off, otherwise, he would have instructed them to stop this — he was on his own. He knew he had to do something, and fast.
"I'm putting an end to this if no one else will," he vowed, with a brazen look at Rubin, who gripped his arm once more. Seven hells, how can an old man have so much strength, thought Henrik bitterly.
"You'll only get yourself into trouble, Master Henrik," he cautioned, though his resolve was weaker as his face was pale from the sight. "This will only end badly, I promise you. Going against the King is treason."
Henrik wrenched his arm away as Sansa's cry of pain echoed once more in his ear and uttered boldly, "Then so be it."
In an instant, heads spun towards his direction as he marched to the front and drew his sword, clanging against the sharp edge of Ser Boros Blount's weapon before the honorless Knight could strike Sansa. He struck swiftly, pushing back Blount's hand until he was forced to drop his weapon with a yelp, which made a clattering sound as it hit the floor. Before the Knight could howl his objections, Henrik aimed a kick at his chest, hurling him to the ground with a thud.
Suddenly, he found himself facing a dozen swords from the Kingsguard, some an inch away from his heart. He'd feel the blood ooze from his finger if he reached out to touch one right now. Only the Hound stood motionless, squinting at him as if he couldn't quite see him. Henrik swallowed harshly against his dry throat but gripped the hilt of his sword and glared back, his heart thumping loudly. He'd never had to face this many men in a fight before, not even in the training, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, boy?" exclaimed Meryn Trant.
Joffrey leapt from his throne and stared at the scene with furrowed brows. "What is the meaning of this? Lord Henrik, what are you doing?" he demanded. "I never told you to stop. She hasn't been punishing enough."
"I do believe that's quite enough, your Grace," Henrik said, not removing his gaze from Trant for one second.
Blount jumped to his feet and his face turned an angry shade of red until he resembled a bright, fat plum. "I will have your head for that, boy."
"Mind you down trip over your own large, clumsy feet, Ser," stated Henrik dryly and tensed his muscles in anticipation.
He realised that he was all that stood between them and Sansa and some men were taller and more broad-chested than him. His indignation and outrage grew all the more. Weren't they supposed to be Knights who protected the Realm and had taken vows to protect the innocents, not whatever this travesty showed?
"Stop it!" Joffrey snapped and Blount obeyed yet stared hatefully at Henrik. Joffrey exhaled loudly and turned his ire towards him. "And you, my lord! I will decide when she's had enough. How dare you question your King! Ser Meryn, make her naked and beat her bloody."
Mutterings erupted around the room. As Henrik looked down, he saw Sansa peering up at him with terror in her eyes, her hands reaching out to grasp the edge of his doublet. Henrik's face flushed as hotly as the embers of a fireplace when he noticed Blount take a step forwards.
"Touch her, take another step, or raise your sword, and I will make you choke on your own blood," growled Henrik, his muscles tight. He'd never let his guard down once, not surrounded by these pathetic Knights. Blount stopped in his tracks, hesitating as he regarded the determined look in Henrik's eye. "What kind of men do you call yourselves?" Henrik spat in disgust.
"I don't answer to you, boy, I serve the King," barked Trant, a string of spit flying out his mouth like a rabid dog. "And I will cut your pretty face up if you don't move out of the way."
Henrik could feel the tension in the air, but he stood his ground. A lock of hair fell over his eye as he looked the Knight in the face and declared, "I'd dare you to try, you dumb prick — you'll be short of multiple limbs, I assure you."
A second of silence passed as no one moved. Henrik hardly dared to breathe; he'd never been so focused in his life.
"You dare challenge me!" yelled Joffrey, frowning at him. "I said I was the one who would decide when she has had enough, and I said to beat her bloody!" He stamped his foot and yelled, "I am the King!"
Henrik knew he should have been afraid as he met the gaze of said King, who was one command away from having him thrown in the dungeons and imprisoned for defying him. But there was nothing but the steady pounding of his head, the feel of the smooth handle of his sword, and a deep desire to bash his fist into the face of the scowling, pompous, blonde-haired brat and watch as his skin and flesh mixed to mush. He stepped in front of Sansa, shielding her view of the Knights. A roaring wave rushed over him as he glared.
"None of your men will lay a hand on her," he said firmly to Joffrey. "I will not allow it."
"I can have your tongue out for your insolence!" Joffrey shrieked, his face contorted in rage.
Rubin marched forwards when he sensed the peril, pushing Henrik to the side and addressing the King. "Your Grace, please, I humbly beg pardon," he reasoned in an agitated tone with a deep, respectful bow. "My lord is young and impulsive. He does not mean it; he is a boy, new to court life. We are loyal to the crown, I beg your Grace. House Farman serves you."
"He questioned me — a King can do what he likes," snapped Joffrey but considered Rubin curiously. "This girl has wolf blood, she is a traitor. She must be punished for her part. Surely he knows that? His father is fighting in the war, is he not? Those northern savages killed a bunch of our men."
"Yes, your Grace, of course; you are right. He is, and he understands that, it's just that my young lord is—"
Henrik interrupted with scorn. "Did your royal Grace miss the very obvious, very important detail that Lady Sansa didn't fight in the battle herself? Or did you just want to beat a defenceless girl?"
"What did you say?" demanded the King dangerously.
"Henrik! You silly boy, hush!" Rubin hissed, but Henrik pushed away the hand that wanted to drive him away from the plain sight of the King.
Before anyone could say anything further, the door to the throne room opened.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The infamous Imp's voice cracked like a whip, distracting everyone in the throne room. Henrik had never met Tyrion Lannister up close but he had heard tales of him like everyone else in Seven Kingdoms. He strolled in accompanied by two unfamiliar faces, presumably sellswords by the looks of them. Tyrion was a dwarf but he knew how to command the attention of the throne room as every eye followed his movements.
"Why are you here?" frowned Joffrey with a petulant tone, his attention distracted at the sight of his uncle.
Henrik ignored the family reunion as he glanced down at Sansa, his eyes unwavering. He sheathed his weighty sword. Her body trembled as she clutched her belly, apprehension etched onto her countenance.
He immediately cursed in his mind and unfastened his cloak, draping it over her gently, which covered her whole body. He sensed Rubin glaring into the side of his head at his movements. She flinched but her eyes shone with faint gratitude beyond the lingering fear as she clutched the material to her chest, fists bunched so tight that her knuckles turned white. His heart constricted as he noticed how small she appeared in his cloak despite her tall frame. He held out his hand to pull her to her feet and she took it.
"Thank you, my lord," she murmured with a soft undertone of appreciation as if he'd done a grand, glorious feat.
Henrik's head dropped and he spoke in a voice quiet enough so only she could hear. "I'm truly sorry that I wasn't able to act sooner."
He meant it despite the look Sansa gave him. His mind was plagued with a mixture of emotions. If only he could have stopped Blount from striking her in the stomach. His eyes ran over it and he imagined the skin was quite bruised, which caused his anger to spike again. He should have landed a punch at Blount at least instead of a hard kick. A taste of his sword more like, bet he would have loved that, thought Henrik darkly.
"Bronn, Timett, bring her," motioned Tyrion Lannister towards his men.
Sansa's eyes widened a tad and Henrik narrowed his gaze at the two newcomers' rough expressions, his hand automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword. After Joffrey's Knights, he didn't trust these strange men either. They belonged to the dwarf, who was rumoured to be a drunken, lecherous little creature. And his men would be the same.
"My lord, peace, lower your sword. I give you my word that Bronn and Timett won't harm her," urged the dwarf with raised hands and a reassuring expression. "I'd wager they're taking her to some maids who'll be able to take care of her."
Sansa gave a delicate, tentative nod and Henrik removed his grip reluctantly, but still felt wary. He still didn't trust them, not after everything he'd seen, but he couldn't make the lady's decisions for her. If she thought they were acceptable to escort her, then he just had to accept it. He followed them as the Imp's men led her away and out of the throne room.
Joffrey scowled fiercely at his uncle but the dwarf quirked his eyebrows up. "Pleasure to see you as always, dear nephew." He turned his attention to Henrik with a tiny smile appraising him slowly. "And you must be Lord Henrik, heir to House Farman." He addressed him with a smirk. "Yes, your father mentioned you when I met him. Come walk with me."
Henrik raised an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably, but followed the man after a moment. The dwarf was hardly going to attack him unattended but still felt like he should be on his guard. He could feel Joffrey's fuming stare at the backs of their heads as they walked through the doors and out into the hallway. Rubin trailed behind, eyeing the dwarf with barely concealed disdain. Henrik ignored his Captain of the Guards as if he were an irksome pest.
"You're the one they call the Imp," Henrik said bluntly out of curiosity, not able to look away. The dwarf's grotesque face was so ugly in an odd fascination and he only reached up to Henrik's knees.
"My lord," muttered Rubin with gritted teeth.
"Ha! No, no, the boy's correct," Tyrion Lannister huffed out a laugh with a wave of his hand. "Imp is what I'm known as and so Imp I must be, of that I have no doubt." He lowered his head in acknowledgement. "But they call me Tyrion usually. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord."
"I'm Henrik," he replied, and then swallowed, recognising Tyrion's full words. "You — you said that you met my father?" he asked, not wanting to seem too keen. "Is he well?"
"Yes, I did. He's very much well." Henrik unclenched his fists. "Lord Farman's a quiet man I must say," smirked Tyrion. "Though I'm sure my father's presence gets overbearing for him sometimes, not that I blame him. I think he rather liked me despite the constant frown. But he did mention you, yes. You're much different than him, just as he said and it seems you've proven him right." Tyrion eyed him as if he was sharing a private joke with himself.
Henrik looked towards the ground. "Different. . . yes, that's my father. . ." he mumbled.
"I wouldn't worry about it, I think he meant it in a good way." Tyrion chuckled. "He sang about your praises with a sword. If only I could have arrived earlier and seen it. You certainly knocked Meryn Trant off his feet. It was about time."
Rubin sounded his disapproval with a small huff.
"I fear you're joking at my expense, Lord Tyrion," said Henrik, pursing his lips. The only thing to come out of his father's mouth is his lectures and scoldings for skipping out on a lesson with the Maester. Fearsome creatures from the old wives' tales will walk before his father utters a good word about him.
Tyrion raised his eyebrows in surprise. "On the contrary, I have it on my own good authority. But that aside, I bring news of your father. He's away from the thick of the fighting and stays mostly at my father's side," explained Tyrion. "He's a good advisor according to my dear father. Shame neither smiles very often. Or drinks as much."
"Has he asked for me?" asked Henrik, picturing himself riding his horse towards the North and joining his father's men.
Tyrion shook his head, meeting his eyes as his face softened."No, Henrik, sorry to say but he never mentioned anything of the sort. He hopes you're well and busy and has assigned me to keep an eye on you when I'm back in the capital."
Henrik exhaled loudly. "I don't need a dwarf to watch over me — I'm not a child," he scowled, before realising how rude that sounded. But Tryion simply considered him.
"No, my lord, I dare say you aren't."
Henrik shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his stare, disliking the glint in Tyrion's eye. It was as if he was staring into his very heart and Henrik couldn't make out a thing about him except that he was short and liked to make jokes.
"Tell me," said Tyrion. "How are you finding the capital? I dare say that it's different from what you're used to. The stench and filth of Kings Landing must be dreary compared to the soft hills and pretty picture of Fair Isle. And the people are different too." He smiled.
Henrik blinked, not expecting the question. He felt a pang in his chest as Tyrion described his home. "It's. . . unexpected," he settled on.
Tyrion chortled as they passed some guards. "Yes, well, that's one way of putting it. My kingly nephew is a huge cunt is what I gather your true meaning to be. Everyone knows it, except my sister, of course."
Rubin began coughing. Tyrion raised an eyebrow and asked if he wanted some water and Rubin denied his offer.
Henrik threw him a surprised look. "Yes. . ." he answered sheepishly after a moment, liking how blunt Tyrion seemed.
He almost expected one of the White Cloaks to jump out of the shadows and strike him down for voicing his thoughts. It was refreshing to hear someone agree with him on Joffrey and he was glad to see he wasn't alone in his opinions no matter how much Rubin disapproved. There were some sane men in the Red Keep after all.
"Then I'm sorry you had to witness that scene," said Tyrion soberly. "Lady Sansa should have not been subjected to that at all."
Henrik's expression darkened at the remembrance. "No, she shouldn't have."
Tyrion sighed. "Joffrey was particularly wroth today after we heard the news this morning and took out his anger on the poor lady because of the northerners crushing victory."
Henrik was quick to reply. "That doesn't mean she should have had to bear the consequences of it no matter his feelings. This is meant to be kept between men."
"Calm yourself, Henrik, I was merely explaining the reason. Believe me, I am the last person to defend Joffrey." Tyrion narrowed his eyes at him. "So quick to anger, aren't you? Pray keep a lid on it or it may end up costing you." He tapped the end of his nose with a small smile.
Henrik was silent as he thought. He spoke with a furrowed brow. "Can I speak earnestly? Do you mean to harm Lady Sansa? Do your men? You stopped the King but I can't figure out what your interest is in Lady Sansa."
Tyrion was taken aback. "Of course not, I'm not Joffrey, fortunately, though I am a Lannister, much to my father's dismay. But I am not so monstrous despite what tales might dictate. Rest assured, Lady Sansa will not be harmed, not by me or my men, she is my guest."
Henrik hummed, crossing his arms behind his back and thinly smiled. "I hope what you say is true, my lord. For the lady's sake."
Tyrion held his gaze. "It is." He stopped for a second and Henrik did too. His voice turned faintly serious with an undercurrent of concern as Tyrion studied him. "But a word of advice, Henrik. Your father mentioned that you were impulsive and headstrong and he wasn't entirely wrong. It was a brave thing you did for Lady Sansa, not many men would have done it. And for that reason, I'd warn you not to display yourself so easily. You've probably figured that everyone here is hiding a mask, do you understand me? The masks never come off."
Henrik wrinkled his nose. It didn't make any sense to him but he didn't mention this to Tyrion.
"She is a Stark above all, my lord, her brother wages a war against my family and your father aids my father, loyally I might add. Just something to remember."
Henrik blinked at the line of conversation. "I know that," he said.
Tyrion smiled wanly and nodded curtly. "Then I will bid you good day." He bowed and smirked at Rubin's scornful sneer at him.
Henrik watched him as he disappeared around a corner, more bewildered than he ever had been before. What was all that about, he thought. How strange.
Rubin scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't like the dwarf, Master Henrik," he said. "He says the most unnatural things."
Henrik sighed in irritation. "You don't like anyone," he retorted and slid away, hoping to lose the presence of the older man.
Henrik went looking for Sansa the next day. He met her as she was wandering through the gardens, plucking absently at the flowers. She was accompanied by Lord Tyrion's men though she looked rather uncomfortable at their presence. One of the men eyed him warily as he approached but didn't do anything to stop him. He took that as a good sign.
"My lady," he said softly as she locked eyes with him and surprise flickered in hers.
It took her a while to close her parted lips and speak. "Lord Henrik."
Her voice was hoarse and guarded. He deflated this but given the circumstances, he didn't blame her. He wondered if she'd cried herself to sleep.
Now that she was in front of him, he found himself lost for words. "How—" He cleared his throat. "How are you this morning, my lady," he asked, scanning her face for any indication of discomfort. "I trust you slept well."
"Quite well, my lord, thank you for asking."
"Good, good."
She twirled the flower between her fingers as silence fell. Henrik fiddled with his thumbs. He took the jump, the urge welling up inside him.
"May I trouble you for a moment of your time, my lady," he asked suddenly, causing Sansa to raise her head.
Sansa nodded slowly and looked to the sellswords, who merely shrugged and snuck off somewhere else. Henrik frowned at them before offering his arm to Sansa. She took it gracefully as they strolled.
"Do Tyrion's men treat you well, my lady?" he inquired.
"Well enough, I am grateful for their protection," she admitted quietly. She turned to the side with an anxious expression. "You were most kind to help me yesterday, my lord. It wasn't so bad this time."
Henrik stopped in his tracks, shock colouring his features. "This time?" he repeated, hoping she'd misspoken. "Sansa?"
Sansa turned around to face him, letting go of his arm. "My lord?"
"This time. So this has happened before?" he demanded. "Has the King's guards beaten you before?"
Sansa didn't reply and Henrik got his answer. He shut his eyes and clenched his fists.
"How can you still marry someone like Joffrey? After all that he's done to you?" he questioned, his voice unsteady.
"His Grace is my one true love," she replied quickly. "I love him."
Henrik stared at her. "We both know you're lying," he frowned, crossing his arms, and Sansa was not able to look at him properly. "How about you say something true and not parroted?" His voice turned stubborn.
Sansa took in a wobbly breath. "I-I speak the truth. . ."
"Really? You're happy to marry him?" His tone was full of disbelief.
"He is as beloved to me as ever before."
Henrik scoffed, dropping his arms. If it hadn't been for the tremor of her hands and how unfeeling Sansa said her words along with the lack of emotion in her eyes, he would have believed her.
"I don't believe you," he proclaimed and watched how her eyes blinked rapidly. "I know you're not being entirely truthful. So what is it that you truly want, Sansa? You can trust me."
Sansa locked her fingers together and placed them below her stomach. Her expression shifted. "No one can trust anyone," she said.
Henrik stepped back. Since their meeting, that was the first thing she said that she meant.
"You can trust me," he said softly, lowering his voice. "I won't let Joffrey touch you again, I promise," he said staunchly. "You have my word."
Sansa smiled a tad as if he were a young baby showing her own of his toys. It made him feel worse as he felt his heart sink.
"Forgive me, my lord, but your word doesn't mean much to me. Just as a Knight's vow." She then blinked, her eyes clearing to a mannerly expression. "I thank you, my lord, for accompanying me this morning. I wish you a good day."
Henrik sighed. She didn't believe him. How could she? Not with the way people have treated her. "Well, at least allow me the honour to accompany you back, my lady."
Sansa approved and the rest of the walk was quiet where Henrik snuck discreet glances at her when she wasn't looking. She tensed every time they passed a guard, which strengthened his resolve. Sansa may not believe him but his father always said he's been annoyingly stubborn. If he said he'll keep her safe then he will, even if they were on opposite sides of the war.
I'm not entirely sure about this chapter, but I'm eager to know what you thought.