Chapter Text
Chapter One
Sansa Stark remembered sitting beside her husband at the King’s wedding.
She remembered the pigeon pie and Joffrey’s wormy lips pulling into a cruel smile as he told her husband to pour his wine. She remembered Tyrion looking up at the King with the same disdain Sansa often did. She remembered Cersei laughing and drinking wine and Tywin watching all and Margaery pretending to be as happy with her husband as he was with her.
She remembered Joffrey’s face turning purple. She remembered his lips pulling back into a snarl of rage that soon turned to fear. She remembered Cersei’s screams and the way her wine had spilled down her gown as her hand loosened around her chalice. She remembered the look on the Queen Regent’s face when she held her son and watched the life drain from him one moment at a time.
Sansa remembered the guards tearing through the crowd and seizing Tyrion on the Queen Regent’s orders and dragging him down to the dungeon. She remembered being pushed to the floor by Cersei, who had screamed and screamed until her voice grew hoarse and her throat raw.
She remembered the feel of Cersei’s hands turning to fists in her long red hair, screaming that it was not to be worn loose. Sansa remembered the sick, perverse satisfaction she felt upon looking at Joffrey’s body and Cersei’s sorrow and Tywin’s disbelief.
She remembered it all as clearly as if it had happened three days prior, instead of three months.
Sometimes as she sat in her chamber, her fingers running through her auburn hair and her shoulders rolling- she sometimes did so to see if she could still feel the sharp pain from Joffrey’s whipping on her back, she wondered how different her life would be if Ser Dontos had never been caught.
Luckily for her the fool had said nothing of her involvement in the King’s murder. Thought Sansa was able to play innocent as she passed Dontos’ head posted on a spike outside the castle walls, Cersei knew, as she always did. Sansa had worn her best blank stare, even feigned a tear as she looked upon the severed head.
She had turned away, holding tighter to Cersei’s arm, and whispered how shameful it was to cry for a murderer. The Queen Regent’s lips had tightened and her eyes had narrowed but she did not speak, only continued to walk through the gardens with Sansa on her arm.
Sansa was in her bedchambers watching her handmaidens flutter about, opening curtains, straightening bed sheets, and filling her ivory bath tub. There was a knock on her door, just as Sansa had wrapped a robe around her pale shoulders. Margaery Lannister entered without waiting for an answer and strode to Sansa, her dark curls bouncing and a smile playing at her lips.
“My sweet Sansa.” She said and Sansa pulled her robe tighter around herself. She knew she ought to feel self-conscious, as her mesh robe was barely thicker than a bed sheet and she knew Margaery could see right through it, but Sansa could not bring herself to care. “King Tommen has summoned you to court this morning.”
“To court?” repeated Sansa.
“He wishes to see you right away.” Continued the older girl and then went about ordering Sansa’s handmaidens around. “After you have dressed of course.” She continued as she looked down at Sansa’s dressing robe. “You will break your fast with him and Lord Tywin.”
Sansa bathed quickly and let her handmaidens run their fingers through her hair and wash her long legs. Margaery sat on a stool beside the tub and ran her fingers through the steaming water, speaking of her great hunger and equally great excitement as to what Sansa had been summoned for.
Sansa picked her favorite perfume and dabbed a bit behind each ear and at each of her wrists, as her mother had once taught her before she dressed in a dark red gown with long sleeves and a long train. She descended the stairs with Margaery at her side, babbling animatedly about Tommen’s kittens and their names and fluffy furs.
Tommen Baratheon was sitting in the Iron Throne, looking quite ridiculous as he did so. The chair was so large and daunting it nearly swallowed the boy and Sansa remembered Margaery telling her stories of how he had been cut by the jagged swords melded into the steel. Sansa would have found it funny if it had been Joffery, but Tommen was as sweet as honey and as kind as his mother was unkind.
Tywin Lannister was at his side, his face long and deadpan, his eyes following the two women as they crossed the long hall. Sansa remembered how she had once felt so intimidated by him. She supposed she still should, but she had little interest in caring about the things she could not change.
He greeted her crisply, as he always did and gestured for her to be seated across the table from him. The servants filled the hall with the sound of silver platters being placed on the table and the smells of fresh peasant. Sansa’s stomach rumbled and her cheeks lightly flushed.
She had barely eaten a few bites of fried bread when King Tommen spoke. “Sansa, have you visited by uncle in the dungeons?” he asked.
Sansa knew that it may be Tommen’s voice but it was Tywin’s words. “No, your grace. I have not seen him since…” she trailed off.
“You have had no contact with him whatsoever?” the little King asked. Sansa shook her head. “That it good.” He responded, looking at his grandfather out of the corner of his eye. “I have made a decision.” He said suddenly, after a long bit of silence. A bit of egg slid off Sansa’s fork.
“Yes, my lord?” she said and her voice wavered, as it had not for months. She wondered if they would execute her for treason as Cersei had threatened, or lock her in a cell beside her husband.
“Your marriage with my uncle was not consummated.” He stated. That was hardly a decision, but Sansa did not question the King. Sansa wondered if King Tommen even knew what it meant to consummate a marriage. The most she knew Margaery and Tommen shared a bed but Tommen only liked to cuddle and sometimes bury his face in her chest. Though it was innocent, Margaery insisted.
“No, my lord.” Tywin watched her for signs of falsity but Sansa knew her face betrayed nothing. She had trained herself to be as cold as the Southerners accused the Northerners to be. Her eyes were cold and her face stony, mirroring Lord Tywin’s.
“Then your marriage was not so.” Said the King, struggling with a slice of tomato.
“My Lord?”
“My council informs me that without a consummation of marriage, a marriage is not a marriage.” Said Tommen. By council he, of course, meant his grandfather. “So you are once again Sansa Stark.”
Sansa was not sure what to say. So she remained quiet. “Now that you are once again an unmarried woman.” Began the King’s Hand. “You will be wed again.”
Sansa’s heart plummeted. Her fork clattered down against her plate. “My Lord?” she cursed herself for her quavering voice.
As the last remaining heir to Winterfell, they have great need for you, Petyr Baelish had once told her. But he had begged her to come with him because he needed her just the same. In his game of thrones he planned to be the King, and what is a King without a Queen.
“You will wed again.” repeated Tywin, as if Sansa was too soft of head to understand his words.
“To whom?” she asked. Tommen was already wed. Tyrion was marked a traitor. Jaime was a man of the Kingsguard. Unless Tywin…
She shuddered at the thought and she felt Margaery’s hand rest upon her knee beneath the table. Tywin seemed to sense her discomfort and smiled cruelly. Her mother had often told her than older men liked to marry younger girls, and her father had once assured her that she would never be one of those girls.
Sansa imagined Tywin’s wrinkled hands on her. His cruel lips on her neck. “My son.” The King’s Hand said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Lord Tyrion?” Margaery said.
Tywin cast her a dark look. “My other son.” He said through gritted teeth.
“But my Lord Jaime is a man of the Kingsguard.” Said Sansa aghast. Her stomach was rumbling, though it was not from hunger. She, along with every other person in the realm, had heard the rumors of Jaime and Cersei.
She had heard her father’s words, the words that had marked him for death. She looked upon Tommen and all she saw was Cersei’s golden hair and light eyes. She frowned and told herself that Cersei’s blood had overpowered Robert’s instead of the thought that made her cringe.
“As the King,” began Tommen uncertainly, looking at Tywin as if his words were a question instead of a statement. Tommen may wear the golden crown but Tywin was the true King, and everyone in King’s Landing knew so. “I am able to change the laws of my guard. Jaime Lannister shall be allowed to wed, and to be wed to you.”