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GOT : Chapter 188
🕑 Added 2025-02-18 09:15:00 +0000 UTC"Place low prices for their grain, discharge most of the crown debt on them and the Lannisters, make them pay exorbitant reparations to the Tullys and Martells … in short, ruin them," Jon answered. "It's a simpler solution."
"The issue is…my brother." Arianne chuckled.
...
"Indeed. Prince Quentyn moved fast. Gods only know how; he secured four betrothals. Princess Margaery to himself, Lady Alla Tyrell to Lord Cletus Yronwood, Lyonel Tyrell to Lady Teora Toland and Lord Willas Tyrell to Lady Delilah Fowler."
Sansa chuckled.
"Prince Quentyn tied Dorne to the Tyrells."
"Which makes it impossible for us to take the paramountcy away." Jon shook his head. "With so many ties to who is arguably the most powerful kingdom at present..."
Arianne beamed at that.
"Well, the Tyrells have good backers, now. If we remove the paramountcy, we might as well spit in Dorne's face, or, worse, it will allow them to become a lot more powerful much more quickly. And even Daenerys Targaryen knows that, at present, she cannot afford that." Jon smiled. "The only thing she got was for the Reach to give up Grassy Vale, Tumbleton, Smithyton, Hammerhal and the Ring. All which are quite expendable for the Reach."
"To whom are they giving it to? Lord Edmure?" Sansa inquired.
"The Crownlands," Arianne replied. "The Stormlands is passing under direct dominion of the Crownlands, with the exception of Nightsong, Blackhaven, Fawnton, Greenstone and Harvest Hall, which will go to Dorne."
"Marchers under Dornish supremacy, this is bound to go well…" Sansa rolled her eyes while biting into an apple.
"Take it up with my brother." Arianne scoffed. "Though much of these houses are dead, which makes it easier. And any banditry has to be dealt with by the Crown…"
"Crown which will delay to answer, or just offload it on the member of House Targaryen closest to the point of conflict, which would be me." Jon said, sounding twenty years older. "Do you understand now the position I'm in?"
Sansa grimaced. "You'll have to spend a good part of your life hated by the people of the lands around you. I've seen kinder fates."
"The Ironborn, on the other hand, are an easy subject. Everyone wants them gone, and for the most part, they've achieved that themselves." Jon scoffed.
"But the issue is that no one wants to actually deal with them, and keeping them as a kingdom is out of the question. The proposition that seems to satisfy most people is to compensate the Westerlands' territorial losses by giving them most of the Iron Islands, with the Riverlands getting the rest, and the North will get Blacktyde."
Sansa tilted her head in thought. That should prevent a repeat Greyjoy Rebellion…though Ironborn are a stubborn lot.
Jon continued, "The Westerlands is losing Greenfield, Silverhill and Riverspring to the Crown, and Lord Edmure will get Deep Den and Hornvale, which will add to the Golden Tooth which he claimed through marriage.. The Lannisters will have to pay a substantial amount of gold to the North, the Riverlands and Dorne, as reparations. Casterly Rock is bound to be ruined for many generations, it's just the amounts that people are now bickering over. Everyone wants the lion's share, so to speak."
"And the Lannisters?" Sansa asked.
"Lord Kevan took the Black, Lord Lancel chose to turn to the Faith, Casterly Rock thus goes to Willem Lannister." Jon replied.
"And…Cersei?" Sansa inquired.
"She's been given to us. As compensation for father's unjust death. I'll take her head in three days," Jon solemnly declared.
"Can I…see her?" Sansa asked. "I wish…to face the monster who did this to me."
"She's in the black cells, hardly in a good state, would it be wise?" Jon asked.
"I want to, Jon. I need to show her that I won and she lost," she said, her eyes narrowing.
"Very well, but I'll have Ghost and a trusted knight escort you."
"I can send for Lord Dayne," Arianne offered.
"That's a good idea. Lord Dayne is a good knight," Jon agreed.
With that, Jon sent out the orders. They stayed a few more moments, talking about Dorne and the North, and forgetting about politics. Though, eventually, a knock was heard at the door.
Lady Tyene and Lord Dayne entered the room.
Lord Dayne was a boy around her age, if not one or two years older, with lovely blue eyes and blonde hair that bordered on silver, almost like a Targaryen.
Sansa was struck by his beauty, but immediately turned her face away, refusing to show the burned part of it.
Arianne asked Lord Dayne to escort Sansa to the black cells to see Cersei, and keep her safe at all times. He bowed and left to escort her alongside the direwolf.
"My lady, why do you turn away, what have I done to shame you so?" Lord Dayne asked while they walked down the stairs.
"I do not wish for you to see my scars, my lord," Sansa answered.
"Nonsense, you are beautiful, even with your burns. I have found that scars can be pretty," Lord Dayne replied simply.
"Even these?" Sansa turned around to show the burned part of her face.
"Even these." Lord Dayne said without flinching, even cracking a smile. "Don't be ashamed of what you are. And do not call me 'my lord', if it pleases you."
"What would I call you, then?"
"Edric, or Ned. All my friends call me Ned. If it please you, I would like you to call me that as well."
Sansa winced. "I…please do not feel insulted if I call you Edric."
"No insult received." Edric Dayne showed her the way to the black cells, going down a maze of corridors. They had to leave Ghost at a door, for he, once again, did not fit.
Finally, they arrived at the cell where Cersei was held.
"I will wait at the door," Edric said. "Call if you need any assistance."
Sansa nodded and walked down the short hall which led to a large cell. Inside it was Cersei Lannister.
She was unrecognizable. Her blonde hair was tossed all over the place, looking like a crazed witch. Her robes were torn to shreds, her jewellery was gone and her gaze seemed to wander everywhere. Finally, though, she noticed Sansa's presence.
"You." She rushed to the cell like a madwoman. "You killed my son!"
Sansa took a step back, but stayed firm.
"I wish I did," Sansa calmly replied. "I will not hide the fact that him grasping for air brought me the greatest joy imaginable. He was a monster and he died like one."
"I knew it. You killed him. I will have your head for this!" she screamed.
"You will have no one's head." Sansa shook her head. "Your reign is over."
"I am the Lady of the Rock! When my armies descend upon you, you shall cower in fear and I shall smite you all!" Cersei was ranting, now, completely mad. "You will all pay dearly for this treason."
"You did this to me." Sansa pointed to her cheek, to her burns. "I will have my due. A Lannister always pays his debts, does he not?"
Cersei growled at her, pathetically trying to reach for her.
"In three days' time, you will be dragged towards the Sept of Baelor, where you had my own father killed. The smallfolk will be there, and they will cheer for your death, as they did with mine." Sansa stood emotionless over her. "Will you accept death as calmly as he did? I wish you do not. I wish for Jon to miss his strike and you suffer before you die. I wish for you to experience the pain I did when you tore my skin apart."
Sansa took a step forward.
"You are lucky that you will not burn in dragonfire. I would have gladly heard you scream," Sansa continued, unabated. "You are lucky that my father taught Jon that he who passes the sentence must swing the sword, for I would have loved to persuade him to use his dragon's flames to burn you alive. Would Joffrey have swung the sword, I wonder? I'd wager he'd have had a better chance of him accidentally chopping off a limb. Wouldn't that be a sight?"
"You're a liar! Liar!" Cersei cried out. "The dragons are dead! Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he loved me! Not the flat-chested Dornish bitch, not the annoying Northern whore, me!"
"Enjoy your last days in your miserable cell, Cersei Lannister." Sansa smiled. "In three days, I will be in the same spot as I was four or five years ago. But this time, you will be kneeling before the headsman, and I will not be screaming. I will be smiling, knowing that you have lost and I have won.
House Lannister will be nothing. House Stark will rise to be a Princely house. Stark boys will ride dragons, while Lannister boys will only ride horses, if they are lucky. Starks will marry Princes, Great Lords and Honorable lines, while Lannisters will be lucky if they marry Westerlings or Ironborn. We have won your stupid game, Cersei Lannister. Enjoy the Seven Hells."
Sansa did not listen to the screeching behind her. All she could think about was the great burden that was lifted from her shoulders, and the grin that had settled on her otherwise emotionless face. Cersei Lannister was right. In the Game of thrones, you win or you die. Sansa won, and Cersei would die.
And that was truly the most beautiful thing in the world.
