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KoW - Chapter 33
🕑 Added 2024-12-19 21:40:01 +0000 UTCSansa Stark
“To my sweet sister, who is to leave to the sandy lands of Dorne!” Joffrey exclaimed to his crowd of courtiers, raising a cup in toast.
His action is mirrored by the rest, as they cheered for the announcement.
Joffrey turns to Myrcella, who almost flinched at his gaze. Faking a charming smile, he softly held her shoulder with his hand.
“My sister has been a shining light within the halls of this capitol, she will sorely be missed.” Sansa sights his hand tightening uncomfortably around his sister’s dainty shoulder, and managed to glimpse a slight wince from her face. “Trystane Martell is a lucky man to betrothed to such a ray of sunshine.”
They were gathered in the Sept of Baelor, celebrating the alliance brokered by Tyrion Lannister between the Martells and the Lannisters, with Myrcella becoming a ward of Dorne and eventually marrying Doran Martell’s youngest son, she listened on Tyrion’s scheme, how he figured out who on the small council was spying on him to his sister by giving Varys, Littlefinger, and Pycelle different accounts of his plan.
It is therefore obvious why the grandmaester is confined to the black cells, and not feasting here, heaping mountains of frivolous flatteries at Joffrey’s feet.
This whole debacle was supposed to be a public display meant to project royal power and celebrate this union, even as Kingslanding was in the grip of famine and unrest during the war.
Even to Sansa’s naïve mind, it was very much foolish to believe that the smallfolk would believe the nobles reveling and gorging themselves whilst they were suffering as anything other than injustice.
She could hear them, with her increasingly adept skills of skinchanging, gathering outside the Sept, watching the festivities with dark expression and hushed insults.
‘I need to keep safe, on the way back to the red keep.’ She tentatively took a sip from her wine cup, wincing at the taste.
She quickly put it back down.
“Eugh, I will never know how people drink this swill.”
“A very strong desire to forget, I’d wager.” A voice echoed from her side.
She turned to its source, finding Tyrion Lannister with what he thought to be a very comforting smile.
He must have noticed her discomfort, as he raised a hand in a placating gesture of surrender.
“No funny business here, Lady Sansa.” He says. “I simply came to offer my condolences.”
“You already expressed your sorrow last time we met, Lord Hand.” She inwardly scoffs at the slight preening he shows at the mention of his title. “One time is enough.”
Tyrion lets out a slight, offended chuckle as he put a palm over his heart. “You don’t know…” She raises an eyebrow at his words, didn’t know what?
“Must be one of Joffrey’s sick tantrums.” The Imp’s expression turns apologetic. “It is truly unfortunate to be the bearer of such bad news, but I’m afraid that your uncle, Edmure Tully, has perished.”
‘Oh, that?’ Her brother told her days ago about the matter, she’d felt moderately sad, mostly for her mother, but she never met her uncle, and his death, while unfortunate, didn’t really affect her much.
“There was an escape attempt from the hostages, my own brother included, and he has fallen at Jaime’s hands, attempting to block his escape.” Tyrion, mistaking her silence for shock, explained. “I know, it must feel disingenuous coming from someone whose family brought you so much suffering.” He gently grabs her arm. “But I am truly ever so apologetic about his death.”
She stares back down with a blank expression, his tender expression seemed genuine, yet that Is what she found so dangerously wrong about Tyrion Lannister.
A man who can feel love for another, see those who are more unfortunate with kindness instead of disdain, someone who could have such a strong morality, yet able to look past it so easily to commit horrific schemes.
‘He was the one who orchestrated the escape attempt in the first place, I’m sure of it.’ She thought. ‘Yet he feels no regrets for his actions, only remorse.’
Tywin Lannister’s progeny is as sick as can be.
“My uncle was a criminal, and a rebel.” She answers. “I feel no sadness nor grief over his demise.”
Tyrion looks at her for a moment, his gaze searching for something only he knew.
“Indeed.” He sighs. “It is so...”
Sansa stared listlessly at his face, she thought his exasperated expression would have convinced if his tender heart had she not known he was responsible for her uncle’s death, so she simply kept silently looking at him until he awkwardly walked away.
The rest of the banquet was much the same, and as the court wined and dined over food they kept from the smallfolk, she simply hid her glee as she sensed the common men gather around Baelor’s Sept.
And as she stood next to the door, the guests positioning themselves in order to make for a grand exit, she bowed slightly as Joffrey stood next to her.
“That wretched creature might have ruined the surprise.” He whispered to her, alluding to the Imp. “But the truth remains the same, your brother might win battles, but while none of my family is dead, yours just seem to perish. One. By. One.” He grinned at her, his face morphing in glee as he thought he’d finally found a way to make her suffer. “One day, I will present you your brother’s head on a silver platter, and force you to eat it.” He cheerfully, tapped her shoulders. “And there is nothing you can do about it.”
She stood stock still for a moment, taking deep breaths and meditating in order to let her emotions of rage and anger wash away into the nothingness. It was a blessing that the fool thought it to be shock, him suspecting anything would be nothing but trouble.
After a while, she shifted her expression to one of fright, her act was amateurish, but for that witless bastard, it was enough.
She watched his back with barely hidden disdain as he laughed away, feeling a dark sense of humor at his coming misfortune, her senses showing her that the regal departure he was looking for wouldn’t work out the way it would.
But that comes later, first, she must secure her own safety.
She looks around, and after a while, she spots the Hound standing to the side, broody face and all, and made to stand close by.
When they opened the gates, the opulent décor of Baelor’s sept making for the seedy streets of Kingslanding, Joffrey stepped forward, expecting praise to his name.
Instead, all he received was silence, the men and women watching him cautiously, hoping for some grand announcement. ‘Perhaps he’ll give us food?’ They must think, ‘Maybe they’ll share their wealth.’
But naught came, and so the so-called king awkwardly walked past the crowd awkwardly, his “Kingsguard” pushing them aside.
“Hail to the king!” A lonely voice echoed from the cluster, followed by a laugh.
“Seven blessings to you, your grace!” Another did the same, yet its tone also left more to be desired.
Accusations and insults also started echoing, although they were barely heard, labels like bastard and tyrant, yet they seemed to resound low enough for him to ignore them.
But they got louder and louder, alongside empty flatteries and begs for sustenance, it was the insults that echoed the loudest.
Joffrey seemed to have enough, as he looked around, hoping to find someone who’d insult him to his face.
“He’s a bastard!” ”Please your grace, we’re hungry!” ”Stannis!”
Tyrion seemed to notice quickly, as he turned around to the guards. “Take the prince and princess back to the keep now!” The guards quickly did so, as they sped up in a different direction, leading Tommen and Myrcella away.
It went on, with Joffrey happy to ignore them, that is until someone threw a muddy ruck at his face.
The white cloaks instantly drew their swords, Joffrey standing back up, clutching the side of his eye.
Sansa slowly inched closer toward the Hound, feeling a mix of joy and trepidation at the situation.
“Who threw that!” A guard pulled a man who’d extended his hand more than necessary, slamming him to the ground and kicking him senseless. “Find the man who threw that and bring him to me!” Spittle flew out of Joffrey’s mouth.
A fight quickly broke out, guards hitting the crowd and the smallfolk defending themselves. Sandor took a step forward toward the prince, but he stopped once he finally noticed Sansa standing to his side.
“Kill them!” Joffrey shouted. “Kill them all!”
The Hound looks toward Joffrey who was safely surrounded by his Kingsguard then back at Sansa, before finally making a decision, and putting his free arm over his shoulder, pushing her forward toward the red keep.
Tyrion stares at his shocked sister. “Move! Move!” He says.
The guards were outnumbered by the mob, yet the people were simply malnourished people who only had rocks at most, so they were brutally pushed back.
“Come on little bird.” Sandor’s voice sounds over Joffrey’s deranged screams. “Let’s get ya to safety.”
Sansa meekly nods, she might have been present to a lot of violence lately, but the situation was still very much scary.
So she closes her eyes and lets herself get carried away, she unconsciously shares her vision with some random birds and rats, getting a glimpse at the violence, handmaidens being pulled from the retinue and into the angry horde, hungry people letting their bloodlust take control as they literally pulled their victims limbs off so they could eat them, screams and violence and death and misery, all caused by the Lannisters.
She opens her eyes, looking at the catatonic Joffrey.
‘All because of him.’
--*
Thankfully, she was escorted back safe and sound, less fortunately, Joffrey was also left intact from that whole debacle.
She laid back on her bed, a precursory check through her animals showed that of her two handmaidens, one was sent to the Queen to replace another that seemingly died at the hands of the mob, the other -Shae- was with Tyrion, doing… shameful things.
She laid back on her bed, staring at the night sky from the open window.
Her mind couldn’t help but go back to Joffrey’s words.
“And there is nothing you can do about it” He had said.
She sits up roughly.
‘Nothing?!’ She angrily thought ‘I’ll show that beast nothing!’
In truth, she had thought about retaliating for a while, and wisely, she had told Robb of it.
He had said that nothing she could do can come back to her, and that none of the big names must be affected, as that could gather too much attention.
But, there was someone who committed the gravest of sins toward her family, someone who deserves retribution, but is not important enough to be essential.
--*
General POV
In the dark of night, the Red Keep was quiet, except the wind rustling through its corridors. Ser Ilyn Payne lay in his humble room, sleeping restlessly. Moonlight streamed through a narrow window to glow dimly on Ice, the Valyrian steel greatsword that had been Eddard Stark's, beside his bed.
First, there was only the creaking of the old fortress. Then, from unseen cracks, rats appeared, their eyes shining as they crept forward. Above, pigeons fluttered onto the sill, stirring the air with their wings. The scratching and cooing grew louder until the creatures swarmed the room in a frenzy.
In an instant, the sleeping knight was overrun. Rats clung to the bedposts and pigeons fell from the air, their teeth and talons relentless. Ser Ilyn came awake too late; his silent scream lost in the cacophony. He grasped for Ice, but only found teeth and wings. The unnatural voraciousness of the swarm devoured him, leaving naught but silence.
When the guards came, they found a gruesome sight: the floor was covered in blood, mixed with torn flesh and pieces of cloth. Ser Ilyn Payne was unrecognizable, his body destroyed. Worst of all, Ice was gone, its stand empty.
By morning, the Red Keep was abuzz with rumors of dark magic and curses tied to the Stark blade. One thing was clear: the death of Ser Ilyn was as chilling as the disappearance of the legendary sword.
Comments
Dark B3rry
Thank you for the chapter!
idk5231
Hahaha sansa W.
