
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2840936.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      game_of_thrones, A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Joffrey_Baratheon/Sansa_Stark, Joffrey_Baratheon/Margaery_Tyrell, Joffrey
      Baratheon/Myrcella_Baratheon, Joffrey_Baratheon/Original_Character(s),
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark, Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark, Tyrion_Lannister/
      Sansa_Stark, Tyrion_Lannister/Shae
  Character:
      Joffrey_Baratheon, Sansa_Stark, Cersei_Lannister, Shae_(ASoIaF), Sandor
      Clegane
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Romance, First_Love, Past_Child_Abuse, Rape_Fantasy, Rape/Non-con
      Elements, Sadism, Masochism, Choking, Unhappy_Ending, Tragedy, Parent-
      Child_Relationship, Bad_Parenting, Dysfunctional_Family, Family_Drama,
      Animal_Abuse, In_Character, Falling_In_Love, Stockholm_Syndrome, Mother-
      Son_Relationship, Vaginal_Fisting, Object_Penetration, Arousal_during
      abuse, Dubiously_Consensual_Blow_Jobs, Butt_Slapping, First_Time, Rape
      Roleplay
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-12 Chapters: 18/? Words: 69243
****** The Thrill and the Hurting ******
by HarmonicFriction
Summary
     Sansa slips into shadows. She can play Joffrey's games or perish on
     his horrific playground. She realizes she must invent a new persona
     to suit her mad king's desires. Joffrey is plagued by unsettling
     flashbacks that may explain his gruesome hobbies. As the memories
     become more vivid,he must face a very dark secret he repressed during
     childhood. This secret may either push him toward light and sanity,
     or bring him closer to his demons. Now Sansa and Joffrey play in the
     shadows, together.
Notes
     Cross-posted from Fanfiction.net. This romance is dark, unhappy and
     (based on the response from readers on ff.net) slightly
     controversial. Will be the same plot-wise but with more graphic
     detail not permitted on ff.net. Heed warnings and (hopefully!) enjoy.
***** Lessons *****
 
 
                                     . . .
                                     SANSA
                                     . . .
===============================================================================
                                        
SANSA STARK used to wish she had never left Winterfell, and before that (so, so
long ago) she used to daydream about being anywhere but Winterfell. She'd
thought King's Landing sounded like a spectacular, beautiful place with actual
lords, ladies, kings, queens and knights, instead of her boring siblings,
nagging Mother, and annoyingly protective Father. Sansa would sit in her
lessons and dream of her future somewhere bigger and brighter than Winterfell,
somewhere she'd be recognized for the perfect lady she knew she was deep down.
Sansa's wishes as a young girl were very exact: she wanted a comfortable home,
a handsome and gallant husband, and exactly three children (two girls and one
boy).
When she turned thirteen, those dreams she focused so heavily on each night
while praying to the Gods, those dreams she thought about during sewing with
her Septa, those dreams she'd figured could only happen in ages and ages, were
going to soon be a reality! Sansa was informed that she may have an impending
betrothal and all the more exciting was the fact that her husband-to-be (if all
went according to planned) was not simply a knight or a lord. He was Joffrey
Baratheon, of the houses Baratheon and Lannister, heir and prince of Westeros!
Joffrey's father was Sansa's father's best friend, KingRobert, and Sansa just
knew in her heart that she would fall in love with Prince Joffrey the moment
she saw him. How could she not? She knew he would be handsome, nurturing and
kind, just as she'd always hoped her future love would be. When she badgered
her parents for information about the prince's looks and his favorite
activities and foods, they soon grew unresponsive. Her father finally admitted
he did not know much, except he recalled Joffrey had taken after his mother,
sporting green eyes and hair of Lannister gold. Sansa knew he'd be beautiful,
she just knew.Jon Snow, Father's bastard son, mockingly told her he'd heard
from Theon the prince was a cunt who looked like a pretty girl. Infuriated and
tearful, Sansa knew right then how different she was from those in her family,
and how much she needed to be in King's Landing with Joffrey, her one true
love. How soon Sansa's dreams changed.
From the moment Sansa saw Joffrey ride in proudly on his stallion, she knew
there was no other way she could live her life but be Joffrey's bride, his
future queen. He jumped effortlessly off his horse and smiled straight at Sansa
and she felt her heart melt into a puddle inside her chest. He was perfect. She
looked excitedly to her little sister Arya for approval but Arya was far more
interested in where Joffrey's uncle, the "Imp", had gone. Sansa shushed her
sister and focused on the handsome boy before her. Prince Joffrey was tall and
straight-backed with gleaming white teeth and gorgeous blond curls that made it
look like he was already wearing a crown, or even a halo. His eyes were
expressive and his forehead wasn't too large, and he was dressed in the finest
Southern garb, a velvet riding coat in Lannister red and well-polished riding
boots. Sansa was instantly in love, and she fell even harder when Joffrey
protected her from two of his men, a frightening mute by the name of Ser Illyn
Payne and his sworn shield, a badly burned and scary man named Clegane who
Joffrey coolly referred to as his "Dog". Her heart beat in her chest when
Joffrey invited her to ride with him around Winterfell for the purpose of
getting to know him. It was the perfect afternoon. They rode their horses (Joff
riding so fast Sansa struggled to catch up, he was just too talentedat riding),
played in the shadow cat caves near the river, feasted on a lovely picnic, and
drank more wine than Sansa had ever had in her life. "My betrothed can drink as
much as she likes,"Joffrey had said in an important voice that made Sansa's
heart swell, and he let her drink more and more of the sweet red liquid from
his leather pouch. Joffrey was only a few years her senior but he acted in
charge, like a real man. She listened to his stories and his sweet singing, and
when the light began to disappear behind the clouds she wondered aloud if they
should go back to the castle. She'd had far too much wine and felt too dizzy,
too daring. Joff hadn't wanted to, and Sansa needed to appeal to her betrothed
so she'd agreed. She should have insisted they hurry back. But how could she
have known?
They'd heard a strange noise beyond the brambles, and Joffrey wanted to
investigate, promising he would take care of her if danger arose. Clinging to
his arm, Sansa almost wished there wouldbe danger. That way, her valiant and
beautiful prince could save her and it would be just like the ballads. But
instead of dragons or ruffians or bears, it was only stupid Arya and her stupid
friend Micah. Sansa was instantly embarrassed, especially when Arya spoke to
Joff like he was a commoner instead of a future king. Arya was always making
Sansa's life a terror, always messing up everything with her willfulness.
Joffrey seemed to think that Arya and Micah's stick "sword-fighting" was funny
and he'd swaggered right over, his voice loud and bold and his speech slightly
slurred. Then suddenly, he was using his own sword, his real sword that he'd
named Lion's Tooth, on Micah's cheek. A thin river of blood sprang up and Micah
cried out. Sansa's head felt woozy as she watched the scene unfold before her
eyes: Arya springing to Micah's defense, Joff swinging his sword at Arya's head
and shouting awful, nasty words (Sansa had never imagined her future husband
saying such things), and then Nymeria had dove in, ever protective just like
Arya herself. Before Sansa could so much as scream, Nymeria had Joff's arm in
her great jaws and she was tearing at his skin. There was so much blood, and
Sansa yelled at them all to stop, stop, stop.Arya tossed Lion's Tooth into the
water and ran off and Nymeria followed. Enraged, confused and scared, Sansa
rushed to her poor prince's side, ready to offer support, aid, anything he
wanted. But when Prince Joffrey looked up at her, his large green eyes were
flashing in a dangerous way. "Don't touch me,"he'd spat and Sansa had backed
away, tears springing into her eyes as she went for help.
Then, the horrors happened. Prince Joffrey lied to his mother, the Queen, and
said that Micah and Arya had attacked him.Sansa feigned ignorance. She did not
want to displease Joffrey, and perhaps she'd had too much wine? Perhaps she was
remembering events differently? He had a great bandage wrapped round his arm
and the Queen said the direwolf who'd scarred him had to die but Nymeria could
not be found. Instead, it was decided that Lady would be put to death. The
first piece of Sansa broke that day.
In the weeks that followed, Sansa's thoughts were all over. She deeply wanted
to marry Joffrey and so she tried to put Lady (and later, Micah, who she
learned had been slaughtered by Joffrey's Dog) out of her mind. After all, Lady
was Arya's fault. The rift between she and her little sister grew deeper when
her father finallydecided he would be King Robert's hand and travel to King's
Landing. The betrothal was on and Sansa was overjoyed. But Joffrey would not
even look upon her anymore. When she caught his eyes, he only sneered. "What
did I do?"Sansa wailed to her Septa, to her father, to Arya, but after the
first week no one wanted to hear her woes. Queen Cersei was the only person who
gave Sansa encouragement. "He's a very sweet boy,"the Queen said, "but he's
also very moody. I think he was displeased you saw him become injured, and I am
certain he was embarrassed he was attacked in front of you by two children so
much younger than him. He's very proud. See if you cannot make him happy by
telling him how good and brave he is. That is my advice."Sansa did not bother
mentioning that Joffrey had not been attacked by anyone except Nymeria, who was
only defending her sister. She loved Cersei. The Queen was beautiful and made
Sansa feel grown up. At least, that was then.
Sansa began to drop praise on Joffrey whenever she could. She clapped at
tourneys when he did. She complimented his grand clothes, his horses, his home.
Soon, he was smiling again, and he even gifted her a wonderful pendant and
kissedher. His mouth was smooth and firm and he threaded his hands through her
hair. Everything was perfect again.
When King Robert tragically died and it was announced Joffrey was being groomed
for the crown, Sansa could not be happier. But then Father was in trouble. He'd
questioned Joffrey's right to the throne; why would he do that?He was locked
away below the castle and Sansa could not believe her bad luck, what was Father
doing, why was he spoiling her happiness when everything was supposed to be
perfect?She just wanted everyone to get along and celebrate her marriage to her
handsome prince. They were going to rule happily and all the townspeople would
adore them and they'd have three beautiful blond green-eyed children, two girls
and one boy.
That was three months ago, before the newly crowned King Joffrey had blatantly
ignored Sansa's urgent plea for her father's pardon and had commanded Father's
head be chopped off right there in front of the entire population of King's
Landing. Right in front of Sansa's eyes. A large piece of Sansa broke that day,
and more chipped away when it was announced Arya had gone missing, and that
Sansa now belonged to King's Landing- belonged to King Joffrey as collateral
for a potential bargain with Winterfell. When King Joffrey gloatingly showed
off Father's head, stinking and rotted on a pike outside the castle gates,
Sansa had become numb. Joffrey was no hero, no valiant king. He was a beast.
Yet, losing her maidenhead changed everything. It changed Sansa's way of
thinking and she was certain now it had changed Joffrey's. In the night, they
were each other's and in the day, sometimes he was a boy and other times he was
a cruel creature Sansa could not quite decipher. If Sansa was good, she would
get a reward. If she was bad, she'd be punished. She'd learned to savor those
happy moments when she pleased Joffrey. If she could figure out how to keep him
happy forever, perhaps she would stay alive.
..
JOFFREY
. .
===============================================================================
KING JOFFREY BARATHEON was not exactly certain how the predicament with Sansa
Stark had begun. He'd meant for it to be a lesson to his mother and now he was
worried he might actually have tender feelings for Sansa. Nasty, loving, tender
feelings. It had happened slowly but steadily over the course of a few months,
and although he was feeling ill about it he couldn't stop. He couldn't stay
away from her room. He watched her every move, tongue waggling out like a
snake's—hungry. Curious. He was even beginning to look forward to the evenings,
to the darkness that ensured they would be together alone, without
interruptions. (I've done a bad thing, Mother.) He'd gone against the rules and
he'd spoiled Sansa's maidenhead and he'd meant to stop after that but he could
not get away from her. He couldn't stop filling Sansa up. Not even now.
Mother started it all, Joffrey decided. She had encouraged him to break the
code of conduct, she'd brought it on herself because she doubted him. She
started it with the way she pranced about as if it was she who owned the
kingdom, like it was she who held the power and esteem in her greedy ivory
hands. Joffrey surmised that had Cersei been a good and quiet mother, he'd have
left Sansa alone until their impending marriage because there would have been
nothing to prove. But Cersei, as much as he loved her (he still did, after all,
even now), was a meddling cold-hearted cunt who needed to be bested. Because
King Joffrey had the crown and the throne and Mother did not. This was
something that needed to be understood by everyone in King's Landing.
Especially Cersei.
The initital excitement of having a pretty princess by his side was soiled
before it even really started. Joffrey could not stand public humiliation; it
turned him defensive and made him scream, drove him into a furious rage that
left his siblings crying and his parents grappling for an answer. Joffrey was a
boy who wanted to be respected, who lived for praise and pretty words, and when
he was seen as anything other than heroic he fell apart like his sister's
mutilated dollies. Joffrey fancied Sansa because Sansa was supposed to be his
one and only love. She was beautiful, with bright eyes and flowing crimson
hair. When they met, she watched him with delight, with worship- just as anyone
woman should look upon her future husband. Yes, Sansa looked upon him with
adoration but then, all of a sudden, she'd seen him cry. It was not his fault,
of course. He'd been mercilessly attacked by two other children anda direwolf
had been set on him! He'd been horribly scarred and the pain had been
excruciating. She'd seen him erupt in frustration and hot anger. She'd seen him
in a fragile moment before he'd even had a chance to kiss her, and for this she
needed to be punished.
Joffrey suddenly did not love Sansa Stark. Joffrey detested her with everything
he had inside of him.
Why, why, why does she have to come with? Do I really have to marry her? She's
ghastly, she's horrible, he shouted at his mother but unlike other tantrums,
this one did not change much of anything. Joffrey spent the following days
hating Sansa more and more. Certainly, she was good-looking but he hated her
voice, absolutely loathed her obnoxious diction and her carefully worded
sentences. He hated how she cut her food and how she apologized profusely for
every movement she made. He started blocking her out and the only times he
cared about what she was saying were the times he caught her muttering under
her breath.
Joffrey refused to learn anything about Sansa Stark, even though his mother
said this would be a good idea and a privilege she'd never had with his father.
Cersei encouraged him to ask her questions: Did she have hobbies? What colours
did she prefer? Did she sing or sew or tell stories? She's a stupid girl,
Joffrey told his mother hotly, so what else is there to know?
Joffrey wasn't interested in bedding Sansa, not anymore, not at all. Being
interested in Sansa would give the power of being desired and Joffrey wasn't
willing to give her any of that. There had been some fascination with her body
and looks initially. He'd imagined putting himself inside her, wondered if
perhaps Sansa would take him in her mouth and whether she'd scream and cry when
he did all the things he'd envisioned doing with a woman. Joffrey wanted to put
his hands on her neck and pinch her. He wanted to bite her lip and push his
fingers inside her, hear her say his name in awe. He wanted to take complete
control of Sansa. But now that she was at King's Landing, he couldn't be
bothered. He didn't like her excessive, sickening kindness. He didn't respect
her family. He didn't like how Eddard Stark had stolen his father's heart and
soul, that Father cared for Ned more than Joffrey and especially that he did
not hide this fact from anyone. Joffrey absolutely hated Ned Stark, hated the
light in Father's eyes when he recalled stories of he and Ned's past together.
Joffrey focused on his regular activities. He perfected his crossbow
marksmanship on songbirds, launched pebbles into the stable to watch the horses
buck up, tripped maids in the hallways, and broke Tommen's toys. He mocked his
Hound's face and dumped wine in Myrcella's lap. He ignored Sansa Stark. When
she looked his way, he grimaced. When she tried to smile at him, he sneered.
Mother said, be nice. Mother said, no matter what, she is to be your queen and
you must treat her like a queen. I know you are ashamed but there is no need to
be. You are strong. You are a handsome, brilliant prince and you'll be a fine
ruler. Be a good boy, Joffrey. Be my sweet boy and be courteous to our guest,
your future wife. So Joffrey tried to block out the jealous thoughts and do
what was right. He even decided to kiss Sansa. If he was going to have to be
nice, he wanted to get something out of it. He had to be honest. He liked the
feeling of his lips on hers, of his hands on her waist, of complete control.
Most of all, he liked the look in her eyes. The look that said, 'you can do
anything you want to me because I trust you.' This was an improvement from
babying him, from seeing him cry. Joffrey decided, well, it could be worse.
And then, Father died without any warning and Joffrey was suddenly being
groomed for the crown. There were bigger issues than his impending marriage
with Sansa, like her father trying to steal his title, trying to ruin
everything just as he'd ruined Robert. When Sansa knelt before Joffrey and
begged for her father's mercy, Joffrey was pleased. Now this was a wife, this
was a respectful, dutiful girl. But a girl who thought she had any place to
change a king's mind needed to be taught a lesson and so Joffrey had Eddard
Stark's head removed from his body ( he'd never forget the sinewy neck being
clipped by strong metal, the body twitching slightly, the dark red blood). He
liked how Sansa stared, tears rolling down her face, as she realized that he,
King Joffrey, was in charge and she was not. At least Sansa was beginning to
understand.
The idea of a marriage to her became less terrible. It was something he had to
do and so it became a game. Joffrey wanted his future wife to be afraid. He
wanted her to respect him and hate him and love him and hide from him all at
once. He wanted her to hide from him because he wanted to find her. He wanted
to see the fear in her eyes when he pulled her up by her hair and said, Got
you. He wanted her to be completely consumed with thoughts of him, while he
only took her when he pleased and put her away when he did not wish to see her.
He had it all figured out, you see. Sansa had not bled yet, and so Joffrey made
completely certain that while she was waiting to wed him, she would learn to
respect him as deeply as possible. That way, she would be ready to please him.
He tortured her mercilessly but he also let her know when she looked
attractive, because she should never forget how important it was to look pretty
for him. Thatwas a rule. He delighted in showing her Ned's disembodied head,
traitorous eyes blank and mouth gaping in a forever apology. Joffrey liked the
hatred in his bride-to-be's blue eyes, and he matched it with his own shining
green stare, his lips grinning in amusement. Fix him with loathing? It was a
challenge. And he would win. He was excited, more than he wanted to admit,
while watching Ser Arys slap Sansa across the face. Just the thought of it made
going to bed with Sansa seem like an easy task.
Joffrey did not know much about lying in bed with women properly but he knew
what pleased him when he was alone. Beautiful thoughts of brutal punishments.
Images of girls flogged and hog-tied, lying facedown on his canopied bed.
Blood-soaked gowns. Large bosoms, long ringlets spread down nude backs,
rivulets of plasma dripping out from the corners of their eye sockets. He'd
stroke himself rapidly and then sigh in pleasure, letting go on his sheets or
stomach while he dreamed about girls he could mutilate, girls nobody would ever
miss. Joffrey wasn't his blasted Uncle Imp. He didn't love women like a weak,
piteous fool. He hated women. (Hated them just like he hated wailing babies and
cats and ugly people and rainy days and the smell of the pigs and unclean
clothing and getting hurt and losing his words in the middle of a sentence and
he hated women almost as much as he hated admitting defeat. And most of all, he
hated that stupid Sansa Stark.)
Oh, but that was then.
***** Motherly Advice *****
Chapter Summary
     Joffrey is challenged by his mother's assumption regarding Sansa
     Stark.
 
                                    . . . 
                                    JOFFREY
                                    . . . 
===============================================================================
                                        
On the first day, the day the predicament began (though at the time he thought
he had control), Joffrey wore a scowl tight as a knot as Cersei scolded him. He
sat and stared her down, eyes blazing, as she lectured him on his childishness,
told him he was being foolhardy and impatient. He'd told Cersei to leave the
ruling to him just yesterday and here she was, prattling on again. Joffrey
recalled that as a young boy, he'd thought his mother was the most beautiful,
smartest woman in the world. Now he realized that the world was much vaster
than that, and that Cersei was not without fault. In fact, she was an
aggravating, officious bitch. A bitch who'd struck him, and in front of his
servants nonetheless! He figured she'd never try that again but it hadn't shut
her up. Because now, Joffrey simpered, here she was rambling on again about
nothing. Diplomacy,matters of state, making alliances, proper court conduct,
how to address the King's Guard—phooey. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot
impatiently on the floor. The fact that Uncle Imp was Joffrey's hand
(some hand, he hardly had normal legs) was enough punishment. Now Mother was
trying to rule in Joffrey's place? It just would not stand.
When she set in again on the subject of Eddard Stark's head and what a "rash
decision" that had been, Joffrey fixed her with a stony glare. "Stop talking,"
he commanded. "Are you inferring that Stark should have been kept alive? I told
you, Mother. Such acts are considered punishable by death and as King I'd hate
to make the people think my own family is free of such a penalty. That wouldn't
be just or fair, would it? The people wouldn't like that. Would they?" he
mocked.
"You know I stand by you fully, my sweet Joffrey," Mother said, with a nod, her
smile as stony as Joffrey's eyes. "But I have to make certain you are counseled
correctly—"
"See. That's where you're wrong. You don't stand by me," Joffrey interrupted,
and his voice was sharp, "you stand behind me."
Mother's eyes clouded a bit and he hoped that she'd get the message and shut
her foolish mouth. From what he'd been hearing lately, she used that mouth for
a plethora of things: gossip, prying, directing around his men, and most
recently, that she'd used her mouth on men besides his late father. Joffrey
didn't care. In fact, he wished she'd go choke on a cock somewhere if that's
what she really wanted; it would save him the trouble of hearing her. "I'm
worried about you," was what spilled out of her lips next and Joffrey rolled
his eyes. "No, listen—please listen. It seems everything has gotten a bit out
of hand, and I merely wish to help you. Not only as queen regent but as your
mother—"
"Be quick," Joffrey said with a wave of his hand and instead of looking at her
he paced his chambers, surveying the arrows and old toys on his oak desk. He
leaned on the wood, posing with one foot behind the other.
Cersei sat gingerly in the chair across from Joffrey's bed and placed her hands
in the lap of her silken red gown, bowing her head so that her golden ringlets
hung around her face. "Your uncle Tyrion told me about the…" She paused and
tried again. "He told me about the prostitutes he bought you for your Name Day
present," she said in a soft tone.
Joffrey snapped his head up, surveying her expression. Uncle Imp apparently not
only took Joffrey for a fool but he took him for a small child, telling on him
to Cersei like a big-mouthed kitchen maid. "And?" he snarled. "What do you have
to say about it? I'd think with my father's habits, you'd be pleased to know
what I did to them." A sneer formed on his lips as his mother met his eyes
again.
"I wasn't pleased," Cersei said gravely. "What was your intention in treating
them so?"
"My intention?" Joffrey chortled and turned his back again, brushing his finger
across an arrow. Hot desire pulsed through his body again simply at the memory
of the two whores, one bare-arsed and bellowing as the other pummeled her body
with various blunt objects. "Tyrion bought them for me. They were my present.
So I was using them as I pleased."
"You can be honest with me, Joffrey," his mother said. "Was it some sort of
release, some way to get out anger?"
"I wasn't angry," Joffrey said calmly. "I was quite happy."
Cersei sighed. Even without looking, he knew she was tensing up, trying to stay
patient. If he irritated her sufficiently at this point by playing dumb or
answering her questions crassly, she'd leave soon enough. "Tyrion also told me
about your treatment of little Sansa in front of the court, and that he
suspected you only tortured those two girls to get back at him for intervening
and Joffrey, I'm just not quite certain what you—"
Joffrey wheeled around, scowling. "Oh, so now you listen to the Imp? Now you do
the Imp's bidding?" he shouted. "First him, and now you! I thought you were
supposed to be on MY side, not HIS! Sansa is to be my wife and I don't even
want to marry her but she's going to be my queen so she's mine! She's mine and
I can do just what I want to her!"
"Aiming a crossbow at your betrothed's heart is not reasonable," Mother
declared, standing. "You may not think you want to marry Sansa but she will
make you a good queen. So please try to treat her like a queen."
"I'll treat her just how I please," Joffrey said, his voice rising quickly into
a piercing volume. "And if I want her stripped naked in front of me and beaten,
then that is exactly what I shall do!"
"Committing acts like that…" She hesitated. "Well, you are free to do as you
wish but it does not present the best image to the public, Joffrey—"
"She's my betrothed," Joffrey protested. "So I don't care what the public
thinks!"
"You may wish to walk with caution, my sweet son," Cersei said in a soft tone.
"Sansa is not yours yet. She has not flowered. As soon as you are wed—"
But Joffrey was not listening. "No," he argued. "She IS mine. I can do what I
like to her. I can kill her if I like. I can have her whipped in front of the
entire city. Strung up on a rope. And if the mood strikes me, I can take her
before our wedding night and discard her like refuse."
"You cannot do that," Mother said firmly, and narrowed her gaze, green with
envy for the throne, for the crown, for everything Joffrey had been born to.
"You're jealous," he said snidely.
"I'm your mother," she snapped.
"Well, I'm the king." Joffrey replied. "I'll fuck her bloody." He smiled. "Try
to stop me."
"You wouldn't touch Sansa," Mother clucked, shaking her head slowly. "You don't
even wish to marry her. You are just a boy, Joffrey. I don't believe you."
Joffrey's mouth twitched, and his insides boiled with loathing. He knew right
then that he had to teach her a lesson. King's Landing and all of its
inhabitants belonged to him, not Cersei, not this weak-willed and foolish
woman. She often told him he was too young for things, that he had to wait, and
Joffrey was quite sure that on the contrary he could have whatever he wanted
whenever he wanted it.
"Enough," he simpered after what seemed like all the hours of the day. "I've
heard just about enough of you for now. You are dismissed. Go find someone else
to annoy."
"I'm looking out for your best intentions," said the queen regent in a low
voice. "I love you."
Joffrey nodded. "I know, Mother. I love you, too. But leave me before I get my
Hound to drag you out. You won't like that."
Mother fixed him with a last stern glance before storming out of his chambers,
her skirts fluttering out behind her. And sitting there, his face burning with
the sting of his mother's disbelieving words, he decided that he was going to
have his way with Sansa Stark that night. And that was that.
. . .
He thought about it all afternoon, sitting grandly on the throne and biting his
lip in deliberation. Should he request her presence in the garden, command the
guards to leave and drive himself between her legs right there on the
cobblestone footpath? Should he instruct Sansa to arrive at his chambers and
have his way with her there? Grab her by her hair and spit venom into her mouth
while driving his hand inside her?
The problem was, he wasn't exactly certain how to go about his plan. He knew
the basic idea of fucking. He knew he had to put his dick inside. That was
about the end of it, but he had ideas. Joffrey imagined sex in animalistic
terms. He wanted to coil around Sansa like the prey to his predator. He wanted
to tear her to pieces and devour her body. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to
mark her with his scent forever; he wanted to ruin her for the world. Because
Cersei was right about one thing: If Joffrey had Sansa before their marriage,
before she could bear him an heir, Sansa would be ruined if either of them
told. Sansa would no longer be a maiden. But, Joffrey reasoned, if it was he
who stripped her of that status, what was the difference anyway? She was to be
his wife. She was his property anyway.
However... He stroked his chin in thought and swung one leg over the other,
glad he had a proper place to do his deep thinking. If Joffrey went through
with this plan and fucked Sansa, he wouldn't be able to boast. It would have to
be a silent lesson to his mother, something he could think about when she
infuriated him. Something he could keep a secret from her. And because Cersei
hated when other people had secrets, most of all her family, Joffrey decided
this was a wonderful plan.
During dinner, Joffrey stared at Sansa with a wildcat smile. He kept
thinking, You. I'm going to have you for my own. He'd long imagined sleeping
with her but in his mind, it was different. In his mind, he knew everything
there was to know and he did everything right. Now, he hated to admit he was
finding himself doubting his abilities, obsessing over details. He studied her
shimmering hair, her gown of deep green, and the ladylike way she held her
hands and smiled dutifully at those around her. She caught him staring and gave
him a respectful dip of her head. He looked at her fixedly, a look that said I
have plans for you, and Sansa grew wary of him and broke eye contact. This
should have granted him confidence, but Joffrey's hand shook slightly as he
poured more wine. When Cersei patted his leg, he nearly spilt his goblet all
over the plate of food before him. She whispered in his ear that she was sorry
for her anger earlier and that she knew he'd take her advice.
Joffrey smiled widely at her, all the time thinking she was completely
demented, as if this paltry peace offering would change his attitude.
 
***** A Far Better Plan *****
Chapter Summary
     "Without your blood, you can be my amusement."
                                    . . . 
                                    JOFFREY
                                    . . . 
 
The young king felt that time moved slower than ever that evening. He
restlessly waited in his room until he heard the guards shifting position for
the night. As quickly as he could, he made the walk toward the corridor that
led to Sansa's chamber. He pressed his ear to her door to make certain she was
alone, his footsteps echoing in the dim hallway.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice a high, nervous sound in the chill air. It
sent a shiver of want through Joffrey and that was enough. He knew she was all
by herself, knew she wouldn't sound so anxious if she was in the presence of
some servant. He shoved the door open and strode inside, plastering a dark
smile on his face to hide the twisted-up worm feeling in the pit of his
stomach.
Ever courteous, on shaky knees Lady Sansa fell into a curtsy at once. "Your
grace! I'm not decent!" she sputtered. It was true, he noted. She was anything
but decent in comparison to their usual encounters, encounters that were often
spoiled by snooping relatives and crowds of foolish onlookers. His lady was
donning a white, flowing but slightly sheer nightgown that made Joffrey's
breath catch in his throat. He could see the outline of her nipples dotting the
curved lines of her full breasts, the wave where her waist met her hips, her
bare legs and feet milky beneath. He was instantly reminded of having her
partially stripped in court, but she'd been quick enough to hold her gown back
before it fully exposed her breasts. Joffrey recalled the uncomfortable
erection that had grown while Ser Boros and Ser Meryn proceeded to beat Sansa,
her red, humiliated face hung in shame. And when Tyrion had interrupted,
Joffrey had felt his insides drop, angry he hadn't been able to see Sansa's
naked body. He'd gotten off that very night thinking about a progression of the
scene, one that ended with her stripped and crying with bloody welts designing
her naked back.
And then, Sansa spoke again, bringing him back to reality. "I thought… I
thought we could not be alone. Where are your men, your grace?"
King Joffrey's mouth was open but no sound was coming out. For the past two
hours, he'd rehearsed a speech in his head. It was grand and lengthy, detailing
how Sansa was his just as much as all the palace horses, just as much as the
Hound was his and the throne was his. (As much as the entire palace belongs to
me, and everyone inside of it! Do you hear me? he would scream, and bring his
hands to her throat before shoving himself inside her.) He was going to have
Sansa there in the moonlight because he felt like it and there was nothing she
could say to stop him. He was going to fuck her without caring, because kings
could do what they pleased no matter what the rules were.
But now, all Joffrey could do was stare at Sansa's body. It was as though a
very beautiful painting was being presented to him, and the artist had removed
a sheet from the masterpiece with a flourish. Sansa without her layers of
dress, skirts and ribbons and her hair down in loose curls around her thin
shoulders was a very different Sansa indeed. Better than a fantasy. Innocent
virgin Sansa, a much better prize for a king than two overused prostitutes.
Beguiled by Sansa's curves, Joffrey suddenly felt young. Young and over-
dressed.
"Please, your grace! It just doesn't seem right," Sansa said, eyes all wide
like moons, and she covered her breasts with spread fingers.
"Shut up," Joffrey managed to get out in a vicious, spitty snarl. It was a good
start, but instead of making the words come this demand halted them again. His
tongue felt weighty. The back of his neck was damp with sweat, and he was
starting to think perhaps this was something he could not do. But this personal
challenge had to be overcome and so he drew a breath, Sansa giving him that
wide and strange stare the entire time. He meant to deliver his speech but what
came out was: "They said. My mother. She can't. You are mine. So I'm going to.
I'm going to..."
Sansa backed up a pace, not taking her eyes off him. "I really can't understand
you," she said. And then quickly, "I'm sorry, but-"
"Shut up, I said!" he got out, and because it wasn't working to stand still, he
made a move to attack. He clomped forward in his heavy boots (half-nervous
someone would burst in to reprimand Sansa for making such noise and see him
failing at rape of all things) and he seized her by her soft hair. Sansa made a
squeal of protest and he held her in a strong grip, pressing his cheek against
hers. Sansa's face was pleasantly smooth and he could feel her heart beating
hard and fast in her chest. She whimpered and shut her eyes tight, shaking her
head back and forth.
"I don't understand," she said, panicked. "We shouldn't be here together, it's
indecent. It's improper. We're not married, your grace, please wait until we're
married, your mother-"
"She can't control my life!" Joffrey said instantly. It was as though he'd
forgotten his line in a performance in front of the court and Sansa had slipped
him a subtle cue. "That's why we have to do this right now. Because I'm the
king and the king can do as he pleases. The king can have who he wants, and I
want you. I'm tired of waiting and I'm not going to bed a whore in the
meantime. I refuse to lower myself, do you understand my words?"
"I don't understand," Sansa whimpered, her eyes still closed. "I'm so sorry,
your grace—but I don't know what you mean to do—I can't offer you anything
until I've had my blood—"
"Open your eyes when you're speaking to me," Joffrey hissed and gripped her
chin with his fingernails.
Sansa cried out but complied, her blue eyes fluttering open, connecting with
his shining jade stare. "Yes, your grace! I have not had my blood, I wouldn't
be any use to you. Please wait, and I can give you an heir and-"
"It's not about an heir, don't you see, you stupid girl?" Joffrey interrupted,
grabbing her lips with his fingers and squeezing them shut. "I want you because
they say I can't have you yet—"
"There are reasons, your grace, it's not good for a king to do this to his
future queen, it's bad luck—"
"You think I believe all of your make believe superstitions?" Joffrey
sniggered, giving her a gentle pat on the cheek. "Sometimes I think you make
all of them up to try and confuse me."
Sansa let out a shuddering sob. "I wouldn't do that," she trembled. "Besides,
your grace? Don't you wish to wait? Wouldn't it please you more?"
"Did you hear about my Name Day present?" Joffrey asked conversationally,
recalling his conversation with Mother while petting her face. "My uncle sent
for two whores. They were waiting for me when I arrived in my bed chambers." He
smiled fondly at the memory. "They were pretty."
"How nice for you," said Sansa in a quiet voice. "I hope you enjoyed yourself,
your grace. You deserve to be happy."
"I did enjoy myself," Joffrey said. He ran one long finger across Sansa's
freckle-dusted cheek. "Of course, I didn't go to bed with them. Tyrion wanted
me to and I thought, why listen to someone else when I can have fun in the
exact way I please? That's why I taught him a lesson." He flicked Sansa's face
lazily with his nail. "Do you want to know how I taught him a lesson?"
"Yes, your grace. Very much," Sansa said with a dutiful nod.
"I had one of the girls beat the other senseless and then had her body dumped
at Tyrion's door." He watched as Sansa's frightened gaze flicked about the room
and fell back upon him. "You should have heard her cry. It was a very nice
evening, all things considered."
"Is she alive?" Sansa bleated and then covered her own mouth.
Joffrey scowled. "That's not the point," he growled, wrenching her hand away.
"I'm not my father. I won't climb into bed with every half-witted slut who
parades about my room with her cunt out."
"I suppose that's very dignified of you," Sansa said, averting her gaze once
more. Her face looked flushed. She was shaking.
"You suppose?" asked Joffrey, the gentle tone of his voice harshly clashing
with the strength he used to grip her hair.
Sansa gasped for air. "I'm sorry, your grace, I don't mean… You are dignified,
you're not your father at all!"
"Don't speak ill of my father," Joffrey said. "He was foolish with women. He
loved them far too much. I'm a fighter like him, but I did not wish to bed
those whores," he said while he twisted a curl of her hair around his finger in
thought. The more he heard her breath catch in her throat, her scared tone of
voice, the more deeply he wanted her. He wasn't sure just how to start so he
bided more time with his words. He leaned into her ear, feeling his knees
trembling slightly in anticipation. "I also didn't want to waste my first time
on them when I knew I could have you." He threw Sansa a somewhat bashful grin.
"Do you remember what we did earlier that day?"
She drew a breath and shook her head. "I don't think so, I'm sorry—"
"It's alright. I can help you recall. That was the day I had Ser Boros strip
you in front of the court," Joffrey smiled. "Then I had Ser Merys beat you."
His voice was excited and boyish as his hand traveled down to the small of her
back. It felt grown-up to tell a pretty girl such a private thought. "I had
wanted to see more and I was quite disappointed when Tyrion spoiled my plans. I
couldn't stop thinking of you, Sansa." Tied-up, crying, beaten bloody, my hands
inside your—
"Thank you, your grace," Sansa said, but her voice pitch was stiff and formal
and her eyes were dull.
"I said, I couldn't stop thinking of you," Joffrey hissed loudly into her ear,
ignoring the twitch of hardness that was beginning to stir inside his breeches.
Sansa shuddered and stepped back another pace so she was pressed up against the
wall, her small hands fluttering nervously at her sides like dying doves. "I
was thinking about you, too," she whispered. "I was afraid you were too angry
with me. I don't want you to be angry. I want you to be happy, your grace. It's
what I care about most—keeping you in a good mood."
"What you care about most?" Joffrey snapped, stepping to the wall and placing
his hand at her waist, squeezing her there. She let out a shrill noise of
protest. "You care more about keeping me in a good mood than you care about
your family? You care more for me than your fool brother? More than your dead
traitorous father?" He stared at her attentively, his other hand moving to her
cheek again.
"Yes," Sansa nodded, a small sob spilling from her lips. "Yes, I love you and I
just want you happy—that's all I care about now."
"Good," Joffrey nodded, "very good. I was a bit worried that you were still
holding your father's death against me." He moved his mouth to her ear and
breathed in slowly, gripping Sansa harder by her waist. To his great interest,
she gave a small moan. "I like this," he whispered, fingering the hem of her
nightgown. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, my king," she said in a low voice, "but I still don't know why
you're here—"
"Without your blood, you can be my amusement," Joffrey replied. "I want to see
whether you're good enough for marriage, Sansa. I want to know how you feel.
Don't you want to?"
"I'm not ready," she muttered, her hands gripping the wall as if she were
saving it from toppling down. "It would be wrong, don't you think?"
"I thought you wanted to please me," he whined. "Were you lying?"
"No," Sansa said at once, shaking her head. "I don't lie, not to my king, not
to anyone."
"I don't care whether or not you lie to someone else! As long as you're honest
with me, Sansa—that's all I care about—"
"That's obvious," his beautiful girl nodded with a smile on her face. "Of
course I'm completely honest with you!"
"Good," Joffrey said, and sighed into her neck. Sansa gave another trembling
moan and leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes shutting tightly.
Joffrey gripped her hair again. "Eyes open," he commanded. She obeyed in an
instant. "I imagine you're simply nervous. Don't be. I'll help you. After all,"
he said grandly," I know what I'm doing."
Sansa's eyes flashed. "Have you had a lot of experience, your grace?" she asked
in a tone Joffrey could not interpret.
"What does that mean?" he snapped. "You think I haven't?"
"I didn't say that," Sansa replied. "I know my brother Rob is admired by young
ladies and I was just thinking that you are probably like him in that way." She
wore a vacant expression.
He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before deciding there was nothing to
fight about. It seemed she was telling the truth. After all, he did know a few
things. More than Sansa, that much he was certain of. He knew if he was going
to do this, he'd have to not over think it. He needed to take action. He bit
his lip and sucked in air before slipping his right hand into the tight gap
between her legs. "I'm not your traitor brother. I'm better than him," he said
breathlessly.
"Please don't," Sansa whispered as he put his opposite hand on her thigh.
"Would you rather someone else be doing this?" Joffrey snapped, trailing his
hand up to her private place. She shook her head firmly from side to side.
"Good. I thought not," he said, and palmed her genitals, excited by the feel of
her springy pubic hair against his hand. "Nothing on underneath," he said
quietly into her ear and she shuddered. "I like it. I like it a lot, Sansa." In
one forceful move, he shoved his fingers against her slightly damp skin, trying
to find her opening. She let out a sound of surprise as he grappled for the
entrance and finally he found it, a small, very tight hole. He pushed one
finger inside her and Sansa yelped. The hole suctioned his finger. It was
slightly wet against him. He grunted appreciatively, hoping he hadn't given
himself away as a novice.
Joffrey began to move his finger in and out of her, slowly at first, and then
he quickened the pace. His tongue between his teeth, he added another finger.
Then another. She shrieked and covered her mouth. "Does it hurt?" he asked
intensely, studying her somber face.
Sansa nodded. "It hurts very much," she said quietly, holding his eye contact.
Tears were creeping into the corners of her eyes, twinkling crystals. "I'm
sorry, but I can't lie to you—"
"I understand," he said, pausing in the in-out motion. With his free hand, he
took her hand from her mouth and kissed it lightly. "Don't cover your screams,"
he said sweetly with an earnest grin. "I want to hear them." Again, he pushed
his fingers in and out of her, exhilarated by the feeling of her muscle
wrapping around them, closing them in. He kissed the corner of her mouth,
pushing his entire hand inside her now. He looked to Sansa but she'd set her
jaw and was staring blankly ahead. "Am I not doing it hard enough, my lady?
What aboutthis?" Joffrey snarled, and thrust his entire hand in with a hasty,
vigorous shove.
Sansa cried loudly, her thighs pressing to his wrist. "It hurts," she gasped.
"Your grace, please—"
"Please what?" Joffrey smiled, not ceasing in pushing his hand in and out of
her. He groaned at the feeling of wetness coating his skin. He was fully hard
now and pressed against Sansa's hip. He wondered if she could feel him, if she
even knew what it was.
"Please, I can't—it's too much," she said in a sob, shaking her head. Joffrey
pushed into her again, harder. Sansa wailed.
"Yes," Joffrey said greedily, "that's good, that's very good." He could feel
his hardness pulsing, pressing against his trousers. Every whine was beautiful;
every shriek helped him get closer to the edge. "Touch me," he said sharply.
Sansa gave him a confused look. "Touch you where?"
"The front of my breeches," Joffrey snapped into her ear, pulling his hand out
of her in a ruthless tug. She breathed out loudly and slowly extended her arm.
Unable to wait, he snatched her hand in his and pressed it to his hard groin.
"I love the way you scream," he moaned, his eyes half-closed as Sansa
tentatively placed her hand over him, still trembling and breathing hard. "Move
your hand up and down," he said. "Now." She complied, slowly stroking him, her
brows furrowed. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut for
a moment. This is how it should be, he thought, breathing hard, I'm in charge
of her. Nothing like that stupid whore who tried to best me by touching me
before I told her to. Not wanting to show her how excited he was, he pulled her
hand away after only a few seconds, gripping her fingers. Sansa let out a cry.
"Pull up your gown," he said.
Sansa fixed him with a fearful look. "My king?"
"Do as I say," he replied curtly. If he thought too hard about this, he
wouldn't go through with it. He'd be too preoccupied with the power play, the
fact that Sansa had made him erect—but she was naïve enough, he reasoned. She
didn't even understand what she'd done. She wouldn't know she had power over
him. And after this, he'd have all the power.
Tentatively, Sansa drew up her nightgown over her privates, not meeting his
eyes. Her shoulders shook and she was crying softly. Joffrey's breath caught in
his throat as he inadvertently palmed his erection through his clothes. This
was the spot his hands had just been inside, this secret and wet place between
Sansa Stark's legs. He liked the auburn pubes and the way her legs twitched
with fear as he gazed upon her. In this moment, he wanted to be inside her very
much. Too much.
"Turn around," he said. "Face the wall."
"Y-yes, your grace," Sansa sputtered and, crying louder, she did as she was
told. The fullness of her backside with her red curls cascading down her
shoulders was almost worse than seeing her from the front.
Joffrey cleared his throat and walked a pace backward. "I'm going to return!"
he said defiantly, "but you won't know when! But when I do, mark my words, I'm
going to take your maidenhead. I'm going to be so rough with you, you won't
even be able to walk!" With that, Joffrey turned on his heel and stormed out of
Sansa's chambers, slamming the door behind him.
A far better plan, he convinced himself as he tried to both shield his erection
and catch his breath. This way, she knows what's going to happen to her and you
can make her wait days. Weeks, if you feel like it! When you finally burst
through the door of her chambers, she'll scream even louder with fear because
she's been thinking about you all day and night, praying you'll be merciful
with her. And when you do go back there, you'll be ready to take what is yours
from Lady Sansa.
 
***** Monster in Boy's Clothing *****
Chapter Summary
     Sansa receives instruction from her handmaiden and Joffrey swoops in
     for the kill.
"Sick, sick, holding onto his picture/ Dressing up every day.
I want to smash the faces of those beautiful boys/ those Christian boys
So you can make me cum? It doesn't make you Jesus."

- TORI AMOS, "Precious Things"
===============================================================================
                                     . . .
                                     SANSA
                                     . . .
===============================================================================
"Repeat what you just said, and be slow about it. Take your time," said Shae in
a warm and gentle tone, a tone like fresh bread dipped in warm honey. Shae's
kindness only made Sansa feel more flustered, and she continued to cry softly
into her handmaiden's shoulder. It was the morning after King Joffrey's
impromptu visit in her chambers and Sansa had been up half the night, both
worrying he'd come back and confused about the implications of his actions.
When she had eventually fallen asleep, she'd had bizarre, darkly painted
nightmares, and had woken up with a shriek to find Shae already at work in her
room. At once, Shae had moved in to comfort her, and Sansa was currently trying
to piece her thoughts into actual words. After all, she'd never been touched
like that in her life. When she touched herself she did so lightly and
tentatively, nervous she'd be caught in the act. Joffrey's hand had been long-
fingered and strong, and had felt foreign inside of her. What Sansa hated most
was that his mouth on hers had almost felt good, and his breath in her ear had
made her moan aloud. She despised King Joffrey even more for that fact. She
wanted to slap herself.
Joffrey was hideous. At first, he'd seemed charming, handsome and kind. He'd
shared wine with her. He'd complimented her looks and he'd been a perfect
conversationalist. He was the most attractive boy Sansa had ever seen. But
she'd been tricked by his pretty outer shell. He was solely responsible for the
death of her beloved father, and his cruelty had started a war which could very
well end up killing her elder brother Rob. Not to mention, Arya loathed Sansa
and for good reason—and now, Arya was missing. Sansa's entire life had spiraled
out of control and her family was torn apart, all because she fell in love with
a boy, a terrible, toxic bad-boy. A monster in boy's clothing. Sansa drew a
shuddering breath, her hands woven through Shae's hair. "He came in here,
Shae—I had no way of stopping him. He told me he would have me because I was
his—and he put—" she stopped and sniffed, wiping her eyes. "He put his hand
down there and I was so afraid! I thought he was going to—"
"Sansa, slower," Shae urged, and took the girl's hands in hers, holding her in
a gentle grip and locking eyes with her. "Who? Who came in here?"
Sansa pursed her lips and looked at the crimson rug on the floor. "King
Joffrey," she whispered, afraid someone was watching. It seemed Sansa was never
alone, not really.
"Did he hurt you, my girl?" Shae asked in a soft tone, fixing Sansa with a
sympathetic look that almost made it all worse.
"It hurt at first," Sansa nodded, "but it was the surprise that was worst—"
"Did he put himself inside you? His…" Shae paused. "I'm sorry, but, his cock?"
Sansa clenched Shae's shoulders and buried her hot face in her hair. "No, no,
he didn't. Thank the gods, he didn't. But he says he's coming back. He's going
to spoil me, Shae! If I'm not a maiden, he'll tell his mother and I'll be unfit
for marriage, unfit for anything here! He'll have me killed, most likely, after
he's done!"
"He's not allowed to do that," Shae said strongly, shaking her head as though
arguing with an unseen entity. "You must tell the queen! Go now and tell her
what he's done to you—"
"And what?" Sansa laughed sardonically despite herself. "You think the queen
will believe my word over Joffrey's? She hates me, Shae, you know she hates
me!"
"Then I will tell the queen—"
"You weren't even here—"
-"I'll say I saw him leaving your chambers—"
"And you think she'd believe a handmaiden more than she'd believe me? Likely
she'd have you killed for that. Joffrey will say you're a liar," Sansa replied.
"You can't say anything. I won't have you punished for this!"
"There's someone I can tell," Shae said determinedly in a quiet voice. "He will
help you. He is on your side, he hates the king—"
"Who?" demanded Sansa, her face blushing hot red at the thought of anyone,
especially a man, being told this humiliating story.
"I cannot say. But he would help. I can talk to him later today, if you—"
"No." Sansa set her jaw and took her hands from Shae's, crossing her arms. "I
can't let anyone know. We cannot risk it. No one will take my word over his."
"Let me see," Shae said thoughtfully, mirroring Sansa and crossing her own
arms. Her brows were furrowed in thought. "How can I help you? Do you want a
bath?"
"Not yet," Sansa said firmly. "I am not ready to move." The two young women sat
in silence for several minutes until Sansa gingerly touched Shae's arm. "I
don't mean to pry, but you are not a maiden. Are you?"
"Is it so obvious?" Shae smiled, and gave a quiet chortle.
"I'm not being rude," Sansa put in quickly, hoping she had not offended, "but
you know things. About men? I can tell. You're confident."
"I've had many experiences with men. I'm far from a maiden, my lady. I've never
been forced to lie with a spoiled boy king, but I've been in situations I
haven't been proud of. I've been used by men. You learn to do a lot of things
if you want to stay alive." Shae's tone was light but her face was solemn. "If
you wish for me not to speak about this, I will keep it to myself. But I can
give you my own suggestions. It may help you, though I am afraid for you. The
king has dramatic moods and I can't know for certain what he'll do. Or if he'll
do anything at all."
"Oh, please," Sansa whispered, grabbing Shae's arm and holding her fast.
"Please, tell me anything! Everything!"
Shae drew a breath. "We'll need to be very careful. I fear for your safety, my
lady. But I still want you to trust me and come to me if you need anything at
all. You are not alone with me here. I will act as if I know nothing. I do not
see the king often but when I do, I blend into my surroundings to save my own
life. I shall continue to act in the same way." Sansa nodded, understanding her
handmaiden's grave tone of voice. "He may try to hurt you," Shae went on, "and
he may very well succeed. But you can master the art of escape."
Sansa leaned in, hanging on every word. "What do you mean?"
"If he does use you for sex, you can try to get out of your head. Go somewhere
you like, anywhere you like, and stay there until he's had his fill. It helps
to forget. It doesn't take away the pain, but it can keep you safe up here,"
Shae said, and patted the top of Sansa's head.
"It will hurt much worse than his hand, won't it?" Sansa asked, and then as an
afterthought, "if he wants to… take my maidenhead?"
"It should not hurt after your maidenhead breaks, but if the king is rough, it
may continue to hurt. I can only hope his actions are less fearsome than his
words," Shae said, and by the way she voiced this, Sansa had a feeling Shae
believed Joffrey would be rough. After all, why wouldn't he? He was an angry
boy who made rash, hateful decisions. Gone were Sansa's fantasies of making
slow, sweet love with her blond-haired prince. As soon as Joffrey had displayed
his true self, she'd replaced those hopeful, infantile dreams with the stuff of
night terrors. Joffrey was more likely to sprout claws than treat Sansa with
respect. Although she wasn't exactly certain how love-making was supposed to
go, she had figured Joffrey wouldn't be terribly concerned with romance, not
even with the future mother of his children. Especially now.
And his story about the two prostitutes had made Sansa's skin crawl. Who was to
say he wouldn't do something similar to her? He wasn't supposed to hurt her but
he'd obviously decided he was above the queen's rules. Leave her face, he'd
said last week before his men had beaten her, I like her pretty. Sansa had
clung to that like a drowning man clings to a rock, hoping that perhaps Joffrey
had some shred of care for her, even if it was completely for vanity's sake.
(He still thinks I'm pretty, she'd thought, and then cursed herself for being
an idiot, wondered if she was going mad.) But now, it had a hopeful
connotation. He might rape her, but he likely wouldn't beat her until she was
unconscious or bloody. Or at least, he'd refrain from beating in her face. At
these morbid thoughts, Sansa began to cry again. What a bleak life, rejoicing
in the fact that (perhaps) her betrothed wouldn't smash her head in.
Shae took her by the shoulders and stood her up, encompassing her in a hug.
Sansa cried harder at her handmaiden's kindness. At least she had someone who
cared, but it reminded her of her mother, and thus made it all more sad. "What
if he ruins me?" Sansa cried.
"If he takes your maidenhead, he takes it. But he'll never ruin you. You are
strong, my lady. You can leave your mind and go somewhere good, somewhere he
cannot reach you. You can make like someone else is touching you, someone
pleasant and kind and loving. You can invent and pretend. These are all things
I can help you with, but we should not dwell now. Come," Shae said with an
abrupt nod. "I shall give you a bath and we'll wash him off you. I will tell
you a funny story."
Sansa smiled through her tears and wiped her face but dread flowed through her
still because she knew, despite Shae's kind words, that King Joffrey would not
be washed off so easily.
===============================================================================
                                     . . .
                                    JOFFREY
                                     . . .
===============================================================================
It had been a distressing morning for Joffrey, whose thoughts had not strayed
from the encounter with Lady Sansa for more than ten seconds. He'd gotten off
quickly last night after reaching his chambers and had collapsed, exhausted,
into his blankets. He'd avoided conversation with his mother and siblings at
breakfast, and he'd spent time pacing the hallways. Uncle Tyrion found him
later that afternoon perched languidly in the throne, all splayed limbs,
planning his next move with the Stark girl.
"Ah," Uncle Imp had said in mock fondness. "Our highly revered ruler hard at
work, I see! I am here to see that you are devoting yourself to kingly duties
and I can tell you are outdoing yourself. You certainly look official. I assume
you are deliberating over which defensive methods to use during the impending
attack on your kingdom?"
Joffrey scowled deeply and swung his legs over the arm rest. "You're
interrupting me. Get away and let me think!"
"Oh, but I'm quite interested in your thoughts. What is it that buzzes through
your turbulent mind, I wonder? Scholars would piss themselves with excitement
if they were fortunate enough to be tasked with picking at your impenetrable
psyche!"
"Are you being sarcastic?" demanded Joffrey, squinting at his uncle.
"Sarcastic? Me? Never," clucked Uncle Imp, striding forward on his short legs.
"What is it that vexes you so? I hardly ever see you without a maniacal grin on
your face. Despite myself, I must say I am a bit intrigued. Or, more to the
point, nervous. Could it be you actually care about something? How
frightening." He approached the throne. "What is it, my dear nephew?"
Though Joffrey wanted to ask what "maniacal" meant, he did not want to give his
daft uncle the pleasure of besting him. "Personal issues," he said delicately,
flopping back onto the throne and sighing deeply. "You wouldn't understand."
"No, I trust I would not," said Uncle Imp pleasantly. "However, nephew, do
yourself a favor and sit up straight. If you are going to pretend to be
preoccupied, at least be a bit more convincing."
Glowering, Joffrey flexed his fists and began to shout: "You cannot tell me
what to do! I am your king! I tell you what to do!"
His uncle merely shrugged as he walked away. "I hope your personal issues get
solved faster than the matters I am about to address with your mother. And if
you do come up with a battle plan do let us know, your grace." The last two
words were laced with bitterness and Joffrey felt his body surge with rage. He
wished he could order for his uncle to be tortured slowly, but mother had
forbade it. Furthermore, she had made it clear that Grandfather Tywin would not
enjoy it if his appointed Hand was maimed or tortured. Everyone was constantly
spoiling fun around King's Landing.
Joffrey frowned, but did sit up a bit straighter as his thoughts floated back
to Sansa in her transparent nightgown. Though he thought it would have been a
very quick ordeal, it had been surprisingly difficult to go through with
fucking his lady. He told himself that this was only because he was highborn
and thus unable to simply take what he wanted and leave. Joffrey wanted to make
Sansa wait ages for his return but his insides were a fluttery mess, and he
knew he had to return to her chambers tonight. He wanted to be inside her and
he could not wait another day.
                                     . . .
===============================================================================
Once the clock had struck midnight, Joffrey stole into the hallway and tried
not to over think his actions. He swept past several guards who quickly stood
to attention. When he slipped into Sansa's corridor, he detected a figure near
the end of the hallway. Once he'd neared her doorway, he recognized it was his
Hound who stood so still there, casting a colossal shadow on the stone floor.
Joffrey snorted. "What are you doing so far from my chambers, Dog?"
"Patrolling the castle, as usual," the man said in a low voice, his contorted
face even more grisly in the dark. "And you, my king? The hour is late."
"I don't need to answer questions like that. You are dismissed. Go chase your
tail somewhere else," leered Joffrey, waving his hand. The ugly Dog dipped his
head obediently and strode down the hall, fixing Joffrey with a somber glance
as he passed him. As soon as the Hound was out of sight, Joffrey drew a deep
breath and flung open Sansa's door.
This time, she was sitting on her bed clutching a hairbrush in hand and staring
toward the doorway as if she had been expecting him. "Good evening, your
grace," she said quietly, and stood up to give a deep curtsy.
"Did you ask for my Hound to stand guard at your door?" Joffrey snarled at
once, without meaning to let the words fall from his mouth.
Sansa shook her head quickly. "No! Why, your grace?"
"He was just outside! Did you tell someone about last night?" Joffrey couldn't
stop these words from coming. They were sharp and sounded jealous, suspicious.
"I told him nothing," Sansa said, her voice wavering. "I wouldn't say a thing.
I promised you. I'm loyal to you!"
A small smirk coiled on Joffrey's lips as he calmed down, gulping deep breaths.
He tried to ignore his sweaty palms. "Yes, I expect you are. Tell me, have you
been thinking of me?"
"I've thought of little else, your grace," Sansa said in a soft voice, averting
her eyes. He beamed at her words. Tonight, she was wearing a long, blue
nightdress that brought out her eyes and made her Tully hair shine even
brighter.
"You look nice," he remarked, stepping forward. She nodded politely, and he
noticed her legs shaking. "Sit down, my lady. Am I frightening you?"
Sansa looked up at him, almost as though she was reading him and she dropped
the brush to her side as she sat. "I—don't—know," she said. "Sometimes."
"I'm asking if I'm frightening you now," Joffrey said crisply and sat next to
her on the bed, his heart beginning to race.
"It depends. Do you want to hurt me?" Sansa questioned, her head raised as she
watched something other than his face.
Joffrey took her by the chin and turned her to face him as she let out a
panicked yelp. "I will hurt you if you don't please me," he told her in a kind
voice.
"But I wish to please you, your grace. I want you to be happy with me," Sansa
replied quickly.
"Kiss me, then," Joffrey said, and his eyes flashed. Sansa hesitated, so
Joffrey grabbed her throat and drove his tongue into her lips, prying them
apart. She cried out into his mouth and then quieted down; she was a fly being
wound up into a succulent silk package for a starving spider. She tasted sweet
and when he touched her tongue with his he felt a shock through his core.
Hungrily, Joffrey kissed her deeper and pawed at her breasts, his breath
catching in his throat as he felt himself going hard. "Sansa," he muttered,
pausing in tonguing her. "Trousers. Undo my trousers."
She stared at him wildly, her face fearful in the flickering candlelight. He
was impatient. He didn't have time for deliberation now. He wanted to be inside
her; he wanted to rip her to shreds, eat her up and spit her back out again.
"Please don't hurt me," she gasped as Joffrey gripped the strap of her
nightgown and shoved her backward onto the dark maroon bedding. The sounds she
made reminded him of someone but who?  He couldn't place it, so he drove that
thought from his mind.
"Command me again and I'll stick it in you so hard you'll be crying for me to
stop," he said with a hint of jubilation to his high voice as he un-buttoned
his trousers and pulled off his leggings so that all that remained was his
black tunic. Sansa watched him wide-eyed with one hand to the bottom of her
nightclothes and his face felt a bit warm as he saw her eyes surveying his
cock. By now it was standing straight up. He wanted to ask her questions
like, have you seen one before, or do I look how you imagined, or even have
you ever imagined me like this but such questions wouldn't sound good coming
from him. He was a king, not a child.
So instead, he held his firm hardness in his hand and fumbled onto the bed. He
put his legs on either side of Sansa and pulled her nightgown over her slender
, soft stomach. She let out a soft wail that he muffled with a kiss, his lips
solid on hers as he tried to direct himself inside her. His fingers grappled
for that secret spot, that wet opening, and he moaned aloud when he found it.
He pushed all of his hand inside, smiling broadly. I'm doing it, he
thought. I'm doing it! 
Sansa screamed into his mouth and he moaned again hoarsely in reply, pleased.
He replaced his fingers with his hardness and shoved it through her core. Her
cunt was warm, tight, and surrounded him completely.  He grunted and felt
butterflies inside his chest.  His arms tingled, hands gripping the bedding as
he savored her insides.  
"Oh Sansa," he found himself saying, "That feels very good." When he met her
eyes, she was staring up at with her mouth slightly ajar. Tears shimmered down
her pretty face and dripped off her chin as Joffrey slowly thrust into her. He
gritted his teeth and gripped the bed covering, bucking into her a bit harder.
"Doesn't it?" he asked harshly.
"It hurts," she whispered, her eyes finding his again. "It really hurts."
Joffrey ignored her and tenderly kissed the nape of her neck as he moved in and
out of her as slowly as he could. He could already feel pressure building, but
he didn't want it to end—not yet. He ran one hand through her hair and
quickened the pace of his thrusts as small, deep noises of approval left his
mouth. "You aren't happy. How can I make my lady happy," he muttered (it was
not really a question, after all), and kissed her earlobe, breathing heavily as
he began a hurried movement. In-out-in-out-in-out-in-out.
Sansa squirmed and moaned as Joffrey licked her neck, his breath moving in a
line from beneath her ear to her chin, down to her collarbone.
"That—feels—nice," she got out, and Joffrey decided he'd believe her. He wasn't
sure if Sansa was just trying to please him but he imagined, as with everything
else, he was very talented at this. He bared his teeth on her neck, nibbling
her and enjoying her responsive squeals and squirms. He wasn't going to be long
now, and he sunk his teeth into her shoulder blade, rejoicing in the loud howl
of pain that Sansa released into his ear. He laughed lightly and quickened his
pace, driving himself into her, when she let out another shuddering cry.
That was too much for Joffrey; he seized up, his teeth closing around the soft
skin of her neck. Sansa gasped, her eyes full of question as he whimpered
lightly, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. He felt his orgasm pulse throughout
him as he came in her, breath coming out in pants. When the tremors of pleasure
subsided, he freed her skin from his mouth, his blond hair tousled and slightly
damp from perspiration. He kissed her neck again as he softened inside her. As
soon as he pulled out and glanced down, he smiled proudly at his emission
running like dew down her inner thigh. A thin layer of blood covered his cock
and he noticed that her nightgown was stained bright red in several places. She
was marked with him. The smell of the maiden's blood made his mouth water as
much as it sickened him. Without really thinking, he shoved his hand up between
her legs again. Sansa screamed, and Joffrey removed his hand to see it coated
in slick redness.
Sansa seemed speechless as she watched his face, legs shaky and jaw slack. She
did not speak as he pulled up his underclothes, leggings and trousers. She
watched quietly as he fixed his tunic. She stayed silent when he ran a hand
through his hair, throwing a triumphant glance at the reflection of himself in
her bedside mirror.
"Burn the nightgown," he said loudly, breaking the quiet. Sansa jumped as if
she'd forgotten speaking was an option. There was a purple bruise beginning on
her throat, he noticed with satisfaction. "And take care to cover your neck
until that bruise has gone. I'm afraid I got a bit carried away. It's no
matter, though. You're mine. You were mine before but now you'rereally mine,"
he said with a laugh and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "And don't tell
anyone, or I will accuse you of lying and you'll be killed." He leaned in and
flecked her cheek teasingly. "Oh, and please do me the kindness of sitting by
my side at dinner this entire week. I like you in red, and I like your hair
this way."
"My king?" Sansa finally spoke, her voice small and wavering.
"What is it?" Joffrey asked, pausing at the doorway.
"Did I satisfy you? That is, will you be kind to me?" she asked in a wavering
voice, lowering her eyes.
Joffrey smiled. "I'm very satisfied-"
Sansa smiled back at him, mouth convulsing, the remnants of tears still
glistening on her face.
"-For now," he finished. When he shut the door, he swore he heard her sobbing
again but that was not a surprise. Sansa was a girl, and girls were overly
emotional. Joffrey decided she was likely lamenting her bloody nightgown. The
simple worries of women.
Once in his chambers, he disrobed and fell into bed. He'd thought he would be
beyond spent, but he couldn't stop looking at his stained hands and privates.
He replayed Sansa's sobs in his head and was soon erect again. He brought
himself to orgasm only minutes later, sticky with come and the blood of Sansa's
maidenhead. Lethargically, he cleaned up as best as he could and then fell into
a deep slumber. When he woke up the next morning, he had to admit there was
only one thing on his mind: Sansa Stark, his very own toy.
How could he know what he'd started, what lay ahead?
 
***** What He Loves *****
Chapter Summary
     The Hound steps in, much to Sansa's confusion. Just another person to
     be wary of.
                                    JOFFREY
===============================================================================
                                        
 
It was nearly fifteen minutes after he had been seated at the dining table with
his mother and siblings, but there was no sign of Sansa Stark. His nerves were
all distorted and had been since morning. He was no longer a virgin. He'd
thought it would make him feel drastically different but here he was, as usual,
sitting to dinner with his stupid family. Still, every time he looked at Cersei
he felt hotness pulse throughout his body; he had a secret, a big secret. And
Mother would never have the satisfaction of knowing.
Joffrey was looking forward to seeing if Sansa complied with his orders. He
wanted to see her in a dress as red as her maiden's blood, that pretty crimson
that had stained his dick and hands that smelled of private, dark places. He
was aching to see her face. Would she be terrified of him? Worshipful of him?
He couldn't decide which was better. Both would be nice. Tommen went to grab
his goblet and Joffrey slapped his hand down. "Not yet," he instructed
viciously, "and no one else had better start, either!"
"Joffrey," said Mother while raising a flaxen brow, "be polite at the table,
please."
"I am," he whined. "It would be rude to start without my lady, would it not?"
"My dear, Sansa takes her meals in her room on the nights you decide to join us
as you requested when you took the crown. You were very clear about that—"
"Yes, I know that, Mother," Joffrey scowled. "You think I cannot remember my
own orders? Tonight I decided I want her here so where is she?" He smacked the
table. Myrcella and Tommen were very careful not to meet his eyes.
"You requested her presence for dinner? How interesting," Mother put in,
snapping her fingers. A slight, dark-haired handmaiden stepped in to pour
Cersei and Joffrey goblets of wine.
"Yes, Mother," he nodded, trying to disguise a sneer as an innocent grin. "I
felt it would be an appropriate way to honor my betrothed. She ought to dine
here with my family. Doesn't that sound good?"
His mother fixed him with a smile. "It does indeed, Joffrey. How nice that Lady
Sansa will be joining us from now on—"
"Well, for this week. And further if I decide I like it this way."
"What caused this change of heart?"
Joffrey shrugged, masking a smirk. "Does a king need to explain himself?"
"I love Sansa!" Myrcella said eagerly. "I want her to dine with us every night!
Joff, please! Please!"
"That's for me to decide!" Joffrey barked. "Now stop babbling. I cannot stand
to hear your voice."
Myrcella's eyes widened and she put her hands in her lap. "Well, I still love
her," she said quietly.
"I'm hungry, Joffy! Please, can we eat?" Tommen begged, attempting to make an
angelic face that Joffrey wanted to smack right off him. He was about to say so
when a voice broke the tension.
"My deepest apologies for being late, your grace," came a voice from the
entrance. Joffrey's heart leapt with excitement as he turned to face her. Lady
Sansa stepped in, gorgeous in a crimson gown. The Hound came in behind her,
frowning dully at everyone as always. Sansa's hair was parted and set in loose
curls that tumbled over her shoulders. She'd carefully strung a red ribbon a
few times around her neck. He deeply desired to see the bruise he knew lay
buried beneath. Sansa curtsied.
He stood up with a thin smile, hiding his pleasure at seeing Sansa by narrowing
his eyes. "What held you up so long? Was it my Dog? Did he get lost on the
way?" Joffrey chortled. The Hound crossed his arms, a stern expression on his
mutilated face.
"No, your grace. My hair," Sansa said with a small laugh. "I was so afraid I
wouldn't look good enough for you that I forced my handmaiden to rearrange my
curls."
"Ah, how typical. Hair and the like seems to take precedence over being timely
when it comes to girls ," Joffrey commented in a bored tone, rolling his eyes.
"Still, she's done a fine job on you, my lady."
"You look beautiful!" admired Myrcella in a squeak.
"She does indeed," commented Cersei with a nod.
Sansa bowed her head. "Thank you, princess. Thank you, your grace.
"Please sit down," Joffrey nodded, gesturing to the open chair beside him.
"Your looks are to my liking. I forgive you for your lateness."
"That pleases me more than anything," Sansa said formally before sitting
between Cersei and Joffrey. Joffrey gave her a closer inspection and his heart
raced. Just last night, I was inside you, he thought. And I can go back inside
of you anytime I please because you are mine, mine, mine!
"Can we eat please, Joffy?" asked Tommen with bright, eager eyes.
"Yes, yes," Joffrey said, trying to mask his exasperation at his siblings'
outrageously immature behavior as the handmaiden poured Sansa a goblet of wine.
"Did you do anything of interest today, Sansa?"
Sansa shook her head, cutting a piece of mutton pie and keeping her eyes on her
plate. "Nothing really, your grace." Joffrey admired the curve of her breasts.
"Are you bored, little dove?" Mother asked, smiling at Sansa. "Shall we find
you activities to better make use of your time?"
Looking horrified, Sansa shook her head. "No, your grace—I'm sorry! I wasn't
bored in the least. I read poetry during my lesson and I sketched the flowers
in the garden."
"That's very nice, Sansa," nodded Mother approvingly, but Joffrey raised up his
hand.
"I don't think it's too terrible an idea to help my lady occupy her time." He
turned to Sansa and gave her a charming smile. "You could be doing so much more
around King's Landing. We could go riding. I could show you the secret hiding
spots in the gardens and take you on walks to give you the best views!"
"I want to go!" cheered Tommen.
"Sh," Myrcella said with a flip of her blonde hair. "They're in love and won't
want you there. Right, Sansa? You love my brother, don't you? Do you think he's
the most handsome boy you've ever seen?"
"Oh, Myrcella," laughed Cersei and patted the girl's hand. Sansa paled a bit
and looked downward.
"Answer my sister's question," Joffrey urged, trying to hide the impatience
that tinged his voice. He took his dinner knife off the table and discreetly
held it in his lap.
Sansa turned to face him and gave him a smile. "Yes, your grace. Your features
are undeniably handsome."
Joffrey smirked, preening like a peacock, and casually trailed the knife up
Sansa's knee, being careful not to apply too much pressure. Just enough. "The
most handsome?" he asked. With a clatter, Sansa dropped her fork and knife to
her plate. Joffrey grinned and drew back the knife into his lap. "Answer me,"
he said firmly.
"Yes, your grace," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The most handsome."
"And you'd like to go riding with me?" Joffrey pressed, his fingers settling on
Sansa's leg and grabbing her there with his nails, hard. He felt the very start
of an erection budding between his legs.
"Very much," she whimpered, staring straight ahead.
"What's wrong, Sansa?" asked Myrcella. "You look afraid—"
"More wine," Cersei commanded, and the handmaiden headed to table. Joffrey
snapped his hand off Sansa's lap as quickly as he could.
Sansa gave a small laugh. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "I'm looking forward to
riding with my king."
"You look like you're upset!" Myrcella continued.
"Shut up," Joffrey snarled. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"I'm not upset," Sansa reassured Myrcella in a soft tone. She smiled. The rest
of the meal was pleasantly quiet. Joffrey was happy that his siblings ceased in
their noise-making in favor of eating their supper. He was looking forward to
horseback riding with Sansa. It would allow them to have time to themselves and
although he figured it might be too risky to fuck Sansa out in the open, he
could certainly do with some kissing and touching while no one was watching. At
the end of supper, Sansa rose to be escorted back to her chambers by the Hound.
Joffrey smiled and patted her arm and was pleased when Sansa jumped.
"It's so nice to see you two getting along." Mother leaned over to look at
Joffrey. "I really must know the reason for this sudden change of heart."
Joffrey gave his mother a pleasant look and shrugged his shoulders. "You were
right, Mother. Sansa and I are to be wed and I've been behaving badly. I
decided it would not hurt me to take your advice." The Hound muttered something
under his breath that Joffrey could not quite catch. At once, Joffrey wheeled
around to face his dog, glowering deeply.
===============================================================================
                                        
                                     SANSA
                                        
===============================================================================
"You'd much rather hurt the little bird instead."
Sansa felt her body go rigid at the Hound's muttered words. She was rooted to
the spot, though she wanted to show him she'd heard him, that she'd understood.
She wondered if he knew what had had happened between herself and King Joffrey
last night. Her maidenhead was gone and there was still a faint pressure
between her legs where Joffrey had visited. Sansa and Shae had spent the early
morning scrubbing blood from the coverlet, and burning Sansa's nightgown as the
king had suggested. Had the Hound seen? Had one of the queen's spies already
spread the word (spread the word wide-open like Sansa's private lips underneath
her nightgown, the king's fingers and then his cock prying, prying, prying) ?
But as soon as she stopped in her tracks, she knew she should have simply
proceeded on.
"Did you say something, Dog?" Joffrey called out, his saccharine sweet tone
turning rancid like old milk. "Did you insult my lady?"
She turned around very slowly, trying to keep her face as inexpressive as
possible. Joffrey loved reactions, making his own and seeing them; he lived for
dramatics and entertainment. And just as Sansa had endured a supper during
which her betrothed King had slid his knife along the material of her gown
without making a scene, she made her face as innocent as possible and shrugged.
"I didn't hear anything," Sansa replied simply.
But Joffrey's eyes darkened. "I wasn't speaking to you. Dog, did you or did you
not just say something?"
"I was talking to myself, your grace. Nothing against your lady," replied the
Hound and bowed his head. Sansa kept her eyes off him for fear she'd emote in a
way that would make Joffrey sense there had been a quiet exchange between the
two of them.
"Either speak loudly enough for me to hear or don't speak at all," Joffrey
replied in a snap. "I've had tongues cut out for less." His face sweet again,
Joffrey bid her a goodnight, and Sansa's stomach dropped when he trailed her
back with his fingers. Sansa plastered on a look of serene happiness and waved
to Myrcella, Tommen and the queen. She felt horrible she'd had to lie to
Princess Myrcella but she supposed it wasn't too bad of a stretch.
Joffrey used to be the most handsome boy Sansa had ever seen, even when he
showed his wicked qualities, but now all she saw when she looked at him was the
look he'd had on his face of gleeful concentration last night as he'd
deflowered her. That look of victory upon his face as he'd inspected the
damage. His fascination in shoving his hand back into all of her maiden's
blood; oh, how Sansa's faced had burned because even after all of this, she was
a lady and it had been utterly humiliating. Sansa had tried with all her might
to take Shae's advice, to leave her head and go somewhere he couldn't touch
her, but Joffrey had demanded responses from her. Each time Sansa had tried to
think about her old life in Winterfell surrounded by her siblings and parents,
Joffrey's cold, thin voice had cut through her like icicles and she'd had no
choice but to be completely absorbed in the experience. Losing her maidenhead
had been different than Sansa had expected. It hurt when Joffrey had forced his
private parts inside of her but as Shae had said, the pain mostly went away by
the end. It was the other parts of Joffrey that made Sansa more nervous: his
teeth that had left a gaudy bruise on her neck, his fingers that shoved and
pinched and slapped, and his eyes. His eyes were worst. They were glowing green
orbs that were ever watchful and even when he smiled, the orbs widened and
flashed, a reminder that King Joffrey could snap at any moment.
"How late did your king stay last night?" the Hound muttered gruffly.
Sansa's head snapped to attention, her gaze searching for the Lannisters. But
lost in her thoughts, she had drifted past the dining room, trailing the Hound.
They had probably been walking for at least five minutes without Sansa knowing.
Still, the question made her face burn, no matter how alone they were. King
Joffrey had mentioned something about the Hound last night, hadn't he? He'd
accused Sansa of putting the Hound up to guard her door. At once, Sansa felt
herself breathing rapidly. What if the Hound had heard? She did her best to
keep her eyes on the floor, to keep from reacting. "I know not what you mean,"
she said sharply, but was pained to hear her own voice crack at the end.
He threw her back a look she didn't care for, a pained and pitiful glance. Who
was he to judge her anyway? What was he to anyone? And really, if he did know,
did he think she had any choice? "Little bird," he said, and stared ahead
again. His voice was tired as usual. "I know the king visited your room last
night and I very much doubt anything good came of it."
Sansa's face was hot and she searched her brain for an answer, for anything.
"He only came by to give me a present!" she said in a hurried tone.
"Ah," the Hound said in a light tone. "And are you hiding your present with
that ribbon on your throat?"
At once, Sansa's hand went to her neck. "No!" she all but shouted, "this is for
decoration! He didn't—he gave me a present, I said, he gave me a jewel!" It
wasn't far off, not too far off; the King had given her gifts before—
"A jewel," repeated the Hound, and Sansa heard him emit a bitter laugh.
"Yes, a jewel," she said hotly. "What do you care anyway? Should you really be
sneaking around people's doors at night? He's the king. He can—"
-"Do as he pleases," the Hound finished, and threw back a grim smile at Sansa.
"Yes, that's something we all know too well. He didn't hurt you, then?" The
question was spoken in a dubious way, like the Hound wouldn't believe Sansa
even if she told him the most well-crafted lie in the world.
"No," Sansa heard herself saying in a firm, flat tone. "He'd never really hurt
me. He is my beloved." She was pleased with herself for being so unyielding
even when the Dog's hulking frame and disfigured face put the spins in her
stomach.
"The king takes great pleasure in hurting what he loves," the Hound scoffed,
"perhaps even more than what he hates. You'd do well to remember that, little
bird."
"You're treasonous," Sansa hissed, hot tears stinging in her eyes, her hands
flying to her hips. "King Joffrey is good and fair! And I'm not your little
bird!" She took off running, her blood red gown flying behind her and her
carefully-arranged curls getting ruined by motion. The tears she'd been
stifling during dinner leaked out then, and she covered her sobs in the crook
of her arm. She heard the Hound laughing sardonically behind her and this made
her cry even more. Obviously, he only wanted to see her embarrassed. He wanted
to see her fail like everyone else in this horrible place.
When Sansa burst into her chambers, she was thrilled to see Shae there tending
the fire. The dark-haired handmaiden rose to her feet, her pretty face twisted
in concern. "What have they done to you?" she asked as Sansa ran into her arms,
pressing herself into Shae's shoulder. Her sobs had become quiet and breathy,
and she shook her head into Shae's shoulder.
"It was Joffrey's dog," she said quietly. "He was at the door last night. He
was mocking me, Shae! Oh, what if he heard? What if he knows?"
"What exactly did he say, my lady?" Shae asked in a firm voice, pulling Sansa
back and holding her head in her hands. Shae's fearless face gave Sansa a
sliver of hope; after all, Shae would not laugh at her, not in a time like
this.
"He asked about this," Sansa said, clawing at the ribbon on her neck. At her
efforts, it unraveled, revealing the purple-black sore. "And he acted like he
was caring, like he was giving me advice, but he's Joffrey's. Like everyone
else here! I just know he was checking up on me, seeing if I'd tell. I can't
trust anyone, Shae. Anyone but you."
"Good," Shae nodded, "you're getting smarter. Trust no one. Stay alive. You
only do what the King tells you to do because there's nothing else that can be
done. You're still going to be his wife, and if you please him you'll have your
head. Forget about the Hound. Tell me, how did the dinner go? Was his grace in
a good mood?"
Sansa nodded her head. "Better than usual—"
"This is excellent news," Shae commented, ushering Sansa to the mirror and
sitting her down firmly in the chair before it. "The king isn't like most men
I've encountered so this gives me hope. You have something he wants now. Likely
before he had it, he did not know what he was missing. He was probably cocky
without it, didn't think he needed it." At this grownup kind of talk, Sansa's
face went red and she subconsciously pushed her legs together. Shae continued
talking as she selected a brush from the vanity and began to soothingly comb
out Sansa's curls. "Did he say anything else?"
"It was queer. He wants us to spend more time together," Sansa nodded, closing
her eyes as Shae brushed. "It was almost like how I pictured him before
everything went foul. He wants us to go horseback riding, to take walks in the
gardens. He was almost delighted, the way he spoke about it—"
"I bet he was," Shae snorted. "He's going to want you again."
Sansa cringed. "I hate him. I don't want him to touch me—"
"You have to remember what I told you," Shae said in a serious tone. "You can
let him inside you but don't let him in your mind—"
"I couldn't do it!" Sansa protested. "He wouldn't let me—"
"You must try harder," Shae urged. "You will survive this yet."
Sansa nodded, encouraged by Shae's bold tone. Sansa didn't know if she would
survive it, after all, she was not brave like Arya or Robb. She wasn't unique
like Jon or shrewd like Mother or steadfast in her beliefs like her late
father. But the way Shae talked to her made her feel like she could pretend (if
for only a second) that she would be able to pull through this and come out, on
the other side, alive.
 
***** Drowning Stag *****
Chapter Summary
     Tyrion's criticisms lead to a tantrum from Joffrey.
===============================================================================
 
                                    JOFFREY
 
===============================================================================
Joffrey was having a wonderful week. He'd been in a grand mood, he'd slept
better than he had in ages, and he'd had the pleasure of seeing Sansa at dinner
each night. They had not had an opportunity to be alone as Joffrey had been
quite busy with affairs of the kingdom (as tedious as that was), but seeing her
in the evenings made the evenings end on a pleasurable note. He was unsure what
had changed him so much; it was as though someone had addled his brains. There
was a spark in him now when he saw Sansa. His mouth went dry and his heart beat
more rapidly as he imagining mounting her again, his cock pushed deep into her
perfect hole. He pictured his hands in her hair and his breath on her neck and
ears, her lips on his. The sweet smiles and praise she gave him made him wish
he was inside her even moreso and he was biding his time, waiting for the next
open opportunity. She even sat by his side at the end of the week, her head
held high, as Joffrey punished a chamber maid for allegedly stealing a golden
goblet from his bedroom. Joffrey had her hands chopped off there right there
before the court and Sansa merely stared on and smiled at him back at him when
he threw her an eager grin. Could Sansa possibly have more to her than Joffrey
had previously thought? It seemed so. Maybe he'd been judging her too harshly.
Perhaps she could sit by his side and be his queen, his match. It was a new and
exciting prospect for Joffrey, who couldn't seem to get enough of admiring
Sansa's dark red hair and long eyelashes, and the curves of her body he had not
fully appreciated until now. He felt like a proper man; he could do anything.
He could conquer lands and kill enemies, and take any woman he wanted for his
own. But for now, he was quite satisfied with Lady Sansa.
At the week's end, Joffrey instructed Uncle Tyrion to formally invite Sansa to
ride horseback with him directly after breakfast the next afternoon. "Ah, am I
a raven now as well as hand of the king?" questioned his uncle in a tone of
amusement.
"You would argue my command?" Joffrey snipped, fixing Tyrion with a dangerous
expression.
"You'd do well to learn the true definition of the words you use," responded
Uncle Imp with a smile. "Were I to argue, I would have done so more
effectively. I was merely bringing into question your reasoning for me to
invite Lady Sansa for you when, according to your mother, you dine with Sansa
each evening now. But I am not complaining, nor am I arguing. I have need to
stretch my legs, and Lady Sansa is actually a pleasant diversion from others
around the castle who I must deal with more routinely."
Joffrey squinted at his uncle, never certain if the man was insulting him or
not. "Yes," he finally said with a nod and a smirk, "yes, she is quite
pleasant, isn't she?"
"Your change of heart is interesting. We're all very glad to see you treating
your betrothed with a bit more respect as of late, unless it's all a game."
Tyrion made a face. "Oh, don't tell me. You are not planning to take a
horseback ride to show off some estranged Stark's severed head, are you?"
"No," Joffrey spat, "whose head would I have? I haven't had any Starks murdered
lately, though I wish I had! I will as soon as I encounter another one! With my
own two hands, I'll rip their heads off their necks like I've done with
pigeons!"
"I bet you will!" Uncle Imp raised up a hand. "But save this topic for your
romantic horse ride. I am sure as soon as you bring this into your
conversation, Sansa will be swooning over you like the flies in the stable
linger upon shit-"
"Are you calling me shit?" Joffrey screamed, leaping off the throne and
stomping the ground like a young bull. "How dare you! Take it back!"
"You're getting quicker," Uncle Imp commented lightly. "I really must tread
more carefully-"
Joffrey ignored him, continuing to shout: " I WON'T HAVE YOU INSULTING ME LIKE
THIS! I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE, NOW! GO DO AS I'VE ASKED YOU!"
"I'm certain your betrothed would enjoy hearing that her king had a shrieking
fit reminiscent of a toddler- shall I pass that on as well?"
"I WISH I HAD YOUR HEAD!" was Joffrey's enraged response, his face turning
pink, the vibrant color of rage and shame mixed.
His uncle let out a faint chortle. "Yes, I'm certain that would make you very
happy. At least for a few minutes, that is, as your attention span has proven
to be quite nonexistent. Now, as your hand, I must advise you to breathe
deeply. Panic attacks are not very kingly-"
"I'LL BREATHE HOW I WISH TO BREATHE!" Joffrey bellowed, and stepped down onto
the floor directly in front of his uncle. "First you go telling on me to my
mother, and now this!"
"What about your mother?" Uncle Tyrion questioned, one eyebrow raised high and
then he sighed. "So, she told you I confided in her about the prostitutes-"
"You expect her to keep secrets from her own son? From the king? Anyway,"
Joffrey said with a flick of his hand, "I don't care what she knows. She cannot
do anything to me! But you anger me." He sniffed.
"So sorry to have angered you," voiced Tyrion with a hint of ice in his voice,
"and forgive me for my concern over you battering a woman, for the sake of the
Gods-"
"Not this again," Joffrey snorted, folding his arms and shaking his head with a
sinister smile on his face. "I told you, Uncle. I didn't batter her. She was
battered by the other prostitute. Blame her!"
"Are you impaired? Is there anything in your sick head?" Tyrion shouted,
finally breaking. Joffrey's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in stunned
surprise. "You held two women captive with a damned crossbow and you have the
audacity to sit here and make an insensitive joke? Every day, you amaze me more
and more! You really are a treasure, aren't you?"
"Your love for whores is depressing," Joffrey countered, forcing out a high-
pitched laugh. "But I suppose I'd love them, too. That is, if I couldn't get a
woman to fuck me unless I paid her-"
In one hard, fast motion, Uncle Imp leaned forward on his dwarfed legs and
back-handed Joffrey across the face. Joffrey mewled loudly, clasping his
burning cheek. "That's not for me," Tyrion said in a calm voice. "That's for
the women you abused. I wish I could say I trust they were the last. But I
suppose you're so demented, you can't get whatever dwells between your legs to
be stiff unless you're acting like a tyrant." He gave a short, cynical laugh.
"Tell me, nephew, had you run out of pigeons that day?"
Joffrey let out a guttural cry. After all, he'd only understood about half of
what Tyrion had said, but he didn't like it. Not one bit. "GET OUT! YOU ARE
DISMISSED!"
"Gladly, sire," said Tyrion with a theatrical curtsy, all fluttering hands and
an exaggerated dipped stance. "Is there anything else I should pass onto Lady
Stark? Can I assume you'll be in good spirits tomorrow or shall I instruct her
to come equipped with a shield?"
"GET OUT!" Joffrey repeated, his loud voice echoing out into the foyer.
Whistling merrily, Uncle Imp strolled throughout the throne room with an
obnoxious skip in his step. Furiously, Joffrey moaned in pain and beat his
fists at his sides.
From the entrance stepped Mother, a look of great concern written on her face.
As Tyrion passed her, her face darkened even deeper. "What's the meaning of
this?" she barked.
"I'm bonding with my nephew. We are learning things about each other," Tyrion
nodded to her pleasantly. "And now I am on my way to deliver very important
business by order of the king!" He continued to whistle as he exited the room.
"What's he done?" Cersei asked crisply, crossing over to Joffrey on fast feet,
her skirts cascading out behind her as she moved.
"He was mocking me, Mother!" Joffrey protested, one hand still pressed to his
cheek. "Are you certain I can't have him killed?"
Mother laughed lightly and smoothed Joffrey's hair with a tender hand. "I'm
certain," she said softly.
"Well, then you're really no help to me," Joffrey said bitterly, ducking out of
her grasp. Her motherly cooing no longer made him feel at ease. It was
obnoxious and made him feel babyish. He didn't need his mother to come to his
aide. Joffrey had Sansa now. "Why are you here, anyway? Has everyone set out to
drive me mad today?"
"No, my son- I have come to report to you about the maid whose... whose hands
were removed yesterday," Mother said, threading her fingers together.
"What about that thief?" Joffrey barked, hopping back onto the iron throne and
crossing his legs in a casual stance. Mother hesitated. Impatient and still
reeling from his uncle's blow and disrespectful words, Joffrey kicked the
floor. "Get on with it!"
"There was evidence found that she may not have been a thief at all," Mother
went on, and Joffrey scowled.
"Are you questioning my judgment?" he snapped. "She stole that goblet, Mother!
It was missing from my chambers and she was the last in there! She was the
last, I know she was!"
Mother put up her hands. "I'm merely telling you what has been passed out to me
through Lord Varys-"
"You can tell that sorry eunuch that from now on he can go through me instead
of my mother," said Joffrey in a pained voice, but gestured her to step closer
to his throne. "But go on. What was it he told you?"
She sighed, and moved in toward him. "The goblet was still in your chambers. It
had fallen behind your desk."
Joffrey glared, feeling his temper rising again. They're all out to get me, he
thought viciously. Every single one of them! "Who discovered this?"
"If you'll remember, yesterday before you had the maid's hands cut off she was
trying to tell you she was innocent. The head maid did a thorough inspection of
your chambers-"
"Without my permission?" Joffrey yowled. "She should be put to death! She
should wait for my command before she searches my room with her filthy hands!"
Mother drew a breath. "That is really not the point- you disabled an honest
woman, and another servant found the evidence."
"And now you believe I should listen to every cur and liar that ever walked the
kingdom?" Joffrey demanded. He made a flippant hand gesture as if swatting a
fly. "Likely she would have stolen something else, if she hadn't already!"
"I do not wish to fight with you, Joffrey. But this pattern of rash behavior is
not very becoming and the servants are already beginning to talk. It's not
appealing for them to see one of their own punished for a crime she did not
commit. And now she is out of work. You've given her absolutely no choice in-"
"I told you, Mother. I don't like when you speak to me so. I'm finished for the
day. If I sit here one more second, I shall lose my temper with you. Send word
that I shan't be dining at the table tonight. I wish to take my meal alone. I
can't stand to look at you for fear I'll be sick. Give Sansa my apologies,"
Joffrey said, leaving the throne. He made certain to bump into Cersei as he
walked by her. Blithering, stupid bitch! I wish I could tell her that I've gone
against her. If only I could brag about it to her, to Tyrion- to all these
little fools who make my life a hell! I will get back at all of them, just
wait.
Once he entered his chambers, he slammed the door and kicked the leg of his
desk. Quills, ink and rolls of parchment fell to the floor. The ink bottles
shattered, spewing tarry blacks and mossy greens across the polished flooring.
The mess gave Joffrey a feeling of twisted contentment and so he upturned his
chair too, and slung a large glass stag he'd inherited from his late father
into the debris. He paused at the fantastic crack it made as it broke into
several pieces. It sunk in the ink as though it was a real stag drowning in a
dirty river, its lungs crushed by the black, rolling waves.
Tears spilled out of Joffrey's eyes then, because it was all so unfair- just so
unfair. Because if Father hadn't have died it all wouldn't be so difficult, so
stressful. And perhaps Father could have taught Joffrey a thing or two before
he'd gone- that would have been too much, wouldn't it!? That would have taken
time away from hunting trips, and spending time with that blasted traitor Ned
Stark! That would have taken time away from drinking and whores! Gods forbid
that, thought Joffrey savagely, and he broke an arrow on the leg of the chair
before tossing it onto the heap. This was satisfying. Fun. In a violent swipe,
he flung his chess set from the bedside table and ripped pages out of books,
his sobbing growing into an angrier sound. The tears ran hot down his face as
he growled and cried in unison. No one taught me anything and they all make it
my fault! They're all vile! No one is ever on my side!
When Joffrey had destroyed several more figurines and smashed a bookend onto
the floor, he flopped forward onto his bed, his head feverish with the effort
of crying. He cried for what seemed like hours and hours, and he was both angry
and relieved that no one came by to ask if he was alright. He beat his fists
into the soft mattress and cried until he had no tears left to give, until his
throat was burned raw. Joffrey cried until he forgot what was so terrible and
soon, he was laughing instead, a raucous and panting sound. He sat up, dried
his eyes and beamed so widely it could have easily been mistaken for a look of
utmost hatred.


 
***** Kill Hill *****
Chapter Summary
     Joffrey plays a game of show-and-tell with Sansa.
===============================================================================
 
                                     SANSA
 
===============================================================================
Shae was tying Sansa's hair back with a red ribbon to match the one that
adorned her throat when a loud knock sounded at the chamber door, signifying
that the Hound had arrived to escort her to dinner with the royal family.
Instantly, Sansa's stomach did a series of clumsy cartwheels and she smoothed
the front of her maroon gown before rising as Shae unlocked and opened the
door. Sansa's nerves had been a wreck today. Earlier, Lord Tyrion had stopped
by to deliver the unhappy news of King Joffrey's invitation to go horse-back
riding the next morning. Although Sansa was more at ease around Tyrion than
most of her captors, she had still felt her face pale at his words and she'd
lied quickly when he commented that she looked as if she had seen a ghost.
She'd spent the past hour readying herself to see Joffrey, and she'd practised
exactly how she would bend her words tonight to make him feel like their
upcoming horse-riding sounded like the best adventure in the entire world. She
already hated herself for the insincerity, for the poison lies that fell out of
her mouth so readily these days. Still, it was like Shae said- the more pleased
Joffrey was, the less miserable Sansa would be. She'd already prayed seven
times today that he wouldn't touch her tomorrow and that perhaps he'd be in a
good mood and show her kindness. Did the gods stop listening after a certain
amount of prayers? If that was so, they'd given up on her long ago.
"Best not be late for dinner, Lady Stark," the hound heaved in his gusty growl
of a voice. "If I'm going to catch hell from his grace, it had better be for a
better reason than his beloved wasting time perfecting her looks." He gave a
dry laugh. "If you want to impress him, best to wear less and keep your mouth
shut unless you're admiring him. At least, that's how I prefer my women."
Sansa felt the corners of her eyes wrinkle in an unintentional glower, but she
gave a short dip of her head all the same and followed the dog into the
slightly chill hallway. She bid Shae a farewell nod as her handmaiden gave her
a curtsy. The exchange likely seemed unfamiliar to the Hound, but Sansa felt
warmth spark through her at the smile Shae gave her as she left. It was
extraordinary to have at least one person who seemed to care about her, even if
Shae was a second rate handmaiden much of the time.
"I'm sorry, Ser," she muttered under her breath, staying a meter or so behind
the tall man leading her. They walked in silence for several minutes, Sansa
replaying conversation ideas in her head to beguile Joffrey. I'm so looking
forward to riding with you, your grace. Do you have a favorite horse? How long
have you been riding? I remember how fun it was, riding with you in Winterfell.
You looked so handsome that day... Sansa felt a cold shudder ripple through her
as she added, before you drew blood out of little Mycah and then called my
sister terrible, horrible words. She mentally shook herself. No! Stay focused
on what was good. Make him remember you then, when you loved him, before it all
went so wrong. Before he took away your maidenhead, made you worth nothing. She
couldn't help but let her thoughts spiral out of control now. She could even
feel a pulse, a pang, from where his hardness had filled the gap between her
legs. Will he really want me again? What if he has me killed because he's bored
now? Shae says he'll want me again, but when?
"Show me what's under the ribbon."
Sansa jumped as Ser Clegane wheeled around, his mussed up hair covering his
eyes, canine teeth a wet, twisted smile. He was suddenly inches from her face.
"I told you, it's-"
"Show me or I'll rip it off you," he wheezed, and she smelt a faint whiff of
old wine on his breath.
Her heart racing, she clasped her throat as the Hound reached out a scarred,
gnarled hand toward her face. Unlike Joffrey's clean, white fingers, the
Hound's looked course and cracked and they were caked in dirt.
"Don't touch me!" she asserted, her voice high.
He laughed, even sounding like a dog. "Was the king doing a bit of sucking
there, Lady Stark?"
"No!" Sansa shouted, going as red as her hair, she could feel it- she was
mortified, she wanted to run.
"Too bad," the Hound grinned savagely, "I was about to say perhaps he's more
normal than I thought. I won't touch you. I like my head." He narrowed his eyes
and turned back around, marching toward the dining room entrance. "And don't
accuse me of treason again, little bird. I serve his majesty with all my rotted
heart. I'm only looking out for his young lady." As she walked past him to
enter, he gave her a crooked wink. "Who knows? You might need me one day."
Sansa made a noise of exasperation, and with a roll of her blue eyes she
entered the dining room and plastered on a smile for her future family. The
Hound was nothing to her after all; he was only trying to scare her. She took a
deep breath, smelling roasts, pies and puddings. Soon, her nose was free of Ser
Clegane's pungent, raw scent. Myrcella and Tommen greeted her excitedly, and
Cersei motioned for her to sit. But where is Joffrey? she thought worriedly.
Somehow, his absence was more worrisome than his presence. Quickly, she
curtsied and took a seat beside the queen.
"Good evening, little dove," Cersei greeted, looking gorgeous in green silk
that brought out her ivy eyes. "My son wishes to give you his deepest
apologies. He wasn't feeling well today and has opted to take supper in his
room. He does hope you enjoy your food."
It took everything out of Sansa not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. Her
artificial beaming smile was quickly replaced with a wide-eyed look of concern.
"Oh, my poor Joffrey!" she found herself saying almost too easily, "has he
fallen ill? Is it serious? Should I still meet him in the morning to ride?" Is
it a plague? Will he die? she thought hopefully, trying not to grin.
"You sweet thing," tutted Cersei, snapping her fingers for wine. "It is not
that sort of affliction. His grace was in a hot temper today, one that can only
be remedied by time alone and a hot bath. He should be just right in the
morning, though I shall send word to you if he is still out of sorts. Sometimes
even kings have their moods." Cersei made a pained smile in a way that
suggested to Sansa she wasn't exactly thinking about Joffrey. Sansa refrained
from asking when Joffrey wasn't in a mood, though it took some effort.
Tommen popped several grapes in his mouth before saying, "I don't like when
Joffy is in a bad mood. Bad things happen." Sansa looked up from her plate in
curiosity. What was Tommen talking about? Did he know something?
"Do not speak with your mouth full!" Cersei snapped, her goblet of wine poised
in midair. "Would you rather eat in the stable with the pigs?"
"No, Mother!" said Tommen, hanging his head blond head down, and swallowed.
"What did you say, Prince Tommen?" asked Sansa in a quiet, sweet voice.
"When my brother's in a bad mood, the bad things happen," said Tommen earnestly
with a good-natured shrug of his shoulders. "But sometimes when he's happy, the
bad things happen, too-"
"Oh, stop this nonsense. Don't speak about Joffrey in this way. He is your king
now, and besides, he's had a difficult few weeks," Cersei said off-handedly,
taking a delicate bite of lamb pie. But Sansa noticed the queen's gaze was
growing as icy as Joffrey's could be, her green eyes flashing like a cat's.
Sansa's attention was no longer focused upon her plate of food at all. "Bad
things?" she asked carefully, attempting to sound clueless so that the queen
would not raise an eyebrow at her questions. Had Joffrey told his brother plans
he had in store for her? Joffrey's cruel enough to Tommen, always poking fun at
him and insulting his sword fighting. But I've never seen him do anything worse
than taunt him.
Tommen nodded, apparently eager for an audience. "Yes, the bad things happen
when Joffy gets you alone." Sansa felt her stomach give a jolt.
"Tommen," Princess Myrcella suddenly hissed, and very obviously kicked her
brother under the table.
"This is quite enough!" Cersei announced loudly and cast a solemn look at
Sansa. "Do not ask the prince anymore questions tonight. His lies are going to
get him into trouble soon enough!"
"But Mother, I'm not-"
"Stop it!" Myrcella shouted. Sansa had never seen the princess so distraught;
her cheeks were pale and she was shaking. Sansa replayed what had just happened
in her mind, trying to make sense of it. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
But... Was there anything good about Joffrey, anything she could use as a means
to look forward to seeing him? Beyond his looks and his deceiving way of
kissing tenderly, Sansa could find nothing right about him. He had invaded her,
and though Shae pressed the fact that Sansa was not ruined, she definitely felt
like it. He was her first time, and he'd likely be her only because she had no
doubt he'd kill her before she could escape, before she could find her true
prince charming and fulfill her wishes.
. . .
To Sansa's regret, there was no message indicating that the horse ride would be
canceled, and so she choked down several bites of porridge and a hunk of brown
bread with cheese before plunging her face into the basin of hot water that
Shae brought up for her. She thought about staying in the water forever,
opening her mouth and letting the water fill her lungs. Arya would smack her
for such a dramatic thought. At least she would have years ago, Sansa mused
darkly. Now maybe Arya would see the hopelessness in the situation and let her
kill herself instead of reprimanding her for being weak. Maybe, maybe not. When
Sansa emerged from the water, beads of liquid dripping off her face, she was
sniffling. Even the water droplets could not mask the tears.
"What's all this?" Shae asked with a frown, handing Sansa a soft cloth to dry
herself. "Why the crying so early?"
"My sister," Sansa wept lightly, feeling even more like Arya would find her
stupid for being so emotional on a day when she needed to take complete charge.
"I haven't seen her in months- she could be dead for all I know, and she-"
"Stop this," Shae said, not unkindly, but not in the gentlest tone she could
take. Sansa looked up, baffled. "I don't know the king personally but I wager
he doesn't want you crying today. You must be in control. A queen. His queen.
There is nothing you can do for your sister. Not today, at least. Understood?"
Sansa snorted through her tears. "You shouldn't talk to me in such a way-
you're my servant, you're-"
"I can be silent, then," Shae interrupted in a curt tone. "Come, we'll do your
hair. And you should wear the green gown King Joffrey bought you after his Name
Day. It says, I am Beautiful, I am strong, I am Taller than You! "
"Shall I really say that? He'd love that," Sansa giggled, wiping her face. It
was funny enough that she forgot to tell Shae she wasn't being silent in the
least. Sansa wondered if the handmaiden even knew the definition of silence.
"He can't stand that I'm taller than him, he absolutely hates it."
"Of course he hates it," Shae laughed, "his neck likely hurts from looking up
at you."
"At least he's taller than the little lord. I can't even imagine," Sansa said,
another chortle escaping her lips as Shae paused in tugging her curls. "Can
you?" Sansa asked, when Shae said nothing for a moment.
Shae shrugged. "He seems an interesting fellow, that one."
"I was afraid of him at first," Sansa went on. "His looks are rather shocking.
But I suppose he is nicer than many here."
"I wouldn't know," Shae said, pulling Sansa's hair back. She stood up and
crossed to the dressing area. "I haven't ever met him." Sansa couldn't help but
notice that Shae was no longer meeting her eyes, but she decided it meant
nothing. Sansa had more important things to think about. They spent the next
half hour perfecting her hair and bodice, making sure that she looked her best
for her king.
. . .
Sansa had to admit to herself that she looked very beautiful and even a bit
grown-up. The gown Joffrey had gifted her with was of a form-fitting deep green
variety, and it did not leave much to the imagination when the bodice was
pulled tight. It reminded Sansa of something Queen Cersei might wear. Today,
Shae had set Sansa's locks in loose curls that fell just over her cleavage line
and she wore the new riding boots that the late Robert Baratheon had given her
when she had first arrived in King's Landing. At that time, Sansa had expected
she'd be riding with Joffrey weekly, but they'd gathered dust in the lonely
months since. She'd had them shined this morning and was glad they still fit.
The sun was shining and even the Hound's gruff attitude did not ruin Sansa's
positivity that today would go smoothly. When she was dropped off at the
stables, King Joffrey was already there. He turned around, and she saw
happiness on his face. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he would be in
high spirits. Her prayers had worked.
"My lady," Joffrey greeted, with a formal bow, "I'm very pleased to see you.
Have you had a good morning so far?" He was riding a deep blue velvet riding
coat and brandishing a crop in his outstretched hand. Glistening black boots
were on his feet, adding several inches to his height.
"Yes!" Sansa said, almost forcefully as she curtsied. Blushing, she noticed
Joffrey's eyes immediately fixing themselves to the plunging neckline of the
gown. "It's lovely outside-"
"I didn't invite you out to talk about the weather," Joffrey said bluntly, but
he was still smiling. "I like this on you. It's not red, but I like it-"
"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot- I wore it because you bought it for me!" Sansa
immediately put in, mentally cursing Shae for suggesting the green frock, if I
catch it for the dress, it's all her fault, if she gets me in trouble I'll-
Joffrey snorted, striding forward. "I said I liked it. Don't be stupid, Sansa.
If I bought it for you, it means I wish to see it on you. You do like it, don't
you?" he asked, and stopped just in front of Sansa, grasping the material of
her sleeve between his fingers. Sansa's heart pounded in her chest and she was
relieved when he pulled his hand back. "I had it made specially for you. Mother
helped with the design. She has good taste, doesn't she?"
Ah, so that is why it reminds me of the Queen. Exposed neckline and
all, thought Sansa, remembering her mother's negative opinion of Cersei's
outfits and in contrast how gorgeous Sansa had thought Cersei was. It was once
Sansa's aspiration to be just like the queen. She nodded several times. "I love
it," she said.
He beamed and put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer to him. Please, no,
no, she thought, but all he did was plant a soft kiss on her lips. Despite
herself, Sansa's legs still went a bit weak with the kiss. When he wasn't
biting her and shoving his tongue in her mouth, the king was actually a decent
kisser. This made Sansa feel even worse; she wished everything was despicable
about Joffrey. It made her sick that she actually liked his kisses. "Well, we
should get on to it," the king went on, pulling off her and gesturing to a
large black stallion that was pawing the grass and whinnying just outside the
stable door. "We're going to ride Death's Door." Joffrey gave a little laugh
and smiled excitedly. "I named him."
Clearly. "''We', your grace?" Sansa asked tentatively as Joffrey clomped up to
the horse and gave it an unneccessarily heavy-handed slap on its side. Death's
Door whinnied loudly and reared up, and Joffrey laughed again, a cold, high
sound. Despite the warm morning, Sansa shivered, thinking of how Joffrey had
laughed while he'd taken her maidenhead, and the sound of his private parts
slapping inside of her.
"Yes, I'd like you to ride with me," Joffrey said importantly. "Why shouldn't
we share a horse? I can show you how fast I can ride. Likely you wouldn't be
able to keep up!" He put his boot in the stirrups, and swung up onto Death's
Door. "Hound, help my lady onto my horse!"
"As you wish," the Hound grunted, but Sansa shook her head.
"I can do it myself," she said, and at Joffrey's darkening glance, she added,
"I can at least get halfway up, but your grace may need to help me so I don't
fall."
Joffrey nodded, looking important. "Very well. You are dismissed, Hound. We
don't need you." As Sansa slipped her boot through the stirrups, she raised up
her hand and Joffrey caught it in his own, gripping her strongly. He hoisted
her onto Death's Door and she settled behind him, trying to arrange her dress
in a ladylike manner. "Put your hands on my waist!" Joffrey snapped, and Sansa
instantly complied, gingerly doing as he wished. "Here we go!" Joffrey shouted
and, without a second's thought, he brought the riding crop down with an
enormoussnap! Death's Door panicked, rearing up slightly and then pounding the
ground, taking off into a gallop.
Sansa shrieked and had no choice but to cling to Joffrey with all her might. He
laughed maniacally as they went, the gardens zooming by in an emerald green
golden blur. "Please, please, please, your grace! Please slow down! It's too
much!" she cried out, closing her eyes. She felt naseous and the last thing she
wanted to do was to get sick in front of King Joffrey. She figured he wouldn't
like that.
But Joffrey responded by digging the spurs of his boots into the horse's sides
and though Sansa didn't think it was possible, they went even faster. She
buried into Joffrey's velvet coat, her head spinning. Her fingers were sore
from clutching the king's waist and she finally wrapped her arms completely
around him, so sure they were going to fall. At long last, Joffrey shouted:
"Woa! Woa!" and Death's Door came to an abrupt halt. "That was fun," commented
Joffrey lightly as Sansa whimpered into the soft material of his coat.
Her eyes fluttered open. They were in unfamiliar territory to Sansa, on the
outskirts of the kingdom's vast gardens. The trees and shrubbery were thicker
here, and shadows hung over them. "Where are we?" she whispered, and then, as
an afterthought, "your grace?"
"I told you I'd show you around today," said Joffrey in what sounded like an
irritable tone. He gave a chuckle spiked with maliciousness. "Were you really
that scared?"
"You were going so fast, your grace," she responded, head still spinning
slightly. There was something off-putting about their location; Sansa disliked
how secretive it felt, how closed in. It was like a maze in a fairytale.
Joffrey's voice dropped into a low sound and he placed his own hands over
Sansa's, gently interlocking his fingers in hers. "Or did you want to be closer
to me?"
How does he expect me to answer? Say 'no' and I'll be in trouble for saying I
didn't want to be close to him. Say 'yes' and he has grounds to accuse me of
being improper. I'm anything but improper! Sansa bit her lip, cheeks flushing
as she was struck with the memory: I'm no longer a maiden, I let him take me.
I'm not as proper as I once was, I've gone against my parents' wishes and I'm
not a lady at all.
"Answer me," Joffrey snarled, and he gripped her hands hard.
"Yes, your grace. I wanted to be close to you, but I was also scared. Thank you
for stopping the horse," she mumbled, her hands pulsing in pain until Joffrey
loosened his grip.
Joffrey did not respond but instead let out a long sigh and shifted his weight
on the saddle. "Have you thought about me? About what we did?" he asked, and he
sounded sweet. Like the boy Sansa had first met in Winterfell. She tried with
all her might not to let her mind wander. She had to keep focused.
"Yes, your grace-"
"Joffrey," he said. "Call me 'Joffrey', unless I say so. So, you've thought
about me, then?"
"Yes," Sansa said, shutting her eyes once more and trying to lose herself in
the swirls of color she could see in the darkness. "Yes, Joffrey, I've thought
about you." Her voice was low, a whimper. She was afraid he'd be angry at her
nervous tone, but he did not seem to notice or care. His grip on her hands grew
strong again and he pulled her right hand in his own and slid it down the front
of his trousers. Sansa shuddered and shut her eyes tighter, her thoughts
racing. Do as he wants, you must do as the king wants, the king does as he
pleases, please him, that's what Shae said, Shae said men only want one thing,
only I don't want to give it but I have, I already have, think about something
else- names of flowers, roses, hyacinth, poppy, orchid, Septa Mordane said the
orchid was her favorite, her head high on the castle wall, Father's head,
Father, don't think of father-
"Faster," Joffrey commanded, and Sansa broke out of her hurried thoughts to the
realization her hand was positioned over the king's groin and she'd been
stroking him. For how long, she was not sure. Despite her horror, she was
pleased with herself. She'd done as Shae had advised, if only for a bit of
time. She'd left reality.
Sansa felt her heartbeat begin to race again and all of the spit in her mouth
dry up. She was going to be punished for this but there was no way out but to
please King Joffrey. Before he could reprimand her, Sansa did as he had
instructed and pulled her fingers up and down the material of his trousers. She
could feel his hardness there and she was all too aware now of what it meant.
Wordlessly she stroked, working up a fast motion. Her hand began shaking.
Joffrey sighed again, and his breathing quickened. She could feel his chest
rising and dropping, and he let out a soft moan. Unsure of what to do, Sansa
kept going faster until he wrenched her hand off his trousers. "That's too
much!" he whined. "Listen to me when I tell you what to do!"
"I'm sorry, your... I'm sorry, Joffrey," Sansa gasped, tears forming in her
eyes.
"Are you okay, my lady?" he asked suddenly, his tone sugary again. He swiveled
his head to look at Sansa, a look of concern on his face. His cheeks were
slightly pink.
"I'm fine," she whispered, afraid to make another mistake.
"Let us walk about for a moment," Joffrey said, and swung off the horse,
sticking the riding crop inside his coat and holding out a hand. He helped
Sansa off the horse in such a gentlemanly way that she tried with all her might
to forget he'd just made her touch him. "Take my arm," he said politely, and
Sansa complied but took care not to squeeze too hard.
He's the boy you loved, the boy you wanted, he's good and pure and you love him
and you'll marry him one day.
Joffrey gestured to their left. "There's something I want to show you."
Sansa followed his grand gesture off the green path but saw nothing but a mound
of dirt. It was a large mound of dirt, but a mound of dirt nonetheless. It
stood about one and a half meters off the ground admist several large shrubs.
Joffrey wasted no time in leading her closer to the pile, and Sansa was
displeased when she saw a mass of flies buzzing dully around it. "What is it,
your grace? I mean, Joffrey."
"It's been here quite some time," Joffrey went on in a cheerful tone,
thankfully not angering at her misstep in calling him by his formal title.
"It's where they've instructed the servants to bury my kills. My parents, I
mean."
"Your kills?" Sansa asked, furrowing her brow.
"Yes, my pets. My siblings' pets. Animals I find and want to play with when I'm
bored," Joffrey explained, still in that gleefully upbeat tone.
Sansa stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. "Your.. pets?"
"Well, yes, what else am I supposed to do when they displease me? Sometimes
they bite me. Or I get tired of them. Others can be hunted and skinned but some
are just fun to play with," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the
world. To Sansa's great disgust, the boy-king kicked at the soil and laughed as
a group of flies took off into the sunny sky. "I call it Kill Hill!" he
announced proudly.
"Oh-oh, my Gods, why-"
"You look upset," Joffrey said, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I think
it's funny. Why don't you?"
"Because-" Sansa stopped herself, but she knew she'd already done it. How could
I possibly think this is funny? How does he expect me to react? "I'm a lady,
Joffrey," she said quickly, trying to evade his wrath and hoping he'd take her
away from this horrid place as soon as possible. "I don't like death."
"I know," he smiled. "But if you're going to be my queen, there are some things
you should get used to." And with that, King Joffrey gave Sansa a slight shove
(if this were anyone else at any other time, she might even call it
a playful shove) and Sansa tumbled right on top of Kill Hill.
 
***** Like a Sickness *****
Chapter Summary
     The crop, the dog, the King and the lady.
===============================================================================
 
                                    JOFFREY
 
===============================================================================
Sansa toppled, arms outstretched, onto the pile of festering dirt and Joffrey
grinned as she began to scream. It was a high-pitched, nervous kind of scream,
like a lamb being slowly pulled to pieces. It sent a pleasant sort of shudder
throughout Joffrey's body as he watched her struggling for a way to right
herself. Joffrey was a connoisseur of ladies' screams: he liked them vigorous
and loud, piercing and full of terror. Sometimes it was very difficult for
Joffrey to acquire an erection, and it was often even more laborious to
maintain one, but the screams of women often did the trick. He'd gone hard the
instant Sansa had begun screaming on the horse ride and with some luck, he
hoped he'd stay hard long enough to use Sansa's body again, or at least have
some sort of enjoyment.
"Oh dear, how clumsy of you," he commented ecstatically. His voice grew louder
and his face was warm from smiling. "Don't touch that mound there," he said in
a high, excited voice, gesturing to the left of Sansa. "That's where I buried a
stray dog yesterday after I broke all of its legs. It wasn't quite dead.
Perhaps it's still under there. ALIVE." He grabbed Sansa hard around the neck
and she jumped, letting out another trilling shriek. Joffrey threw back his
head and roared with laughter. Whimpering bursts came from Sansa's mouth as she
grappled for a way to stand up without falling completely in the dirt. Death's
Door got spooked and took off back toward the castle, whinnying loudly.
"Honestly," Joffrey exclaimed, wiping the tears of glee from his eyes with a
careful sweep of his velvet sleeve, "it's a joke, Sansa! Everything in this
dirt has been dead, dead, dead for ages!" He shrugged. "I don't get much fun
from killing animals anymore. Haven't done it for quite some time." That got
tedious, he thought, and I'm not a little boy anymore. Now it's punishments in
court and keeping King's Landing to my liking. My, I wish I could have seen the
little bastard babies getting slaughtered and the child bastards running away
before my men extinguished their lives. Now, that's exciting!
She turned around to look at him, an expression of horror twisted on her pretty
face. Her cheeks were red and she was shaking violently. Joffrey wondered why
she was so upset—it was obvious he was having a go at her, wasn't it? "Oh," she
said tentatively, "I suppose I should have known you were only joking, my
king—"
"Joffrey," he reminded her. "When we're alone, you call me Joffrey." Gallantly,
he took Sansa gently by the waist and helped her to her feet, plastering on a
sweet smile. Sansa seemed to survey him for awhile, and finally smiled back.
She looked so good in her custom gown, with her bosom peeking out from the
emerald green bodice. Joffrey tried to take a few breaths, his heart pounding.
His erection was pulsing even stronger in his tight trousers and as Sansa
straightened up with her backside pressed against his groin, it took everything
out of him to resist throwing her back down and taking her right there.
However, he did not want to get his hands or clothes soiled. It was also
unfortunate Sansa had gotten dirt on her beautiful gown. It very nearly spoiled
her beauty. Joffrey hated dirtiness, absolutely despised feeling unclean or
looking at filthy things. He kept his weapons spotless and ordered for his
chambers to be deep-cleaned even when there was no dirt to be seen. Filth gave
him an automatic gag reflex. Instantly, he looked away from the bottom of her
gown, already feeling slightly ill.
"Thank you, Joffrey," said Sansa, curtsying.
"Funny. You didn't even scream when I showed you your father's head!" he said
with a grin, shifting his weight and tugging on his riding coat to cover the
obvious bulge.
Sansa blinked several times and then she averted her gaze. Joffrey watched her
closely, waiting for her response. "Well, he was a traitor," she whispered,
"and you're to be my husband."
Joffrey beamed. "That is correct. But you'd do well to look at my eyes when you
speak to me," he said in a soft voice, putting his hand to the side of her
face. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingers.
"I'm sorry," Sansa said softly, and her sapphire eyes fluttered open, locking
into Joffrey's gaze. He felt his chest give a jolt. "Sometimes I get so happy
around you… I'm just too nervous to look upon you. You're my king, after all."
"I understand," Joffrey nodded, considering her answer. She was happy with him.
It must have meant he'd done something right. He hoped so—it would be
shattering if she pointed out something he'd done wrong, some way he'd
faltered. He wanted Sansa to love and fear him equally. Joffrey enjoyed when
Sansa was frightened but he also wished very much for her to enjoy the feeling
of him, the way he touched her. He would have never thought he'd care so much
but being with Sansa physically had put a more positive spin on their impending
marriage. Before, he hadn't seen what the big deal was but now, he had found
himself thinking more and more about bedding Sansa.
In fact, the thought of seeing Sansa was the very thing that had brought
Joffrey out of his deep gloom yesterday evening. He'd been filled with a great
amount of exhilaration when he'd imagined riding with her, being by her side,
and kissing her. Being able to touch his lips to hers this morning had
instantly brightened his spirits, and he'd gone hard almost instantly. Who'd
have thought I'd be interested in spending time with Sansa Stark? he found
himself thinking for the hundredth time that week, his hand still tenderly
pressed to her face. Months ago I was angry about my betrothal, but I was just
a child then. How could I have known how good it would feel to be inside
her? The mere mental image of Sansa's face staring up at him as he entered her
filled him with anticipation. Joffrey hoped perhaps this would cure him. Maybe
it could be enough now, simply having intercourse with Sansa. His fantasies
were becoming difficult to maintain.
"I like you best when you smile at me," he decided, and planted a brief kiss on
her cheek. "Your screams are good to hear, but you're prettiest when you're
happy." As he said it, he realized it very well might be the truth. With that
he let his hands drop to her silken waist and he leaned into her, pressing his
mouth against hers. He sighed into her mouth as he felt Sansa return the kiss,
felt her hands very slowly move to his back. Hungrily, Joffrey drove his tongue
through her lips and to his great dismay, Sansa let out a yelp. "Have I
displeased you?" Joffrey asked in an abrupt tone, feeling his ears going hot.
He stared at Sansa in an incredulous way. Baby, he thought, just as much of a
baby as Tommen and Myrcella!
Sansa shook her head instantly. "You surprised me, Joffrey," she said in an
instant, and gave a faint giggle. "Do you think we should go back? Your horse
ran off- someone might come, shouldn't we-"
"Do you want to go back?" he asked sharply, eying Sansa in a careful way. If
she was anyone else, he'd suspect she was trying to get away from him. But he
knew Sansa wouldn't treat him that way, not after they'd shared such intimacy
together.
"No, I don't. I wish to spend as much time with you as I possibly can," said
Sansa quickly, her hands fluttering to her hair where she toyed with her curls.
"Good!" Joffrey said brightly, relieved. "I don't want to go back, either!
Come, we should walk off the path." I might not be able to wait until she's got
a clean dress on. I could take her now, fast, against a tree. Perhaps on the
ground. Mother would say this kind of exchange is improper but... what does she
know anyway? As of late, she's proving that her head is emptier than I would
have ever thought. "Come on!" he said urgently, breaking himself out of his
wandering thoughts. His betrothed looked at him, wide-eyed, as he snatched her
hand and pulled her past Kill Hill into the deeper cluster of trees beyond the
paved path. Joffrey pushed Sansa against the nearest tree and pushed against
her mouth once more, carefully nibbling her bottom lip with the very tip of his
teeth.
Shadowed by the thick brush, a soft breeze rippled around them, making Sansa's
hair flutter like crimson butterflies. You're beautiful, you're mine, you're
perfect, he thought, but he did not say the words aloud. These were weak
thoughts that he drove out of his mind immediately. Joffrey's lips wandered
over Sansa's cheek where he left light kisses in a trail that wove down her
neck and then across her ear. He breathed in, grabbing her breasts in his hands
and squeezing them with a soft pressure. His tongue between his teeth, he slid
his hands into her bodice and grappled for her nipples. When he found them, he
teased them with light pinches, sighing into Sansa's ear. She let out a long,
soft moan and he grunted in response, pressing harder against her, his solid
groin bumping against her leg.
"I want you," he said in a dry, deep whisper, removing his hands from her
bosoms and staring intently at her face. "Do you want me to be inside you
again?"
Sansa was silent, her eyes closed tightly. "Not here," she whispered, so
quietly that he almost did not hear her.
"Eyes open!" Joffrey snarled, embarrassed by the lack of excitement in her
voice. "How dare you suggest that, how dare you! Don't you want me?"
"Yes," Sansa nodded, her eyes immediately opening. She was wide-eyed and he
could almost feel her fear. "I want you very much, my king—I—I want your lips
on mine and I love you, I love you more than anything—I'm just afraid someone
will come looking for us and—"
"Don't worry, Sansa," Joffrey said, his voice soft again. He breathed deeply,
trying to keep calm. "I want to be alone with you, too. Perhaps you're right.
Perhaps now is not a good time."
A pretty smile grew on Sansa's face and she nodded. "Yes! Yes, thank you,
Joffrey! I agree! I feel we should go find your poor horse, shall we go?"
Joffrey nodded, and kissed the corner of her mouth lightly, feeling Sansa's
breathing grow rapid once more. "A fine idea," he agreed, grabbing her hand and
squeezing it. "And I can visit you in your chambers tonight!" He smiled and led
Sansa back toward the path. At her silence, Joffrey snapped his head toward her
and squeezed her hand even harder. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Sansa said in a low voice, keeping his eye contact. "I'd like that very
much, Joffrey."
"Good," he said, grinning. "But it wouldn't really matter if you liked it or
not. I will have you again, Lady Sansa. Still, it pleases me to know you feel
the same! It seems you are becoming smarter! I had my doubts about our
betrothal, but it has been so nice to get along with you this week. I've
enjoyed your company."
The birds chirped in the trees as they walked, and the shining sun followed
them persistently as they trailed the pathway toward the castle. Sansa's hand
was limp in Joffrey's but she still held onto him. "Yes, it's been very nice. I
enjoy dining with you and I'm very pleased to have made you happy."
"It's good to be with someone so agreeable," Joffrey went on, enjoying the
sound of his own voice as usual. "My mother and uncle have been thorns in my
side this entire week! Can you believe my uncle would speak against me? He
questioned me and insulted me! I really wish I could have him strung up by his
feet so I could use him as target practice for my crossbow!" Joffrey laughed at
the thought of it. "It would be great fun, don't you think?" He dropped Sansa's
hand to make a motion of shooting an arrow with a bow and imitated the sound of
the arrow swooshing through the air. "Right in the heart!" He grinned at Sansa
brightly, but was dismayed to see her subdued expression. "Oh come on, it's a
laugh!"
Sansa smiled back weakly. "It's very funny, Joffrey. But your uncle was likely
only trying to help you—"
"No," Joffrey said abruptly, shaking his head from side to side. He put his arm
around Sansa's waist. "You don't know anything about it. My uncle is a menace,
a bigger pain than you'd expect from such a little imp." He laughed but then
his brow furrowed with the memory of the awfulness of yesterday. "And then
my mother had the nerve to tell me I'd made the wrong decision about the maid!"
"Oh. The maid whose hands were cut off?" asked Sansa in a quiet tone.
Joffrey tightened his grip on her waist. "Yes, her. My mother said there was
evidence she didn't steal anything at all, and tried to guilt me by telling me
I'd had an honest woman punished but if she hadn't stolen anything yet, she
surely would!" He sniffed the air haughtily. "I have great intuition about such
things—"
"She didn't steal anything?" Sansa asked, and Joffrey sent her a questioning
glance. "I mean, you're absolutely correct, I'm certain she would have stolen
something. Is this why…" She stopped talking.
"Why what?" Joffrey said, but Sansa did not reply. He stopped in his tracks,
bringing them both to a halt, leaves crackling under their feet. The birds sang
around them, chattering and chanting. "Why what?" Joffrey pressed.
"I just was worried about you yesterday," Sansa said quickly. "You were not at
dinner and the queen said you were feeling unwell, and I was only going to ask
if that was why—if you were angry at your mother and uncle, I'd understand
certainly, you have good reason—"
"Stop babbling!" Joffrey shouted, suddenly feeling rage surging through him
like a violent wave. "My mother said what?"
Sansa's tone grew hurried and fearful. "I was sorry for your absence at dinner,
my king! Your mother only said that you were feeling unwell—"
"What exactly did she say? TELL ME!" Joffrey hollered, his face growing hot
with shame. How dare Mother open her fat mouth! How dare she tell my lady about
my personal business? What if Mother heard me crying? What if she told Lady
Sansa? How dare she!
"Just that you had a bad day, Joffrey! Nothing else! And I was only worried
because I wanted to see you, I just wondered if you were doing poorly—"
"I was NOT DOING POORLY," Joffrey insisted. "I was only tired! It's very
difficult to be in charge of an entire kingdom, something you'd never know
about since you're just a stupid, ridiculous little girl!
"I didn't say anything, Joffrey—I didn't mean offense—please don't be upset!"
"I'M NOT UPSET," Joffrey bellowed, balling his fists at his side. "You don't
know anything about it!"
"It's not—I'm not—" Sansa drew a breath, and shook her head. "Please, Joffrey!
I care about you—don't—please—" She reached out to touch his hand and he jumped
back as though she were about to wound him.
"Don't you dare touch me without my permission!" he said, eyes wild, hands up
and blocking himself from her. He went flaccid at once, feeling the hot feeling
of disgrace pulse through him like a sickness. He wanted her away from him, far
away. "DON'T. EVER. TOUCH. ME." Sansa's arm was paused in midair and she'd gone
moon-white, her eyes wide and scared. Joffrey wanted to slap her hard across
the face. He glared at her, hating her all over again. The little bitch, he
thought, she needs to be punished! She's obviously learned nothing! At that
moment, Joffrey remembered the riding crop he'd stowed in his coat.
"I'm really sorry, Joffrey-"
"Your grace," he corrected in a crisp tone. "You've insulted me and so I wish
for you to address me formally! And I have an idea to make up for your
disrespect."
"Lady Stark. King Joffrey," said a gruff, loud voice. "I've come to see if you
need assistance- the horse came back unattended. And then I heard shouting."
Joffrey and Sansa both turned to face the speaker. It was the Hound, who bowed
his head as soon as Joffrey made eye contact with him. "Ah, hello Dog," greeted
Joffrey in an overly courteous tone. "You actually arrived just in time." A
strange sort of smile curled upon his thin, long mouth as he removed the riding
crop and held it outstretched in his hand. "My lady chose to insult my honor by
asking personal questions about my pastime. I'd like for you to teach her a
lesson."
The Hound's dull eyes dropped to Joffrey's hand, and back up to meet his gaze.
"And what, pray tell, do you ask for me to do, my king?"
"I want you to strike her, good and hard," Joffrey said, folding his arms and
smiling smugly. "I want you to strike her until she realizes what she's done
wrong!"
"But- your grace!" Sansa protested in a nervous voice. "I'm sorry! I didn't
mean to offend you! And I only mentioned what your mother said, I really didn't
mean any harm-"
"And that, Lady Sansa, is why you need to be punished! I can't have you
flapping your mouth every time you have a foolish thought!" Joffrey said in a
snap. "Here, Dog!" he said joyfully, already feeling in control again and thus
better. "Ten strikes will do nicely. Mind her face. Sansa, lift your skirts so
that my Hound might hit your legs! I don't wish for him to soil the gown."
The Hound did not budge. Joffrey scowled and impatiently put one hand on his
hip. "Dog, don't just stand there. Take the riding crop and beat my lady! Do
it!" He turned toward Sansa again. "Pull up your skirts! Now!"
Sansa let out a whimper and did as she was told, putting both hands to her
dress and lifting it off the pathway. Joffrey grinned as she exposed her
smooth, pale legs. He was reminded instantly of her pulling up her nightgown
for him, of shoving his hand inside her and then his dick while she shrieked
and sobbed into his chest. But the Hound still hesitated, and Joffrey finally
thrust the crop at his chest, scowling.
"Do as I say, Dog!" he ordered, stomping the ground. "Are you impaired?"
"No, your grace," the Hound muttered, grasping the crop in his large, gnarled
hand. "I'm only wondering whether you'd rather me beat Lady Stark in front of
the court. Wouldn't that serve more of a purpose? Shouldn't she be shamed for
all to see?" He bowed his head again.
Joffrey considered this idea, tapping his foot and pursing his lips. He
remembered how wonderful it had been to see Sansa stripped and slapped around.
Perhaps today, Uncle Imp would be absent and he could order Sansa to be
completely naked! "Hm," he said aloud, "yes, a splendid idea, Dog." Sansa let
out a small cry of protest, her legs shaking. "But, I'd much rather you do it
now. She needs her lesson as soon as possible."
The Hound nodded, looking tired. "As you wish, my king. I shall strike on
three, Lady Stark-"
"Why in the world would you announce that to her?" demanded Joffrey. "She
doesn't need a warning! Do it! Beat her!"
At that, the Hound struck fast, smacking Sansa's leg with the riding crop. It
made a soft thwack! She squealed at the impact and then let out a small cry.
"Harder, Hound! I want to really hear the riding crop snap!" Joffrey yelled in
a jovial tone, rubbing his hands together.
The Hound nodded, but seemed to hesitate again as he pulled his arm back to
deliver the blow. Joffrey narrowed his eyes, beginning to scrutinize the scene.
It seemed that his dog was granting Sansa some sort of pathetic mercy,
but why? What was the Stark girl to Ser Clegane anyway? The Hound did not like
anybody or anything at all, this Joffrey knew. So why was he sparing Sansa? It
was no secret the Hound was a rough, violent man who had killed or maimed
nearly all of his opponents to Joffrey's great delight. Why couldn't he hit a
little girl? Thwack, went the riding crop as the Hound snapped it against
Sansa's leg again. A thin welt swelled up on her skin, but Joffrey was still
unsatisfied.
"Give it to me!" Joffrey demanded sharply. Clegane slowly gave the riding crop
back to him. Joffrey snatched it and immediately pulled his arm back as far as
he could manage while still keeping a firm, straight grip on the crop. He
brought it back down through the air with an intense force and revelled in the
forceful crack it made against Sansa's bare leg. She let out a scream. "Oh,
now, that's better! That's much, much better!" hooted Joffrey. Another angry
red line popped up on her skin. "Yes!" he cheered. "I drew blood! Look, Dog!
Look!" He turned around, grinning, to see the Hound glaring down at him. The
instant Joffrey saw his face, Clegane's expression became blank. "Is something
wrong?" Joffrey asked in a snarl.
"Not a thing, your grace. You are doing well-"
"You were looking at me with an ugly expression," Joffrey said, pouting.
"Pardon me, my king. I cannot help my face," replied the Hound in a bitter
mumble and Joffrey gave a short laugh.
"No, I suppose you can't. Very well," he replied, but he knew he'd have to keep
a closer eye upon his dog. He was in my lady's corridor, and now he's acting
oddly in her presence. There's something at work here and I don't much like it.
I'll be more watchful. But now, there's a punishment happening. I'll have to
think about this matter with my Hound another time. For the time being, he
ignored the Hound's bizarre behavior and struck Sansa again, smiling at her
shrieks. By the eighth swing of the riding crop, Sansa's legs had a fair few
red marks, and the thin line of blood was slowly dribbling down her leg. "Don't
ruin the dress," Joffrey instructed her as he took her arm, feeling the twitch
of another hard-on. "And I think you should dine in your own chambers tonight.
I want this to be part of your lesson. Don't go sticking your nose where it
doesn't belong."
Sansa had tears rolling down her face as she gingerly took Joffrey's arm. "Yes,
your grace," she replied in a low voice. "I'm so sorry."
"How did it feel?" asked Joffrey as they begun to walk back to the castle, the
Hound leading. "Me beating you, that is."
"It hurt," said Sansa at once. "It really hurt."
"Good," said Joffrey. He'd taken great pleasure in administering his own
beating. It was great fun to watch others torture each other, but the feeling
of smacking Sansa with the crop had been truly erotic. He suddenly had a strong
urge to shove her into his room and beat her bloody before fucking her
senseless. Not yet, he told himself, she's been bad and she needs to realize
she cannot speak to you so. You must not be so attached to her! She's obviously
still an idiot and she needs to learn her lesson well! Let her wait for you for
awhile, let her wonder when you're going to pay her a visit. In time, you can
have your way with her. He smiled that wide smile the entire way to the castle
and continued smiling after bidding Sansa goodbye. He threw a glance at the
Hound before giving Sansa a soft kiss on the lips. When he turned back to gauge
the Hound's reaction, he could have sworn he saw a look of longing in the man's
bleary eyes.
Interesting. Very interesting.
 
***** The Hound, the Bird and the Lion's Den *****
===============================================================================
 
 
                                     SANSA
===============================================================================
                                        
"Farewell, Sansa. I hope you think about your actions today," said King Joffrey
sweetly after he'd pressed his lips to Sansa's mouth. "I'm going to leave you
to return to your chambers. My Hound can see that you are safely escorted back.
You shall take your supper in your room tonight, and I will let you know when I
wish to see you again." The king's mountain cat eyes glittered with
maliciousness, and Sansa felt her stomach turn. King Joffrey gave a dismissive
bow, almost like he was mocking her. With that, he turned on his heel and left,
the afternoon sun shining in his golden hair.
Sansa wiped her eyes yet again, trying desperately to stop the tears from
flowing but her legs stung deeply where the Hound and Joffrey had whipped her
with the riding crop. She'd expected the Hound to hit a lot harder, but it did
not matter. Joffrey had used all of his strength and she could feel the places
on her legs where the thin rivers of blood were flowing. She needed a bath, and
she was already anticipating that the cuts and welts would burn in the hot bath
water. Not wanting to converse with Ser Clegane, she dropped her head down and
continued walking toward the entrance of the castle. Whether he followed her or
not, she did not care.
The afternoon had gone from horrifying, to slightly better, to absolutely
abysmal. The king's ever changing moods were too hard to keep up with. Being
sweet to him irritated him. Admiring him worked, but only so much. Laughing at
his jokes worked, but sometimes he seemed like he was joking when he was not,
and then it would be the opposite a moment later. Sansa had heard Lord Tyrion
call Joffrey witless, but she could see it was much more than that. King
Joffrey seemed to be completely mad at times. Worse than mad. Raving insane.
Kill Hill had left Sansa feeling even more terrified of King Joffrey. How many
creatures has he harmed? she'd thought as he kissed her and mauled her breasts
against the tree. Is he joking? she'd thought, and then had tried, desperately,
to try and leave her head. To get far away from him again, as she'd done while
they sat horseback and he'd demanded her to fondle him. Try as she might, she
couldn't get away from him again though once had been a small sign of progress.
Again, the worst part was that the things Joffrey was doing to her body did not
feel altogether bad. She'd even moaned at the touch of his slightly cool
fingers pinching and caressing her nipples, and his mouth felt good on her ear,
on her neck. I will be punished for this, she thought, feeling the tears begin
again. I can't even imagine what they'd say if they knew, Mother and Robb. Jon.
Arya would call me names. And I'd deserve each and every one she hurled at
me. Still, murdereing helpless animals? Had Joffrey been toying with her? She
wanted to hope so. If Joffrey was any other boy, perhaps.
He wasn't. He was a boy who'd had her father murdered right in front of her and
then shown off his rotting head to her like a trophy, he'd called her sister a
"cunt" and threatened to "gut" her. He screamed at his own mother and mocked
his little brother for fun. She'd seen him ask a minstrel if he'd rather have
his tongue or his fingers, and he'd apparently punished a maid who'd done
absolutely wrong. Sansa had nearly thrown up when the maid's hands had been
chopped off in the court; she'd actually driven the event out of her mind,
she'd been so traumatized. She wished she could believe her betrothed would
leave animals alone. But Sansa was no longer biased when it came to King
Joffrey ("my prince, my sweet prince, what have they done to you?", it seemed
so long ago now, so, so long ago). She was fairly certain that the boy was
capable of anything and everything.
"Nothing to say?" wheezed Ser Clegane from behind her. "No chirps today? No
songs?"
The tears blurring her vision, Sansa turned around and shot the Hound a hateful
look. "I have no idea what you mean," she said primly. "Please, I just want to
go back to my chambers-"
"You look at me as if I am the one who put you in harm's way," the Hound said
in a dark tone, narrowing his eyes. He lowered his voice, stepping toward the
wall in the hallway and beckoning Sansa to come closer.
She set her jaw and shook her head. "I want to go back!" she said, the tears
flowing again. I can't face the Hound. I can't do it! He's just going to make
fun of me! I know he is. I'm not his little bird! I'm not!
"You can be afraid of me," he snarled, "I'm used to it. But you're a damned
foolish girl. Do you think I put that riding crop in my own hand? Is that what
you saw? Going to lie for your sweet king again, let your dim brain fib to your
eyes? It was orders, little bird, and I tried to go easy on you and you didn't
even catch on. I would have given you all ten strokes that way, too, if you'd
have at least acted like it hurt worse! The king may not be quick-witted but he
knows pain like Lord Tyrion knows wine- he could see you weren't hurt, that I
wasn't trying my hardest to beat you bloody. Who am I to get between you and
your beloved King Joffrey? Maybe you liked those welts he put on you!"
Sansa stared at the Hound, deciding how to reply. His tone was scathing and
made her feel raw, embarrassed. Had he really been trying to save her from
pain, or was he just playing with her? She drew a breath. "You were... trying
to spare me pain?" she asked quietly. The hallway was deserted, but it seemed
someone was always listening and Sansa was never confident she was having a
private conversation. She was never alone, not really.
"You're not very sharp, are you?" he asked rudely.
"I'm not used to people trying to help me in this place," Sansa snapped,
sniffling. Stop crying, she told herself. Stop! She put on what she hoped was a
solemn expression. "Why should I believe you? You wanted to put me in front of
the court!"
The Hound gave a short, barking laugh, making Sansa's cheeks burn. "And why do
you think I suggested that?" he scoffed.
How should I know? Because you're his dog, Sansa thought angrily, narrowing her
eyes.
"If the King were to have you beaten in front of people, there'd be a far
greater chance you'd be saved," Ser Clegane said in a sharp tone, as if it was
the most obvious thing in the world. "I've never seen him beat anyone himself
until today. I'm preparing myself for new horrors. He's likely patting himself
on the back right now. He's had a taste of blood," he said in a bitter tone, a
grim smile forming on his crooked face. "I can't say I don't know the feeling,
but killing is my duty. The king destroys things for fun but I suppose he's
grown past kittens and peahens." The Hound laughed again, a dry and cynical
sound, his shoulders heaving. His hair moved with his laughter and exposed that
burned, sore spot on his face.
Sansa immediately looked away, not wanting to stare. Kill Hill, she thought,
her heart dropping as she tried to focus, tried to piece the Hound's words
together. "You were trying to help me? But why?"
"I woke up in a good mood today. No real reason," retorted the Hound with a
roll of his eyes. He stuck a dirty, gnarled finger in her face. "And don't go
chirping about this. To anyone. Unless you want your king to punish you again,
my wingless little bird-"
"I won't say anything," Sansa said quickly. Why would she? And who would she
tell, if anyone? "Thank you, Ser. Thank you very much-"
"For what?" he asked gruffly with a shrug of his muscular shoulders. "I trust
you can find your chambers on your own now. Go on. Fly off, little bird. But
fly carefully, particularly around your king. It's much easier to get on with
him if you do as he says."
Just do as he says? Ha. That might be easier for you than me, Sansa thought to
herself, cheeks red, after all, you work for him and you're bigger than him.
You're in the Kingsguard and you protect him from danger. This is your home and
you've known no other life. Joffrey has taken my family and I'm all I have.
He's taken everything from me, even my maidenhead. I'm never going to be free
of him, ever, and he can take me whenever he wants. He may even lie with me
tonight if he wishes. You have absolutely no idea about what I'm going through.
You do not know who I am. I'm not even sure who I am anymore.
"Thank you again, Ser," Sansa said before ducking her head down and hurrying
off toward her chambers, fresh tears rolling down her face.
===============================================================================
 
                                    JOFFREY
===============================================================================
                                        
 
Flushed and slightly out of breath, King Joffrey strolled into the dining room
and flopped into the chair at the head of the table. He cast a smug expression
upon his siblings and mother before pouring himself a large goblet of wine. He
was simply ravenous after spending the afternoon masturbating frantically. He'd
been rock hard after leaving Sansa's company and had touched himself while
imagining beating her until she had lines of blood covering her entire body
like a patchwork quilt. Although Joffrey had been hoping he could begin to get
off while thinking simply of making love to Sansa, it had felt too good. It was
too difficult to come unless Joffrey was imagining women bloody and abused. He
could try to change his fantasies some other time. He'd collapsed onto his
pillows after ejaculating, completely spent, and had awoken just in time for
supper in a fantastic mood.
Spearing a generous portion of lamb, Joffrey finally realized how very quiet
his family was tonight. It was a bit eerie. Generally, his siblings were
obnoxiously chatty and Mother was generous with her insipid opinions. He
smirked at Cersei from across the table. "This is a very nice change from
usual," he said loudly, "I very much enjoy actually being able to hear myself
think!"
"Joffrey, we must discuss a serious matter," Cersei said with a heavy tone, and
it was then that Joffrey realized Myrcella had tears running down her face.
Tommen's head was bent over his plate and he was half-heartedly sweeping his
food from side to side.
"Well, what is it? Be quick," Joffrey said casually through a mouthful of lamb.
Mother cleared her throat, and Joffrey looked at her, raising his eyebrow in
annoyance. "It's your sister," she replied and sighed. She reached out and
grabbed for Myrcella's hand, and Myrcella burst into a messy bout of sobbing.
This was odd; Mother did not usually much care for Myrcella and Joffrey had
always guessed that Mother felt the same way about his sister as he did: that
she was an empty-headed, boring little brat. But now suddenly Mother was
stroking Myrcella's hair.
Joffrey wrinkled his nose in disgust and stared. "What about my sister?" he
asked before draining his goblet of wine and pouring another.
"Your Uncle Tyrion has seen it fit to ship Princess Myrcella off to Dorne!"
Mother said in a gasp, clutching Myrcella harder still. "He's going to have her
wed to some nameless prince, some brute not worth my darling babe- your Uncle
Tyrion has reached new heights in evil!"
Tommen began to cry, too, and Joffrey rolled his eyes. What have I done to
deserve this? he thought miserably. "So what?" he questioned, and Cersei raised
up her head to stare into his eyes.
"My sweet Joffrey, you must be joking! You'd have your only sister go off to
marry a stranger? Surely you cannot mean it! Can you not see why I am in pain?"
she questioned, looking a bit disturbed. She continued to pet Myrcella and
Joffrey watched with a cold expression, trying to remember the last time Mother
cradled him in her arms instead of striking him and questioning his judgment.
"I think you are a stupid woman," Joffrey said stalely, and paused to take
another bite of lamb. His family watched him wordlessly until he'd finished
chewing and swallowed. "And furthermore, I don't see why this disturbs you so
much. A woman's purpose is to marry and bear children. Do you not agree,
Mother?"
"I agree," Cersei said crisply, wiping Myrcella's tears with a silk napkin.
"But she is much too young! I would not wish to send Myrcella, my only
daughter, to endure the same fate I had of marrying a complete stranger and-"
"Do you dare disrespect my late Father?" asked Joffrey, settling back in his
chair and crossing his arms. "And furthermore, do you mean to suggest you
regret your life's path?"
"Joffrey, you know I have nothing but love for you children. You are my life-"
"Ah, good," said Joffrey with a sneer. "Then, you can see how Myrcella will be
fufilling her purpose." His eyes flashed as he stared intently at his sister.
"Just think," he began with a short laugh, "you'll finally have some worth once
you have a baby in you. You'll be doing your duty of pleasing your husband! I
ought to be offering you congratulations!" He sniggered.
"Joffrey," Mother said tersely as he continued to laugh.
Myrcella met Joffrey's eyes briefly before averting her gaze, her shoulders
shaking as she continued to cry. "I don't wish to go, I don't wish to go!" she
muttered, tears staining her red face.
"I don't wish to go," mocked Joffrey in a high voice before taking another deep
drink from his goblet. "Mother, you have told my sister about how it all works,
have you not? You've prepared her for what's in store for her? If not, allow
me-"
"I've said enough," said Cersei firmly. "Would it hurt you to offer your sister
support? A bit of kindness?"
Joffrey ignored her. "Myrcella!" he said, unable to mask a grin. "When your new
husband puts his cock inside you, it will likely hurt you greatly! But perhaps
after you've gotten stretched out a bit, you'll learn to enjoy it!" He burst
into giggles.
Mother was out of her chair in an instant. She stood above Myrcella with her
hands clamped over the girl's ears, but Joffrey noticed with great amusement
that his sister was crying harder, her face a deep shade of pink. Tommen was
gaping at Joffrey with wide eyes. The queen finally pulled her hands from his
sister's ears. "Myrcella, Tommen! You may leave to your chambers! Elena!" she
snapped, addressing the handmaiden who was hanging dutifully by the wall with a
pitcher of wine. "See that the prince and princess return to their chambers!"
"I'm only helping, Mother!" Joffrey called out as his brother and sister rose
to their feet. "Myrcella needs to be prepared! After all, you wouldn't want her
marriage to end up like yours. Let it be a lesson to you, dear sister," he
beamed. "Displease your husband and you'll wind up cast out of the bed while he
fucks all the whores he likes."
"NOW!" screamed Mother at the handmaiden, who took both Tommen and Myrcella by
the hands and led them out of the dining hall on quick feet. "Joffrey, what in
the Gods is driving you to say these terrible things?" she shouted, wheeling
around and walking toward him with firey question in her green eyes.
Joffrey lazily swung one leg over the other and smirked. "I just don't see why
you baby her. She's leaving to Dorne. It doesn't affect me in the slightest.
I'll be happy to see her go. I just hope she doesn't cry while her new husband
fucks her, we may get her shipped back to us-"
"You speak of things you know nothing about," Mother said, taking a deep breath
and lowering her voice. He felt a spark of anger and was about to protest when
his mother sighed again. She took a seat beside Joffrey and fixed him with a
look of deep question. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You're still a boy,
still young-"
"I know more than you think," said Joffrey with a tight smile, and he was
pleased to see the hurt look that appeared on Cersei's face. Enough, he told
himself, enough.
"And what do you know, Joffrey?" Mother sounded skeptical. Skeptical and tired.
Joffrey waved his hand like he was smacking away an irritating fly. "Nevermind
that. I'd like to ask you why you're spreading lies to Lady Sansa about me
being ill. You know, there are certain things you really shouldn't say to her!
She does not deserve to know."
"What did she say to you?" asked Mother sharply. "I only mentioned you needed
time alone-"
"You shouldn't have mentioned anything," Joffrey hissed, fixing her with a
moody glower. "She's going to think I can't handle myself, she was babying me
like I was a small child-"
"She's to be your wife and she's a sensitive girl, Joffrey," said Mother
quietly. "She likely is only trying to help you. She's a very weak girl,
obsessed with fairytales and songs. She's told me she loves you. It's very
sweet."
Joffrey felt the twitch of a smile on his face, but immediately tried to cover
it. "But you said that love-"
-"Is a poison," finished Mother with a tight sneer. "Yes, and it is true.
She'll learn, as the days go by, not to give her heart away so freely."
After being silent for a few moments, Joffrey spoke in a small voice: "What if
I want her to love me? What if I want her to love and fear me equally? Would
that be so bad?"
"I've never known you to be a weak person, Joffrey. Is that why you've been
spending more time with her? Are your feelings for her growing too deep? Don't
tell me you love Sansa Stark," said Mother, and reached for his hand.
Joffrey pulled back, furrowing his eyebrows. "No," he said immediately. "I'm
only asking what if. I don't love her. Far from it. I absolutely hate her," he
lied effortlessly.
"You don't have to hate her," laughed Mother. "Family is all that matters," she
continued, and Joffrey nodded because he'd heard her say it constantly. "I love
you and your brother and sister with all my heart. Now that Myrcella is
leaving, I feel a piece of my heart breaking but I am so happy I have my boys
here. And I'll always be here for you, Joffrey. You are my firstborn, my
confidant. You are more important to me than anyone in the world. You know
that."
"I know, Mother. I know," he agreed, nodding and smiling at her. He reached out
and took Mother's hand in his own and she squeezed his fingers lightly.
"I've loved you from the day you were born and I will love you from this
day..." Mother began, trailing off and looking to Joffrey expectantly.
"-until my last," Joffrey finished, and she smoothed his hair, smiling at him
adoringly. It was something Cersei had told him since before he could even
remember, a special thing between them that he'd never heard Cersei utter to
his siblings. She still loves me best, he thought happily. And she's right
about Sansa. I've got to stay away from her for some time now. Punish her. Make
her wait. I don't wish to care for her, I don't want to be filled with that
poison, that filthy feeling of neediness. Mother is absolutely right. When he
broke out of his thoughts, his mother was staring at him piercingly, a strange
smile on her lips. Again, she brought her hand to his hair and stroked his
bangs, smiling that peculiar smile. She leaned toward him slightly, as though
preparing to embrace him. "Mother?" Joffrey asked. "What are you doing?"
Cersei seemed to break out of her trance and immediately pulled her hand away.
"It's odd," she said in a light tone, pursing her lips and rising to her feet.
"You looked so much like your Uncle Jaime just then. You two are so similar in
looks sometimes."
Joffrey shrugged and continued with supper. Sometimes Mother had strange
moments. Over the years, he'd learned to simply ignore her when she got like
this.
***** Prayers *****
 
 
===============================================================================
 
                                     SANSA
===============================================================================
A week went by, and then two weeks passed. Sansa went about her lessons, sewed,
and produced drawings but she did not enjoy one moment of it. Everytime she
heard a noise, everytime she was alone or lying awake in bed, she was certain
it was King Joffrey come to defile her again. He'd promised, hadn't he? He had
still banned her from taking her meals with he and his family unless he chose
to dine alone, and when that occured, Queen Cersei said absolutely nothing
about his intentions. She saw him in court but it was as though she was
invisible- King Joffrey would sneer in her general direction and immediately
turn his head whenever she mistakenly locked eyes with him. On the very few
occasions she'd caught glimpses of him parading about the gardens or halls with
the Hound on his heels, Sansa had quickly ducked behind armor or slunk into a
corner, praying to go unnoticed.
"He's ignoring me, Shae," she told her handmaiden in a confused whisper. "It's
exactly like when I first arrived here, when he was still angry about Nymeria
injuring him. I'd try so hard to get his attention and he'd look away! I
haven't been asked to dine with him since before we went riding!"
"You seem distraught!" Shae had replied, setting Sansa's supper on the bedside
table. "Isn't this what you want?"
"It makes me nervous," Sansa said, feeling a chill as she uttered the
words. "This way, I never know when to expect him. He could find me at any
moment. It's making me sick. He says that he's teaching me a lesson by leaving
me be, but I thought I'd see him by now."
Shae laughed darkly. "Some lesson this is. Perhaps you can inform him of how
much you are learning from being away from him if he speaks to you again-"
But Sansa did not find it amusing, not in the least. She wondered if the king
had grown bored of her as he often did with everything else in his life, and if
maybe he would leave her be until they were wed, until she'd be able to bear
his children. Sansa knew she could not be optimistic, though. Likely, this was
just another game Joffrey was playing. She imagined him laughing alone in his
chambers, smug at the obvious fact she was scared out of her wits anticipating
him visiting her again.
On the fourth week of being suspiciously ignored, Sansa passed the throne room
on her way to the Godswood and stopped in her tracks as soon as she heard the
king's loud, piercing voice. Willing herself not to look, she kept staring
straight ahead until he heard another voice, a child's voice. Without really
thinking, Sansa turned to look. King Joffrey was waving something around while
chasing Tommen, who was protesting. Sansa squinted, and finally realized with
some terror that the object in Joffrey's hands was a scepter, a scepter with
gnarled antlers at the end of it. He was holding it high above his head and
swinging it to and fro.
"Joff! Please! Don't!" squealed Tommen.
"You stupid little pig!" Joffrey replied. "Don't tell Mother lies about me! If
I hear you've been talking about me again, I'll skin you alive and make a coat
out of you. Just like I did with your precious fawn!"
"No! I didn't lie!" Tommen protested and burst into tears, seeming to run out
of breath. He fell to his knees and cowered on the floor. Sansa looked around
wildly, but it seemed no one was there. Where is the Hound? The rest of the
Kingsguard? They cannot be far! They wouldn't really let Joffrey hurt his own
brother, would they? She remembered what Tommen had said: When Joffy gets you
alone, the bad things happened. Unable to move her eyes, Sansa paled.
"What did you say, then?" Joffrey demanded, his treacherous playful tone
dissolving into a hateful snap. He stood above his brother, wielding the
scepter above his head like a battle axe. "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME TO MOTHER,
YOU LITTLE SHIT?" His cruel voice echoed off the high ceiling and walls,
contrasting deeply with the way his crown glittered on his pretty blond head
like a halo.
"Nothing!" Tommen wailed, and Joffrey brought the scepter down on his brother's
shoulder. Whack! Tommen let out a shriek. Sansa's eyes welled up with tears.
She felt frozen to the floor. Poor, poor sweet prince Tommen! she thought
desperately, though I am quite relieved it is not me. At this uncensored, evil
thought, Sansa bit her own lip hard, feeling terrible and embarrassed. I really
need to pray! That's terrible thing to think. Am I losing my mind? Tommen is a
child, how dare I think something like- But Joffrey's voice cut through her
thoughts.
"She told me to behave myself around you and Myrcella! DOES THAT SOUND LIKE
NOTHING TO YOU?" Whack, went the scepter again.
Tommen cried loudly, his fists balled and head hung down. "Joffy, I didn't, I
didn't-"
"It's against the realm to lie to a king!" Joffrey bellowed. "It's TREASON!"
"I hardly said a thing, Joffy, I swear! I told her about the fire, I was scared
and I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
The fire? thought Sansa nervously. Gods, what's Joffrey done now?
"Well," said Joffrey with a thin smile, "that doesn't sound like nothing. Does
it?" He pulled back his hand again and Sansa drew a breath, clenching her hands
at her sides.
"NO!" she screamed, and the echo of her own voice down the hall of the throne
room put a turn in her stomach.
At the sound of her shout, King Joffrey dropped the scepter onto the ground
with a crack. Tommen leapt up and ran out of the throne room, brushing past
Sansa as he went. "No?" asked Joffrey loudly, turning toward the entrance and
fixing Sansa with a wide-eyed stare that sent shivers throughout her entire
body. "DID. YOU. SAY. NO?" he screamed, and Sansa realized right then how poor
a decision this had been. King Joffrey was in one of his completely rageful
moods, raving insanity, one of those moods where he ordered people to be hanged
or chopped to bits and pieces. There would be no getting out of this unless she
thought fast and even then the odds were not in her favor.
"It's just- he's a little boy, Joffrey, I mean, your grace! Surely you wouldn't
have a little boy as your opponent. You'd be much better matched with a man
your own size!" Sansa said quickly, her voice coming out in a cracked
squeak. He's going to wring your neck with his own hands.
"Come here," Joffrey commanded, waving her forward. "Approach your king!"
Sansa ducked her head down, going red in the face as she walked forward. She
wondered where Joffrey's men were, and whether Joffrey would dare try something
in the open. He just nearly beat Tommen! He will do the same to me. Worse, if
the Hound is right! He said Joffrey has tasted blood now. But I think Joffrey
has had a taste for blood since long ago. I should have kept my mouth shut, I
could have gotten help, stayed hidden!
"What gives you the right to speak to me so?" asked Joffrey, eyes flashing. His
mouth turned down in an intense frown. "It's improper to shout at a king,
particularly to tell him No."
"I have no right to speak to you like that, or at all, your grace," Sansa
whispered, her entire body shaking.
"That is right," said Joffrey plainly, flexing his fingers. He gave her a look-
over and glared deeper. "Your words are sweet and full of respect yet you still
dishonor me. I told you I did not wish to look at you. Didn't I? I told you it
was part of your lesson and that I'd come to you if I so pleased. Did I not?"
Sansa swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat as though she had swallowed
a fruit pit. "You did, your grace," she managed to say, feeling her legs
quaking as the king strode toward her, gliding as if he were a snake preparing
to strike her. "It's just- I hate to see squabbling. It reminds me of my little
siblings, they were always arguing. Don't you think your mother could have
settled it? I'm sure Tommen didn't mean offense- he's such a good boy-"
"Oh, yes, he's a good boy," said Joffrey with a roll of his eyes, "a good,
boring, foolish boy. My mother thinks he is as asinine as I do. And I'd like to
keep it that way. My mother also does not need to know everything that happens
in this castle. I'd think you would understand that." A tight little sneer
formed on Joffrey's smooth face and Sansa felt herself blushing hot.
"Your grace, I meant no harm against you-you obviously can do what you wish,"
she said quickly, her eyes flicking from side to side. There was nowhere to run
or hide, nothing but wide, open space. "Whatever you wish."
Joffrey stepped closer to her. He was close enough that she smelled him, that
clean-clothes, honeyed, musky scent. It rocked her stomach as he took another
stepped and placed a hand on her waist. His jade eyes narrowed into slits, the
pouty, thin mouth curved into a mocking smile. When he spoke, she could smell
the faint hint of sweet wine on him and she shuddered as he moved his mouth
into her ear, licking her earlobe in a flicking motion. "And we know what would
happen if everyone knew what you did," the king said in a hot whisper, running
his hand from her waist to her behind. Sansa stayed rooted to the spot, her
eyes shutting tight as she tried to think of something to do, some way to
escape. "Don't we?" he rasped, kissing her ear lightly.
"Yes," Sansa whispered, her eyes screwed shut. She tried to focus on the
patterns behind her eyelids: those stars and bright colors, she wanted to be
where they were, some place far away, shrouded in darkness, surrounded by
swirls, somewhere away from Joffrey and the queen and maybe Arya would be
there, alive, and Mother, and Robb and Bran and Rickon and the others, and
they'd try to be happy again, forget all this business, and they'd forgive
Sansa for her foolishness, for her betrayal of the family, they'd take her
back, and they'd never let him have her again.
"Because if they did," Joffrey was saying, "you'd be as worthless as those
whores I played with after my Name Day and no one will ever, ever want you."
His voice took on a high-pitched, lazy tone of joviality. "You certainly won't
marry. You'd only be fit for a brothel, or else I'd keep you here for my own
amusement for as long as I wish. It's lucky for you I still let you live here
now, that I still wish to marry you. Don't you see how fortunate you are?"
"Yes," Sansa muttered, nodding, as Joffrey once again put his mouth to her ear
and kissed her there. She moaned, squirming in his grasp. She felt a pulsing
feeling between her legs and her stomach did a somersault. No, no, no, please ,
no-
"You like that," Joffrey said with a scornful laugh and pinched her thigh. "Say
you like it," he muttered, that kind, clear, tone tricking her brain. But I
know what you are. I know you."Say it!" he hissed, pinching her harder.
"No," snapped Sansa, ignoring the wobbling of her thighs, and her eyes flashed
open as soon as she realized her hideous mistake.
Joffrey moved fast, gripping her hard by the wrists and pulling her close, his
teeth gritted and his eyes angry. "You filthy little cunt," he hissed, "I
should have you beaten. Better yet, I'll do it myself!" His voice was suddenly
high and enthusiastic, like he'd gotten a new toy. He turned, obviously trying
to calculate how to get his scepter. A smile flickered on his face again.
"Fetch it," he said, gesturing, "fetch my scepter and bring it to me-"
"Please, please," Sansa begged, her voice warbling. She shut her eyes again,
trying to say a silent prayer.
"FETCH IT," hollered Joffrey, but then suddenly, he shoved her off of him.
Sansa stumbled to the floor, eyes opening at once as she caught herself with
her hands.
"What's the meaning of this?"
Sansa breathed a sigh at the sound of Lord Tyrion's voice. He can't have seen
much, and Joffrey wouldn't dare continue in front of him! Thank you, thank you,
thank you for listening!
"Nothing," Joffrey whined and Sansa looked up in time to see him stomping his
foot. She wished she could roll her own eyes at him, slap him hard across the
face; even Bran didn't act this way and he was much younger than Joffrey! "I
told her it was improper, that we're not to be married yet and so I pushed her
off me-"
"Ah, how pious of you, my dear nephew, " the little lord said, his articulate
voice ringing out across the room. He paused. "Although, your logic is somewhat
flawed. As her betrothed, could you pleased be kind enough to help Lady Sansa
back up off the floor?"
"I'm fine," Sansa said quietly, running her fingers through her hair and
smoothing her gown before rising to her feet. Lord Tyrion was looking up at the
both of them with an obviously skeptical expression. Sansa felt her face
growing hot and she averted her gaze.
"Why are you here?" Joffrey demanded.
"I heard your very explosive voice from the opposite side of King's Landing. It
is quite impressive. You really are quite talented in the area of shouting! No
doubt a trait you picked up from my beloved sister, she used to positively make
my ears ring, it was splendid-"
"Did my brother tattle? Did he go get you?" snarled Joffrey.
Lord Tyrion gave a small sigh. "If I say yes, are you going to feed him to a
hungry bear?"
Joffrey let out an angry howl, sounding much like a wild animal himself.
"EVERYONE ALWAYS TATTLES ON ME! I DID NOTHING WRONG! HE WAS A LIAR! WHY DOES
EVERYONE WISH TO RUIN MY LIFE?" he roared.
"One of the world's great mysteries, I suppose," Tyrion said good-naturedly. "I
suppose you have kingly duties to attend to, and I must escort Sansa back to
her chambers. Come, Sansa," he said, gesturing.
"Don't try to speak to me until I call for you! Don't even look at me!" King
Joffrey called out as she hurried off after the little lord. "Remember what I
told you!"
I'll never forget. How could I? I'm yours, you ruined me, and I'm dead if you
get bored. Which will likely be soon, as I've made you furious today. Sansa set
her jaw and tried to refrain from reacting, deciding she was much too lucky.
First, the Hound had attempted to rescue her and now Tyrion had saved her from
another beating at the king's hands. The Gods had answered her prayers for now,
but at what price? She was going to use up all her chances and then she'd be
left with absolutely nothing.
"Whatever it is he told you, do not pay attention to it. I can tell you,
without any further knowledge, that it was nothing of value. I said it once and
I will say it again. You do notneed to succumb to his wrath. Call for help next
time. I will always take the heat for you. I am not the favorite uncle, but I
do discipline that boy more than anyone else around this place," Tyrion said
firmly, stopping Sansa in the hallway and touching his hand to her arm.
She cringed at his touch, not wanting it, not wanting anyone's hands on her.
"I'm sorry, my lord-"
"Oh, in the seven hell's!" Tyrion barked, sounding exasperated as he smacked
his own forehead. "I'm not asking for an apology! It isn't your fault. You're a
child and you don't deserve this mistreatment-"
"King Joffrey is my beloved and-"
Tyrion sighed, and held up his hand. "You are smart, Lady Sansa. But my heart
does rather ache for you. That is all I shall say." He gave her a bow and let
her depart to her corridor.
Sansa ran the entire way to her chambers. When she'd shut her door and secured
it, she flopped onto her bed, kicking off her shoes, feeling disgusting shame
shoot through her body. She tried to close her eyes but the swirls could not
distract her. She tried to lose herself by staring at the canopy above her,
focusing on the crimson flowered pattern, but that also did not work. Nothing
she could think of could make her forget the physical response King Joffrey had
given her; it was a feeling she'd experienced a bit before, a few times on her
own and once or twice in the company of others. This had been stronger than
ever. Why? she thought, trying to rationalize. Am I sick? I need to pray, I
need someone to take me to the Godswood to pray, right now, but I cannot leave,
I don't wish to leave my room again, but I need to get away from here, I need
to get back to Winterfell, or Shae, Shae might know how to help me...
But all of the rationality in the world couldn't take her mind off of the
slight throbbing coming from the gap between her legs, from that place. Sansa
could not hold back and instead of thinking screaming, pleading thoughts, she
lost all resistance and very slowly began to rub her legs together. She wanted
to reason with herself, to scream at herself to stop, but it was as if sparks
were going off down inside her core. It felt too good. Her rubbing began to get
frantic; there was a warm, slick feeling between her legs and when she
tentatively worked her hand under her gown and pressed a finger inside herself,
she was astonished to find that she was very wet there. Unsure of what this
meant, Sansa put it out of her mind and slowly began to touch herself.
You like that, said Joffrey's voice inside her head, ringing in her ears. She
thought about his hot breath in her ear and his hand snaking around her waist,
fingers stroking and then pinching. Say you like it.
Sansa let out a strangled scream before pulling her hand out of her skirts and
dissolving into tears. She did not eat supper. She did not speak. She only
prayed for forgiveness, and hoped she still had a few more chances left.
                                      ...
"Lady Sansa, it is time to rise! Lady Sansa! I've brought breakfast, and the
queen requests you are dressed for formality! Lady Sansa!"
Blearily, Sansa tried to drown out Shae's voice by grabbing a pillow and
putting it over her head. She'd slept poorly, all night waking up and
remembering the disgusting thoughts she'd had yesterday. The way she'd touched
herself and thought of him. Even now, her face burned.
"I don't want to!" she snapped, fully aware of how petulant and idiotic she
sounded.
"Lady Sansa, you must! Princess Myrcella is leaving today! She's being shipped
to Dorne and you must go with the royal family to the docks! These are orders!
Now hurry! We must make you look presentable. You cannot see the princess off
with a pillow over your head-"
"Why is the princess leaving? Why must I go? Do I really have to?" Sansa asked,
finally throwing the pillow down and averting her eyes from Shae, convinced her
handmaiden would see the dirty thoughts she'd had in her eyes.
Shae gave a quiet laugh and began to take out dresses. "So many questions," she
said, "all I've been told is there are orders for you to be there. I assume it
is because you will be part of the family soon? Anyway, they are all leaving to
the docks in an hour's time! You must rise-" Shae grabbed the blankets and
tugged.
"But King Joffrey told me yesterday he doesn't want to look at me," Sansa
protested, pulling the blankets back. "I'm afraid, Shae- I don't want to
disrespect him." Or see him ever! I can't look upon his face without thinking
of what I've done!
"You must go," Shae urged in a firm tone. "You have orders to be there. You are
fond of the little princess. Go see her off, Sansa. She will be happy to see
you."
With a sigh, Sansa agreed that she would like to see Myrcella off, but she had
a sense of dread as she got ready for the day.
Sansa walked to the docks behind the queen, Joffrey and the prince and
princess, surrounded by the Kingsguard. The Hound glowered at her and she kept
her eyes forward, breathing deeply and hoping with all of her heart that she
could avoid Joffrey. Princess Myrcella was crying quietly and Sansa gave her a
tight hug and wished her well as soon as they reached the water. She positioned
herself between the Hound and Ser Boros, trying to stare ahead, not wanting to
look at the king, terrified she'd get that feeling between her legs again. She
hated him even more now, if that was possible. As soon as she found herself
completely focused on Myrcella's departure, Joffrey's cold, sneering tone broke
the silence:
"Sansa. Come here," he commanded, and with great reluctance, she did just as
she was told. She stood close enough to Joffrey to hear him, but stared
straight ahead at the water. "Just so you know, I had absolutely nothing to do
with having you here this morning. I told Mother I wanted you to stay behind,
but she was convinced you should be here. I'm still angry with you," he
finished curtly.
"Yes, your grace," Sansa said in a hushed tone, bowing her head. She wasn't
certain what to say or what to feel but it seemed Joffrey was pleased with
standing in silence today.Thank goodness. She wondered if he even cared that
his only sister was being sent off, but when he made a disparaging remark about
Prince Tommen crying she figured she should have known he wouldn't have any
sort of feeling about it. She didn't even regret saying aloud that she'd
seen him cry once, although she lied very quickly when Joffrey asked what she'd
said. The air was thick and tense, and when it was finally time to return to
the castle Sansa was relieved. As Sansa joined the group of ladies from the
court and walked behind King Joffrey, a crowd of peasants began to shout at
them. At first, it seemed cordial enough but then the mood grew sour. The
voices grew from a dull roar to a crescendo, and suddenly Sansa felt very, very
terrified. . .
 
 
***** Hint of Blood *****
===============================================================================
 
                                    JOFFREY
===============================================================================
 
"Seven blessings on you, your grace!"
Joffrey hurried through the dirty street, following the Hound as closely as he
could. The city had a rotting, awful stench, no doubt due to the unwashed
masses of peasants who had gathered near the docks hoping for a glimpse of the
royal family. They're paying their respects to me, he thought, plastering on a
benign expression as he surveyed the crowd, ignoring his inborn reaction to
cringe. Obviously, seeing the king brings hope to the people. They want to bask
in my glory, if only for a bit. I don't much like parading about the streets so
they'd better get a look at me while they can. Seeing their pathetic faces sets
me into a bad mood. It is far too depressing out here, and it smells worse than
anything!He looked down just in time to avoid a muddy puddle of water, and
glanced back at Mother and Tommen. Thankfully, Mother no longer looked
miserable and instead looked beautiful and stoic, as usual. Tommen and Mother
had been whimpering since the first light of day. Joffrey expected that sort of
pathetic behavior from his little brother but seeing Mother with tears on her
face was a bit jolting. She'd told him, long and often, how ridiculous it was
to display emotion.
He still did not understand why Cersei was suddenly so invested in Myrcella. It
made no sense! Myrcella was only doing what women were supposed to do. Joffrey
had felt nothing but boredom as he'd watched his younger sister being helped
into the little boat and he'd smirked at the tears that were streaked across
her pale cheeks as she'd been floated out into the dark water. Joffrey had run
out of uses for her long ago and so he did not care about Myrcella's fate. On
the contrary he felt worse for her husband-to-be. Her blossoming body left much
to be desired and Joffrey was unsure she'd ever develop into something truly
noteworthy. Not like Sansa, he found himself thinking, not like the softness of
her curves and her deep eyes mixed with her red, red hair.
Despite his rage at Sansa's recent behavior, Joffrey could not stop imagining
them alone again. They'd been so close on their excursion to Kill Hill but
she'd ruined it, and he still felt fury at her for her actions against him
yesterday afternoon. He wanted Sansa to leave him be, but he found his thoughts
trailing back to her. Often. He had not been able to restrain himself yesterday
and as he'd touched her hips and kissed her ear, he'd felt his heart pounding
in his chest, his groin hardening and pulling up like a loaded arrow ready to
be launched at a target. He'd done well to ignore her thus far today, but now
he looked back at her before he could restrain himself. Sansa's hair was set up
in a Southern style and her dress accentuated her breasts and waist. Joffrey
quickly looked away before she could catch him gaping at her. Stop looking at
her. Think of something else. Perhaps I can organize a hunting trip—that might
brighten my spirits. It would do me good to get out of King's Landing, to have
relief from my stress. It's no surprise I cannot stop thinking of the stupid
Stark girl. There's nothing better to do around here. Apparently it's improper
to go out and have a bit of fun when there's a war on, at least that's what
Uncle Tyrion said. But I don't care what he thinks! Honestly, the only good
he's done for me is get rid of Myrcella!
"Long live King Joffrey!" shouted a voice from above.
"We're hungry!" cried out another.
Joffrey set his jaw, willing himself not to scowl at the noisemakers. If they
were as hungry as they said, why not find employment or take up hunting? Why
not become decent human beings instead of impoverished, flea-bitten nitwits?
The voices began to rise in volume like a menacing choir.
"He's a bastard!"
Jade gaze flicking upward, Joffrey felt rage surge through him, white and
hot. Are they talking about me? I'll have them all hanged until their eyes pop
out of their skulls if they are! Mother would tell me if the rumors are true.
People only say such things to cause trouble! Joffrey broke out of his
wandering thoughts when the Hound paused in front of him, hand on his belt.
"Get the prince back to the keep!" cried out Uncle Tyrion, and Joffrey strained
to see what was going on, why his uncle had cause for alarm. These were only
beggars, only sad, crusty people with nothing better to do then—
All of a sudden, something was thrown out from the crowd and smacked Joffrey in
the face. The impact was a surprise but the smell hit him hard and fast. A
dreadful, thick mass of excrement had got him directly in the forehead and was
dropping like old, rotted pudding off his temple. His face stung with
humiliation while laughter and shrieks rang out at once. At once, Joffrey felt
his gag reflex set in and he let out a guttural yowl as the Hound drew his
sword: "Who threw that? I demand to know who threw that!"Joffrey screamed,
"Find the man who threw that AND BRING HIM TO ME!" His eyes flashed at the
crowd; he hated all of them, he wanted them all dead. How dare they! How DARE
they! Did Sansa see? Who witnessed it? He wanted the dung off but he wouldn't
dare touch it. He equally couldn't stand feeling it falling in meaty globs down
his face, making its way toward his eye. The disgusting, ripe smell curled into
his nostrils as bile rose throughout his throat.
Joffrey threw a glance backward where Sansa was sidestepping to avoid a group
of men, jostling and clawing at each other, at anyone they could get their
filthy hands on. She saw! She had to have seen! I'll have her flogged raw if
she mentions it! He continued to squall as the Hound gripped him by the
shoulder and swung him effortlessly under one arm, fighting through the crowd.
"KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!" Joffrey heard himself wailing, not really even
aware of his mouth forming the words. Faces swirled and voices rang out, all
mixing together. It was a blur after that as they tried to get back to the
castle, the Hound's sword clinging and squishing into anyone who dared step in
their way.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I WANT THESE PEOPLE EXECUTED!" Joffrey declared loudly as
the Hound gripped him to his side.
"And they want the same for you!" The Hound barked at Joffrey fiercely. Joffrey
wanted to spit at the Dog for taking such a tone with him. He shouldn't address
me as such, he thought wildly as the crowd screamed, I'm your grace or your
highness!
What little gaps were left in the pathway seemed to close around them. The high
septon, who had been leading the group of them, was snatched into the raging
mob. Joffrey heard a sickening sound and shouting. He looked blearily to the
right just in time to see the septon's arm being torn off and flapped in the
air like a victory flag at battle. It would have been a magnificent sight if it
weren't for the fact that Joffrey was right in the middle of the chaos. Don't
let them get me! he thought, panicked, clutching hard to his Dog. Don't you
dare let them get to me or I'll have you skinned and mounted on my wall!
Soon, Joffrey was safely back to the keep but all was far from well. He was
red-faced and humiliated, still painfully aware of the dung streaking his face.
He'd yelled that he wanted all of the peasants to be killed and Tyrion had
defied him, told him the problem was his fault. To top it off, Tyrion had
slapped him and Joffrey wanted nothing more than to wring the imp's neck, to
see the color drain from his evil, little face.
"Where is the Stark girl?" called out Uncle Tyrion, and Joffrey whipped around.
"Let them have her!" he snarled feverishly, shaking his finger at his uncle.
Sansa would laugh at him! He knew it! She'd seen him fall before her sister;
she'd witnessed him being bested. She'd seen him ridiculed by his father. She'd
heard from Mother that he'd had a fit, and though he did not know exactly what
Sansa had heard, he still hated that she'd heard he had flaws. And now, she'd
likely seen him get shit tossed in his face like a total fool. She wasn't going
to take him seriously now. Ever. He decided an angry crowd might as well kill
her if it meant she'd never get the chance to shame him for what she had
seen. Let them do what they want to her! She's nothing to me! Just like Mother
said, love is a poison and Sansa Stark can be ripped to pieces and thrown in
the river for all I care. She better not have seen! If she doesn't die, I'll
punish her myself! She'll hope she's dead! Tears stung in his eyes. The only
positive thing was that the smell of the defecation on his face was so strong
that by now, he almost did not notice it.
"Someone must find Lady Sansa!" the imp declared, looking at Ser Boros in
disdain.
"I take my orders from the king!" Ser Meryn said gruffly, and Joffrey was
satisfied that at least someone had the decency to respect him. Tyrion looked
back to Joffrey with an expectant look on his face and Joffrey grimaced deeply
before stomping out of the room.
"Doesn't anyone see?" he demanded, pumping his fist in the air and glaring at
the frightened faces of his courtiers and guards. "I must be attended to!"
Uncle Tyrion followed him, yelling after him. "Your betrothed is lost in a
raving group of angry people and you're crying about a tiny bit of cow shit on
your face? You should be out there looking for her yourself!"
"I'M THE KING! AND I HATE SANSA STARK! LET THEM RIP HER TO SHREDS!" Joffrey
bawled. The more he said he did not care for her, the more he liked the taste
of the words on his tongue and the horrified look on Uncle Imp's face.
"She is to marry you! Is this how you treat your future wife?"
"I CAN'T BE OUT THERE ALONE! I'M THE KING! I'M THE KING!"
"Are you the king?" Tyrion questioned sarcastically. "Really? I hadn't heard!"
"Are you questioning me?" Joffrey demanded, clenching his teeth. "I SHOULD HAVE
YOUR THROAT RIPPED OUT—"
Mother ran in, shoving maids aside, her dress cascading out behind her. "You're
safe, my love!" she cooed, rushing to Joffrey's side. "I'm relieved, I was so
worried—I was—" She stepped back and wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"
"It was horrible, Mother!"
"Joffrey, what happened? What have they done to you?"
"Your son is overreacting, as usual. One of the mobbing peasants threw a cow
pie at him and it's almost like he's been disfigured," said Tyrion, rolling his
eyes. "In my opinion, this look suits his personality quite well—"
Joffrey let out an enraged scream. "Mother! Do something!"
"Why has no one helped him get it off?" Cersei snarled, glaring about the room.
"You'll all sit here and let my poor boy suffer? What if he catches some
disease? Draw him a bath at once! WHO WILL DRAW HIM A BATH?"
"Not I," scoffed Tyrion.
There was a silence and Mother grasped Joffrey by his arm, flaxen eyebrows
flexing dangerously over her emerald eyes. "DRAW THE KING A BATH!" No less than
three handmaidens ran from the room, heads bowed. "Let us get you clean. I'm so
sorry you've had such a terrible day," Mother said smoothly. "It's over now. It
can only get better."
Joffrey looked to her and gave a slight smile, and for the moment he believed
her encouraging words.
                                     . . .
He finally felt calm after lowering himself into the hot bathwater and
stretching back to let the wash of warmth cover his body. One of the
handmaidens had procured a wet towel for him and was in the process of wiping
the feces from Joffrey's face and hair when Mother had knocked, demanding to be
the one to attend to her son. It seemed ages since they'd spent much time
together and Joffrey was happy for Mother's company, as she was being
supportive and not a piteous wench (for the moment, at least). She'd lovingly
mopped his face and had prepared a basin of water for him to duck his head
into, rubbing his back and neck all the while. She'd suggested he still take a
bath to further soap off his face and body, but also to relax. So far, it was
working well to soothe his mood but there was still much on his mind.
"They sounded like they hated me, Mother," Joffrey said after much thought, his
voice slow and cautious. It was not a question because he really did not wish
to know the answer.
Mother looked up from the floor where she'd been averting her gaze. She was
sitting with her legs crossed on a chair by the side of his bath, sliding a
hand up and down the silky length of her gown almost nervously. Joffrey studied
her: the way her golden hair glinted in the soft candlelight, her delicate
hands pressed in her lap and then raising up to brush curls from her face. She
sighed, cutting the silence. "No one hates you, sweet boy," she said finally.
"Uncle Tyrion says it's because I started the war! But I didn't start a war, I
ended a traitor's life and it isn't my fault the Starks can't handle
themselves—"
"Didn't we agree we'd no longer discuss this subject?" asked Mother in a soft
tone. He threw her a sideways glance as he began to sop up his cloth with soap
and scrub his ears. Her facial expression was slightly vacant, but there was a
gentle smile on her face. "Tyrion has set out to make others feel guilty since
he was a boy. He has always tried to point out my wrongs. I suppose it's
because he feels inadequate. He thinks he must bring others down to feel tall."
"I suppose," Joffrey said off-handedly. "But those people, Mother. They really
sounded angry with us. They don't know us! I thought that being king meant
everyone would love me."
Cersei turned again to look at him, casting him a somewhat sad smile. "You do
not need everyone's love, Joffrey. I want you to know that with all of your
soul. You know how much I care for you, and that should be enough. Should it
not?"
Joffrey shrugged, rinsing his ears and face and bringing up one slender leg for
washing. He flexed his toes and swirled the soap over his foot, trying not to
think of Sansa. "I know you care for me. But I'm their king, Mother. It's
their duty to love me."
"If they do not love you, they do not see what I see," said Mother, adjusting
the golden pendant that rested in the center of her cleavage. She noticed
Joffrey watching her and smiled at him again. "Be certain to wash thoroughly. I
cannot believe they'd do something as hideous as that to my poor boy—"
"Tyrion says it was only a cow pie, that I shouldn't have reacted so—"
"They could have seriously harmed you," Mother put in quickly. "You had every
right to react the way you did. You did nothing wrong. You are a strong, brave
king and you did not deserve that. Not one bit."
He nodded, deciding she was right. They were silent for a few more minutes. The
only sound was the sloshing of the water. It lazily slapped against the tub as
he changed position.
"Do you know if they found Sansa?" Joffrey asked without really thinking. He
bent down, pretending to be invested in washing himself there. "Not that I care
one way or another—"
Mother turned her head. "Yes, Tyrion mentioned you were in quite a frenzy about
the business with the Stark girl—"
"Not a frenzy, Mother! I simply told my uncle that the crowd could have her if
they wanted her!"
"As I hear it," Mother said lightly, "the crowd very well did almost have her.
Would that really have pleased you, sweet boy?"
Joffrey swiveled around, completely focused on her now. "What do you mean? Did
they maim her?" If they did anything to her beautiful face, I won't be able to
look at her. And then what will I do? I can't marry an ugly woman. Maybe if
she's hideous, I'll tell Mother she's also not a maiden and then Mother can fix
the situation for me—
"She was bleeding but it wasn't anything serious—"
"Bleeding where? Was she cut? Stabbed?" Joffrey asked, his voice rising with a
hint of excitement as his stomach dropped.
Mother gave him a confused look. "She's doing fine, Joffrey. She's likely just
scared. A little dove from the North with no idea how life really is—"
"I want my clothes brought to me, and I want Sansa to see me in my chambers,"
Joffrey said, sitting up and rinsing off. "Quickly. Bring my towel, Mother."
"Don't you think she should rest, Joffrey? We have all been through so much
today—"
"I want to see Sansa in an hour's time," said Joffrey flatly. "I want to see
what happened to her. Clothes and towel. Now. Fetch a servant or do it
yourself. I don't care."
Mother stood up and her face twitched, a small frown forming on her shapely
lips. "I don't see why you need to speak with her. I was enjoying our time
alone—"
"Because she's mine, Mother, and I need to see if she's been damaged!" Joffrey
snapped. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure what was driving him to see Sansa
either. But like many of Joffrey's desires, he knew it would not be sated
unless it was quenched.
. . .
A sharp knock sounded at Joffrey's bedroom door. "Lady Stark for you, your
grace!" came the Hound's growl of a voice. Joffrey peeled his eyes away from
his full-length mirror where he'd been admiring himself in his new black velvet
tunic. His heart began to pound and he wished it would return to normal. I'm
not inviting Sansa in because I care for her, he told himself, I want to hear
what transpired today and whether she looks hideous. Better now than later, and
besides, I can let her know if she repeats what she saw happen to me I'll track
down her brother and cut off his head myself!
"Come in," Joffrey said, posing against the vanity as the Hound thrust open the
door for Sansa. Joffrey noticed her first, his mouth going dry. She was wearing
a simple dressing gown with a fur cloak tied around her shoulders. Her hair was
down in curls around her face in the manner he liked. Her face looks
unharmed, he thought, that is a relief.
"I'll be outside the door," muttered the Hound. He looked to Sansa. "When the
king sees it fit, you can come to me and I will escort you back—"
"Why would you linger around my doorway, Dog?" Joffrey asked with a snort. "You
never do that."
Clegane and Sansa exchanged a very brief glance. "I thought it would save
trouble, your grace," the man said. "Forgive me if I guessed wrong—"
"You can come back to collect her when I call for you, Dog. Like always,"
Joffrey said icily, and stepped forward, surveying the Hound's ugly, cracked
face. Tonight, the Hound did not stare back. He turned away and stared instead
at the floor. "Something wrong?" Joffrey challenged.
"Nothing at all, your grace. Just call for me when you are ready," the Hound
mumbled, giving a bow of his head.
"I will," Joffrey said shortly. "I don't need your permission to do as I
please. Leave now. I can't stand to look upon you any longer. Sansa, you may
now approach me." Before he could say another word, the Hound bowed his head
again and exited as Sansa stepped forward. Joffrey noticed with some gladness
that she looked nervous. Good. At least seeing me like that didn't take away
her fear. "Closer," he said in a sweet voice, eyes hungrily examining her for
whatever wounds lay beneath her clothing. "Please have a seat on the chaise. Be
comfortable."
"Your grace," whispered Sansa, and gave a curtsy. She seemed to be surveying
Joffrey's chambers, a look of wonder in her wide eyes. He figured she'd never
seen a room quite as grand. She crossed the room and sunk down onto the lounge.
Joffrey followed her and stood directly in front of her, crossing his arms. "My
mother says you were harmed today but I don't see any wounds. Show me."
"I was bleeding badly, your grace. By now, it has been cleaned and dried," she
murmured, her voice wavering badly. "It was—it was horrible—"
"I don't care how it was!" Joffrey said. "Show me, I said!"
Sansa shuddered and at a snail's pace she began to remove the cloak from her
shoulders, Tully hair tumbling in front of her eyes as she looked downward.
Irritated, Joffrey strode forward and wrenched the furs from around her,
casting them to the floor. She whimpered, cowering.
"Where were you bleeding?" he demanded impatiently.
"Here, on my shoulder—"
Joffrey pulled up her sleeve where she'd gestured and gazed open-mouthed at a
blood-stained bandage twisted around Sansa's upper arm. "How big is the cut?"
he whispered, leaning into her and running a finger carefully around the length
of the cloth.
"They said it was sizable—it hurt terribly. I was lucky to get out alive—"
"You were lucky to get out alive? I was attacked," Joffrey argued, rolling his
eyes. "Honestly, don't be so childish. My mother says I could have been really
hurt and you don't hear me going on and on."
"Yes, your grace," Sansa said, nodding her head several times. Joffrey dropped
down beside her on the chaise and crossed one leg over the other. Sansa looked
up and met his eyes as she spoke: "I'm sorry you were treated like that. With
all my heart, I'm sorry."
Joffrey stared at her face, trying to interpret her tone. He decided she was
being sincere. "Well," he said flamboyantly, "I could have handled it myself if
only I had my sword. How did you get out of there anyway? I could have gone out
and found you, but I was attending to other matters—"
"You did not hear?" Sansa asked and Joffrey frowned.
"Why would I ask you if I'd heard already?" he demanded. "What would the point
be?"
"That was stupid of me," Sansa replied. "I apologize, your grace. Ser Clegane
came for me. I was—I was being accosted by a group of men. I couldn't count
them. There were three, or four, I'm not sure. I was so scared, your grace—"
"My dog went out for you?" Joffrey asked. "I didn't ask him to! Why would he do
that?" Interesting indeed. What is the Hound's problem as of late? It would
seem he has some pathetic fondness for Sansa, but that's too ridiculous for my
dog. He agrees with me on the subject of women. They aren't worth worrying
about.
Sansa wrung her hands in her lap and fixed Joffrey with a wide-eyed look. "I—I
don't know? I don't think he knew where I was off to, he was simply fighting
through the crowd. It was lucky he found me! I owe him my life—"
"Your life?" Joffrey interrupted, sneering. "Your life? Don't be so dramatic—"
"Your grace, I wouldn't exaggerate," Sansa put in, her tone hurried. "Please
believe me. I wouldn't lie!"
"So what happened?" he inquired, turning his body to face her and gazing at her
intently. "They cut you a bit? That's nothing compared to what I went
through—you have absolutely no idea!"
"They almost took me there in the alleyway, Joff—your grace," Sansa managed to
sputter, and tears began to flow from her eyes right then. "They were all
filthy and mean and they beat me, one clamored over me and tried—but, but Ser
Clegane came and killed all of them. I was so afraid," she said, and burst anew
into sobs.
Joffrey watched her, growing slightly annoyed. "I can't understand you when you
bawl like that," he said crisply. "Took you? Took you where?"
"Took me," she said in a hushed voice. "They almost… raped me. One of them
asked if I'd ever been—if I ever had…well, sex. And before I knew it, he was
pushing me down and pulling my legs apart-"
"Did they do anything to you?" Joffrey asked, his volume intensifying. She
continued to cry, hiding her head in her hands. He slid closer to her and
pulled her hands away from her face. She was snotty and blotchy but Joffrey was
too invested in the conversation to mind much. "Did they touch you?" he
questioned. "Tell me!"
"No!" Sansa burst out. "No, they didn't—Ser Clegane saved me just in time. It
was horrible—"
"My poor lady," Joffrey said, his voice sliding into a tone of a sort of syrupy
tenderness that even slightly surprised him as he heard the words leave his
throat. "How dare they do that to you, how dare they! Wait here." He got to his
feet and rifled about his dresser, finally snatching up a silk handkerchief. He
rushed back to Sansa and sat beside her again. Through her tears, she gave him
a strange expression as he began to wipe her tears from her eyes. "You may have
this," he said after a few seconds, and passed her the kerchief before snaking
an arm around her back.
"Thank you," Sansa said, holding his eye contact and sniffling quietly. "Thank
you so much, your grace."
"Joffrey," he corrected softly. He put his palm to the side of her warm face
and slowly brought his lips to hers. He sighed; she tasted of salty tears and
he swore he could almost smell the hint of blood on her. Sansa shivered in his
grasp as he deepened the kiss, his hand moving up and down the curve of her
back. "If they had done such a thing to you," Joffrey said when he pulled back,
"I would have tracked them down and pulled their guts out through their mouths.
You're my lady. You belong to me. And I won't have other men touching or
looking at what is mine. You can depend on that."
"Th-thank you, Joffrey," Sansa said, her breathing coming out in pants and her
pretty cheeks a bit flushed.
"I'm the only one who gets to touch you," Joffrey went on, running his hand
across her thigh now as he felt his heart pounding faster still. "Aren't I?"
Sansa nodded and swallowed, "Yes, Joffrey. Yes, you are."
"Good," he nodded, and reached out for her. Sansa gave his outstretched hands a
wary look. "Take my hands in yours," he commanded, raising an eyebrow at her
hesitation. She quickly did as she was asked. Joffrey smiled and squeezed her
fingers, savoring the feeling of her skin against his. "I forgive you for your
impertinence yesterday. You must be tired, Sansa. I will escort you to your
living quarters tonight. No doubt my dog has had enough excitement for the day.
Come. Shall we go?" Beaming, he stood and held out an arm for Sansa to take.
Very slowly, his lady got to her feet, fixing her cloak back around her
shoulders. "Yes, Joffrey," she said in a pleasant tone and slipped her delicate
arm through his. Joffrey puffed out his chest and his heart sang. Mother was
right: His day had improved. It seemed his troubles were over.
 
***** Kissing and Killing *****
===============================================================================
                                        
                                     SANSA
===============================================================================
 
You can't avoid his eyes. Smile at him. Don't cry. Don't panic. Don't make a
sound. Keep smiling! Try not to shake! You must look at him when he speaks to
you, Sansa urged herself, willing a small grin to claim her lips as she walked
arm-in-arm with King Joffrey. This version of Joffrey, this sugary-tongued and
chivalrous shadow of the boy she'd been enamored with so long ago, scared her
deeply. He was strutting like a proud rooster but Sansa knew by now that
Joffrey's demeanor could change at any point, for virtually every reason—or no
real reason at all. It would be one thing if she could interpret Joffrey and
know how to coax the right responses out of him. The truth was, Sansa had tried
desperately to see a pattern. Unfortunately for her, she was realizing that
Joffrey was perhaps even madder than she'd previously thought. Sansa's life had
become a puzzle, a logic exercise in how to keep a fanatical, blood-thirsty boy
satisfied. Just when she thought she had the answer to Joffrey, his eyes would
widen and his teeth would clench, and he'd erupt in rage. And other times, he
was silent and brooding. Rarer still were the positive moods, like this
saccharine sweet display of chivalry. A year ago, Sansa would have done
anything to have Joffrey walk with her like this, but now it made her insides
twist and turn in terror.
He'd been absolutely hateful to her at the docks today, which she'd expected
given his rage at her defense of Prince Tommen yesterday. However, his actions
just moments ago had completely baffled her. The tender kisses and gentle way
he'd held her hands in his own had made her both nauseous and light-headed. She
despised him with everything she had left inside her, yet she could not shake
the thoughts of how she'd touched herself the night before. Sansa was filled
with what felt like thousands of emotions and guilt, befuddlement and revulsion
were bubbling right up to the top. Though his kissing had been anything but
rough, the very last thing Sansa wanted today was more unwelcome touching.
She had periodically gone between crying quietly and sitting silently since the
riot. She stood staring out the window of her room and wringing her hands in
her hair. Shae had tried to speak with her, as had the several handmaidens and
nurse who attended to her after the attack. Sansa insisted she was fine but the
real truth was that she did not feel like speaking. She did not want to answer
any questions. She did not want to discuss what had happened. The women had all
had the same question: Did they take it? Did they take your maidenhead? They
did not ruin you for the king, did they? Shae had stood in the corner, looking
away while Sansa put on a wide-eyed expression of relief: "No, no. Ser Clegane
saved me before they could do anything to me like that!" Then she'd guiltily
told them all to leave. Shae had remained, but Sansa shook her head, her face
turning red as her hair. "Out,"she'd hissed, "please get out."
She'd re-imagined the scene, over and over again, all day. The people seemed so
hurt and angry in the streets, crying and calling out for bread. Sansa had
wished she'd had food to offer them, and she had felt strange in her expensive
silken gown. And Joffrey had seemed, as usual, completely unaffected by the
scene as they'd moved through the street. Sansa once imagined him as a
benevolent and just king, her perfect husband, and had visions of them walking
side by side. They would smile serenely, conversing with the common people and
keeping order in Westeros. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Joffrey seemed to care
nothing for the ailing townsfolk, just as he did not care much for matters of
state or work in general. For all Sansa saw, he paraded about the grounds of
the castle with the Hound, or thought up senseless punishments before the
court. Sansa had foolishly thought Robert was a subpar king; she'd thought him
silly and unsightly. But she'd take that reality back in a heartbeat. For not
only was Sansa beginning to see that her future husband was a far worse ruler
than his father—the whole of Westeros seemed to be seeing it, too. Things were
never going to get better with King Joffrey. She was already deeply embarrassed
imagining having to call herself his queen. It was hideous enough sitting by
his side and pretending to agree with his brutality. Imagine if everyone knew
they'd been intimate. She'd be far more hated than Joffrey could ever be.
She'd almost been glad when he'd gotten a pile of manure launched at his face
though her first thought was that the event would turn his mood sour, making
him harder to deal with. She hated that he was always in the forefront of her
mind. Even as the men had cornered her, she'd thought, Joffrey—this is
different than you, they truly want me dead, you say you'll kill me but when
you look at me I don't see it in your eyes, these men, they want me with
something different inside of them.
She'd wondered alone, had the crowd of men who'd cornered her smelt the lust
she felt for Joffrey on her? Could they see she'd been spoiled, that she was no
longer the Stark family's good, loyal girl? The only man in the group who had
spoken to her had pulled at her garments and leered through nasty teeth,
asking "Have you been fucked, little girl?" Sansa wondered if saying "yes"
could have deferred them, or if her throat would have been slit straight away
instead (is that what girls like me deserve?). She'd been completely shocked
when Ser Clegane had shown up to defend her. He'd brutally murdered her
attackers before hoisting her up over his shoulder and had carried her off to
the castle as she sobbed into his sweaty neck. Sansa was glad to be alive, but
seeing him disembowel and slaughter the men right in front of her eyes had only
added to her shock. Arya would definitely make fun of me, she'd say I should be
happy those men are dead! But I did not want anyone to die. I just wanted to be
left alone. I wish none of it had happened, beginning with how stupid I was
back in Winterfell. I should have never told Father and Mother I wanted to
marry Joffrey. I demanded them to make me marry him! I'm being punished for my
sin. I really am! I thought it would be like the songs, like the knights and
ladies in the ballads. But it's not a ballad with Joffrey. It's a death
march. She had only been torn from her thoughts when Ser Clegane had rapped at
her door. She'd covered her bare shoulders in furs at once and had hurried to
the door.
Sansa's stomach had turned at the sight of him, but not because of his face
this time. He'd seen her spread-eagled on the dirty ground clutching at her
torn dress and though Sansa knew he simply thought of her as a silly little
girl, she was still mortified. Her hand shaking on the doorknob, she'd stared
past his head, unsure of what to say. Thank him, she urged herself but the
words would not come.
He had glared down at her as usual. Obviously their interaction during the riot
had not had an effect on him whatsoever. "The king has decided he'd like to see
you in his chambers, little bird. Orders from her grace, the queen regent. The
king is interested in your wounds. He'd like to discuss what happened to you
today."
"He wants what?" Sansa had asked without really thinking. "I mean to say, he
knows what occurred?" Gods, he'll be angry! He'll be so angry! He'll throttle
me for getting lost in the crowd!
"I said nothing," grunted the Hound in a savage tone. His eyes glittered black
like scurrying spiders. "Where's your smile, girl? Your beloved king has
remembered you exist! What a blessed day it must be for you."
"It is," Sansa said quickly, though she did not much like the Hound's boorish
tone. "I'll be happy to see my King Joffrey. But I am not decent." She gestured
down to her nightclothes.
The Hound snorted cruelly and rolled his eyes. "And you think I believe you for
a second that it matters whether you are decent for the king?"
Sansa's face flushed and she narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand what you
think you mean, Ser," she said indignantly, but the Hound raised up a large
arm, shaking his finger at her.
"I've told you a thousand times, girl. I'm not a Ser. I'm not a
knight," Clegane growled. "Are you coming or not? We don't want to keep
his grace waiting."
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," Sansa said quietly, trying to hold back tears. His
forcible way of speaking frightened her, but she told herself to be calm. The
calmer she was, the better she would be able to handle Joffrey. But she feared
that today, she did not have the strength.
And now here she was, leaving the king's chambers with him, arm-in-arm as if
they were the pleasant couple she'd once imagined back in Winterfell. He was
walking in step with her and actually allowed her to take his arm rather than
snatching her hands but this only added to Sansa's nervousness. She wanted to
be alone in a hot bath in her chambers, not strolling with King Joffrey away
from anyone who could possibly hear her cries of protest. Once he gets me back
to my room, what then? Is this some sort of plan? Sometimes he seems too mad
for a plan, like he does whatever comes to his mind without a second thought.
But other times, his ideas seem thought out far, far in advance. Like poor Ser
Dontos. I'd never dream of drowning a man in wine. What kind of dreadful
thought is that?
"My lady," Joffrey said, his voice high and smooth. "What are you thinking so
deeply about?" He ran a long hand across her back as they walked around the
corner into the long hallway that led to the first set of stairs.
Sansa shivered at his touch, disliking the closeness. She got a clear flashing
image in her mind of the mob from the riot ("have you ever been fucked little
girl?"). "I'm still thinking about earlier," she said in a whisper, hoping this
answer would not set Joffrey into ridiculing her for being a baby.
"Those men really scared you, didn't they?" asked Joffrey in an intrigued tone.
Sansa wanted to jostle his arm; she hated his voice, that strange curiosity
that made him sound hungry rather than concerned. But she ignored her gut
response, set her jaw, and nodded in a solemn fashion. "Well," Joffrey went on,
raising his voice, "That will not happen again if I have anything to do with
it. You're safe with me. You know that."
Winterfell, a small voice in Sansa's head hissed, that's what you said in
Winterfell and you are a liar, liar, liar, safe with you? You make me scream,
and you laugh. You bite me until I hurt. Shove your hands in me, take me, spoil
me. You ran from the riot. You cried when my little sister threatened you. You
mock your mother but hide behind her when you want something. You're repulsive
and I wish I could stop thinking about you! You vile, evil—
"What are you doing?" Joffrey suddenly snapped, and Sansa broke out of her
thoughts. Was I speaking aloud? I wasn't, was I?
"I'm not doing anything, Joffrey," Sansa said quickly and whimpered as he
wrenched his arm from hers.
"I wasn't speaking to you," he said quickly. Then, he shouted down the hallway:
"Dog, why are you at the stairs?"
Sansa looked up and, sure enough, Ser Clegane was standing near the main
stairwell, leaning one arm on the banister. But at Joffrey's yell, Clegane
straightened up and turned to face them. "Simply doing as I have been told,
your grace," he replied. "Waiting for your orders."
Sansa noticed a difference in his tone. It had nothing of its usual bite.
Joffrey grabbed her hand and continued briskly toward where Clegane was
positioned, dragging Sansa along like a ragdoll.
"Is Lady Stark ready to be delivered back to her chambers?" Clegane inquired,
reclaiming some of his normal gruffness but Sansa did not take comfort in his
lowered head, or his averted eyes. Before she could wonder if something was
wrong, Joffrey continued talking:
"I didn't ask for you to be a hallway guard dog, though, did I? I told you I
should call for you when I needed you and as it stands, I do not need you. My
lady has asked for me to deliver her back to her chambers and your assistance
is not needed, Hound." Luckily, Joffrey's voice was somewhat amicable if not
fueled with arrogance. "Didn't you, sweet lady?" He turned to cast Sansa a
smile, and squeezed her hand harder still.
"Yes, your grace," she nodded, though it wasn't the truth, not at all. "Yes, I
did."
"See, Dog? We just don't need you," said Joffrey, and though his voice kept
that even tone, his sneer was not lost on Sansa.
Clegane looked to and fro as though he had a mind to say something else, but
instead he gave a deep bow of his head. Sansa winced as his knotted hair fell
aside a bit, revealing his grotesque burns in full. She wished he'd wear his
helmet much more often than he did. It still gave him a foreboding look but it
was somewhat more palatable. He straightened up and made to walk away.
"Wait," Joffrey called. Ser Clegane stopped in his tracks as Joffrey went on.
"You didn't tell me about how gallant you were today, Dog. But my lady has told
me everything. You saved her when I could not. For this, I am indebted to you.
You are very brave, rescuing a poor, helpless girl and I am very pleased with
your service." On the contrary, he sounded like he might suddenly burst into
laughter. Sansa suddenly felt even more ill as Joffrey stroked her
fingers. What is he doing? What's in his head?
Clegane kept his eyes averted and made a slight grunting sound. "Brave? I saved
a sparrow from rats. You owe me nothing, your grace. It was nothing—"
"Ah," Joffrey said, and he beamed, "So you think my lady is nothing?"
"Not one bit, your grace. She is your betrothed, which is why I went after her.
The girl is not nothing, but she is nothing to this Dog—"
Sansa looked away, unsure of where this conversation was going. She wasn't
surprised she was nothing to Ser Clegane, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to
hear anyway.
"So she's not… nothing?" Joffrey asked, drawing out his words and blinking his
eyelashes angelically. "I suppose I don't understand. You either saved someone
important. Or… you didn't. So which is it, Dog?"
Clegane gave a wheezing laugh. "Of course she is important, my king. She is
your beloved and I work only for you. I take my orders from you and for you.
Why would I not save her? Why would I expect any sort of acknowledgment?"
"Because," Joffrey said, and there was a very slight change in his voice.
"Because, Dog, I didn't order you to save her and you take your orders from the
king. Do you not? I mean… You just said you take your orders from me and so I
am confused—"
"If it was not what your grace wanted, I do humbly apologize," Clegane said
quickly and with another bow of his great head. "I figured you wouldn't want
her ravished and stained out there in the streets. It's no place for the king's
lady, after all."
"No apologies are necessary," grinned Joffrey, all dimples. "You're lucky for
this, Dog. It pleases me you saved my lady as she is my one true love." Sansa
held back a shudder at the way he said it, one true love, all drawn out and
snide like that joke it truly was. "I say again, I am indebted to you. Whatever
you wish, you can have."
Clegane shook his head hard. "Nothing, your grace. It's my duty. I ask for
nothing."
"So, you wouldn't like a kiss from my lady?"
Sansa's head snapped up at once and she stared at Joffrey in disbelief. "A
kiss?" she wavered, her face growing hot. Please, Joffrey, no—no, he scares me.
Don't.
"Yes, I think it's only fair to offer my hound a kiss from you, Lady Sansa,"
said Joffrey, and he was talking excitedly now, his words falling from his
mouth as quickly as he could deliver them. "After all, men can take what they
want from girls. I think you knew that already, but you surely did discover
that today." He laughed, but there was only coldness in the sound.
"I don't want a kiss from your lady, my king," Clegane declared strongly, and
Sansa felt her body relax in relief. "You owe me nothing. And she is only
yours."
"You are right! She's mine and so I do with her as I so choose," Joffrey said
in a crisp way, and he dropped Sansa's hand and nudged her forward. "Take a
kiss from her, if it pleases you. Kiss her anywhere you like. I won't mind."
Sansa threw Joffrey a wild-eyed glance, her heart racing. Not this! Not after
everything—oh please! But Joffrey simply crossed his arms and fixed her with a
smile.
"But it wouldn't please me, your grace," the Hound said steadily and finally,
he looked at the king with piercing eyes. "It wouldn't be at all what I wanted
and I feel I should leave you to deliver your lady safely to her chambers. I
should not like to kiss her. Not at all. If you would like to give me
something, allow me to act out your next execution. Killing pleases me. Kissing
does not."
"Very well," Joffrey said, sounding a bit affronted in Sansa's opinion. "You
shall have as you wish, Dog. Come, Sansa." He held out his hand to her as she
removed herself from her thoughts, feeling in a slight haze. "I said, come!" he
cried sharply, and she flew to his side, taking his hand in hers. As they
headed toward the staircase, Sansa gave a last look at Clegane, who was shaking
his head at her and scowling.
                                     . . .
"You didn't want to kiss my Hound," Joffrey said as they approached the second
set of stairs, his hand holding hers in a solid grip.
At once, Sansa shook her head, glad she did not have to lie. "Of course I
didn't!" she burst out. "He still frightens me, even now—"
"Even after saving you so bravely?" Joffrey asked, loosening his fingers a bit.
"No one is braver than you," Sansa said, nearly choking on the falseness of the
words. But Joffrey seemed to accept this answer, wearing a small smile.
He led her down the winding hallway, and they climbed yet another set of
stairs. "Odd, wasn't it? He was clearly waiting for you to leave my chambers,"
he finally said.
"It was likely just a coincidence," Sansa said, though she remembered that
Clegane had attempted to help her once before from Joffrey's wrath, not to
mention he had covered her breasts after Joffrey had ordered her stripped
before the court. But the man still appeared to hate her and she doubted very
much he'd risk his life for a girl that was "nothing" to him. What did he care
whether Joffrey abused her, anyway?
"A what?" Joffrey asked, furrowing his brow.
"Er—a coincidence, he probably was just there as we were leaving, for no real
reason," Sansa said quickly.
"Oh," Joffrey sniffed, "Yes, of course. Yes, you might well be right. My dog
doesn't care much for people. Unless he's hurting them," he giggled boyishly.
"It's why we get on so well."
You don't get on well at all, Sansa wanted to say. You tell him what to do and
call him names, and he thinks you're ridiculous—that I can tell. He's a real
killer and you want to be like him. You wish you were fearless and brave.
But even after all these rational thoughts, when they reached the corridor to
Sansa's room and Joffrey leaned in and kissed her with soft, lying lips, she
felt her knees go faint. Again, Joffrey's familiar musky, clean scent filled
her nostrils as he pulled at her lips gently with his own, curled his fingers
through her hair and tugged lightly. Sansa felt her breathing change and her
heartbeat quicken. She tried to lose herself in thought, tried to lose control
and block Joffrey out, fearful that if she didn't, she'd be too disgusted in
herself later to carry on.
Sansa was not certain how long they kissed for. Her mind was a blank screen and
her thoughts were happily vapid. When he finally let her go, she mustered a
smile. "Goodnight, my king," she said, and she felt her voice displayed the
picture of tender love. Without really planning to do so, she ducked in again
to Joffrey and kissed the side of his smooth face. She heard his breath catch
in his throat, felt him tense up against her, and this gave Sansa great
confidence. He'd been affected by her touch, not through watching her in pain
or causing her harm. He'd liked her kiss. If I can make him happy, he will not
hurt me so. Perhaps he will leave me be. This is so much better than accusing
me of aiding Robb in traitorous acts, better than squalling or being slapped by
knights. I can do this. Shae was right. I can keep the king satisfied, and I
will survive this. She broke off the kiss and gave a curtsy, proud. From the
way her stomach was churning somewhat pleasantly, it was as though she'd almost
fooled herself.
Joffrey watched her as she put her hand to the door, a half-dazed look upon his
face that made him look like a naive boy. "You can't," he said at last, his
voice strangely choked up. "I want more of you." And with that, the boy-king
continued to stare at Sansa in that fond, innocent manner, which contrasted
deeply with the way he grabbed her roughly by the hair, shoved her into her
chambers and slammed the door behind them.
 
***** Red and Thick *****
===============================================================================
                                    JOFFREY
===============================================================================
                                        
 
His groin hardening from the feel of Sansa's lips against his, Joffrey dragged
her by the hair and shoved her hard onto her four-poster bed. He was flushed
from excitement; he felt in complete control and mature, heroic. She'd sung his
praises, and from her reactions he'd garnered that perhaps she had not even
remembered seeing him get abused by the crowd. Likely, she'd been too
distracted by her near-rape and for that Joffrey was beyond pleased. Though he
did not like this bizarre development with the Hound, he wanted to push it to
the back of his mind for now. Joffrey was usually quite talented at burying
what he wanted to un-see or forget. He buried thoughts in his brain as he did
animals in the dirt, and for now he wanted his focus to only be on Sansa Stark.
The first time they'd lain together, he'd been so obsessed with doing it right,
with having the courage to overpower her and get it in and come inside her,
that he really hadn't been able to thoroughly enjoy her the way he would have
liked. He was ready for that to change though he'd been having some difficulty
keeping the bad thoughts out this week. He was not certain what had triggered
them, but he'd had to do extra burying, pressing the thoughts deep, deep down.
"Sansa," he breathed as he held her down by her neck and climbed over her,
inspecting her face. She said nothing but did not look as frightened as usual,
staring up at him with her deep blue eyes. They were nearly nose-to-nose; he
was so close to her face he could smell her slightly floral scent, and he still
wondered if that slight tang that reminded him of blood was the wound on her
shoulder. His erection jutting out against Sansa's middle, Joffrey took her
face in his and kissed her while stroking her hair. "Kiss my face again," he
commanded in a low tone, his hands encasing her cheeks. Sansa abided, planting
her soft lips on his jaw line, his face, his earlobe. Joffrey felt his
breathing hitch in his throat as her wet mouth made contact with his skin. When
she let her kisses travel down his neck, tickling him, he gave a slight whining
moan. It feels good, surprisingly, he thought, it's not bad, it's really not
too terrible at all. If she keeps doing this, perhaps it will be enough. After
all, Sansa had been very good this evening, a terrific turn of events. She'd
obviously been uninterested in the Hound, disgusted, really, and she had
complimented Joffrey's bravery. She'd been so affectionate and sweet toward
him, the way it should have always been if all had gone as planned, before the
Starks had ruined Joffrey's betrothal with their treachery.
She seems as though she speaks in earnest. I was ready to give up on her again.
I was ready to beat her raw for how she addressed me yesterday. She had no
business interrupting my business with Tommen—I cannot believe that little rat
told Mother I dared Myrcella to put her hand in the fireplace. I had to do one
last funny thing with her before she left to Dorne! It was fortunate Mother
took my side... Joffrey grunted as Sansa continued to kiss him, her mouth back
on his ear again. I want Sansa to be good. Like this, forever. It's so much
easier this way. "What were you thinking when I told my Hound he could kiss
you?" he said suddenly, and rolled off Sansa to lie by her side.
"What do you mean?" Sansa whispered, eyes latched onto Joffrey's gaze. Her
baffled expression displeased him. He'd liked their kiss outside her door, so
why was she suddenly acting different? What had changed?
Joffrey ran a finger down Sansa's chest, slowly dragging against her stomach.
The silkiness of her nightgown against his hand made his hardness twitch
slightly; it reminded him of being a little boy and nestling himself in his
mother's lap, rubbing his hands on her soft gowns. The sensation was pleasant
and clean, though it did give Joffrey a peculiar feeling to reminiscence like
that. He didn't often like to let his mind dwell on infancy, and he'd already
decided he needed to focus on Sansa. Stay here, he urged himself, trying
desperately to pull back, she's right here, right here with you. You are in bed
with her. Joffrey pinched her stomach slightly through the silk, and Sansa let
out a slightly squeak of protest, but then she hummed out a tone that set his
heart to pounding. "When I told my dog to kiss you," Joffrey said, "what were
you thinking? You must have been thinking something."
"I told you, your grace," Sansa said, and though her eyes seemed a bit blank,
there was a slight smile on her face. "I shouldn't have liked to kiss him. I
don't like the idea one bit. Would it have pleased you, your grace?"
Joffrey tried to control his breathing, tried to calm himself at her words. He
spoke in a quiet, ragged tone, dragging out each word as he slowly slipped his
palm up inside Sansa's nightclothes, rubbing his hand over her warm thigh. "It
might have amused me for a moment," he said, "because you are mine to give, and
it may have been quite funny to see the Dog slobber all over my lady. And I
would have stepped in and saved you. Would you have liked that?"
"Oh yes," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut and her legs giving a slight
jolt. Joffrey let out a low laugh as he pulled his hand across her middle, ran
it up to her left breast and squeezed ever so slightly. "Joffrey," Sansa said
softly, and he moaned at the sound of his name, flicking her nipple. "But I
wouldn't like him to kiss me. Not at all—"
"But you enjoy my kissing," Joffrey said, and leaned in to bring his lips to
hers again, his hand teasing her nipple before switching to her right breast
and squeezing that one in a slow motion. Of course she does, he told
himself, why even say such a thing aloud?
"Of course I do," Sansa said quickly, and Joffrey beamed at her response, at
the sincerity and lack of hesitation. She moaned again as he kissed her hard on
the mouth, pulling out his hand and seizing her by the hair once more. She
squirmed when he slipped his tongue between her lips, but then, tentatively,
she flicked his tongue with her own. Joffrey groaned; this was almost too much,
too good. But not good enough—there is something missing. He gripped her hair
harder and Sansa whimpered, her breath coming out in sharp pants. Her eyes were
focused on him and she looked interested. Perhaps excited, even? Hungrily,
Joffrey moved closer to her, his arms wrapping around her lower back as they
kissed. His hardness rubbed between Sansa's legs and she let out a gasping
sigh, weaving her hands into Joffrey's bangs. He sputtered out a groan.
"Joffrey," she said, so quietly he almost did not catch it.
Joffrey was used to eliciting negative reactions: gasps, whimpers, sobs of
discomfort, blank and desolate expressions. Generally, he did not care one way
or another what others were doing or how they were responding. Fear often aided
in Joffrey's pleasure. But at this change of direction, this evidence that
maybe Sansa was willing to be touched by him, Joffrey gave a long moan, heart
racing. "Yes," he said, his erection rubbing against the seam of his trousers
now, "yes, tell me how I'm brave. Tell me I'm the king, the true king."
"You are," Sansa said, her eyes closing again, and she shivered as he fumbled
with the front of his trousers. "You are the bravest king, the only king! My
brave Joffrey. Just like the ballad of Lady Eyrn and Ser Tomas, like that."
"Like what?" Joffrey questioned breathlessly into her ear, hand on his front
where he was disrobing, peeling layers away to expose his hard cock. "Who?"
"It's a Northern ballad," Sansa explained quickly, and moaned as he cupped the
front of her privates through her nightgown. Joffrey grinned as she continued.
"Ser Tomas was a brave and gallant knight, the bravest there ever was, and he
saved his lady from all kinds of dangers. I used to sing the song when I was a
girl. I always hoped I would find a boy like him."
Joffrey kicked off his trousers and boots, and held his cock in his hand,
stroking it frantically. "I'm better than that, though," he muttered, watching
Sansa's face as she stared at the pumping motion his hand was making. "I'm a
king, not a knight. I'm a king."
"Yes," Sansa nodded, "you are a king—"
"Tell me about today," Joffrey murmured. "About how I saved you from those men
in the alley. Oh," he moaned out, pulling himself in a harder grip. A slick
little spurt of pre-seminal liquid ran out and he vigorously used it to
lubricate himself, grunting thickly and biting his lip. After a few seconds of
silence, he threw an expectant look at Sansa. "Go on!" he demanded in a sharp
voice, and whined out another moan. Keep talking, it's good, it's good—soon, I
will be ready and I'll have you and you'll see how great I am, all over again.
Sansa faltered for a moment, and he fixed her with his powerful stare until she
nodded, drawing a breath. "You were so brave, my king, when you saw me there.
If it weren't for you, I'd be dead—they'd have killed me and you saved me from
them. You were slashing them with your sword and you killed each one—"
"Describe it to me," Joffrey said, pulling himself harder. "Describe it in
detail, how I killed them!" When he shut his eyes, he could imagine himself
perfectly in the scene and it seemed so realistic he could have sworn he was
actually there.
"You were a great fighter. You killed them, all of them—you did it so fast,
too—"
"Was there blood"
"…Yes."
"Oh, describe the blood—"
"Red, thick, and so much of it, too," Sansa whispered.
"And was there blood on you? Was there a lot of blood from your cut?"
"Y-yes," Sansa put in somewhat slowly. "Yes, there was blood on me—"
Joffrey nodded, ecstatic. "Good, good, yes, you looked so beautiful. And I
helped you up and I held you in my arms and told you I'd never let anything
happen to you, ever again. You are my lady, my queen. And I lifted you up onto
my horse—" he took Sansa's hand in his and brought it to his cock. She very
slowly began to run her fist up and down his shaft, watching him all the time.
Joffrey gritted his teeth, his head leaning back onto the pillow. "Faster," he
commanded, and put his hand over hers, directing her movements over him.
"Better," he murmured, "better, yes—yes—!"
Sansa caught his eyes in her curious gaze and she quickened her pace. Joffrey
tried to lose himself and close his eyes, but he snapped them open to watch
her. Though her movements were not unsatisfactory, he wasn't entirely pleased
with this. Relinquishing control gave him a sick feeling deep inside that
interfered with his concentration. Joffrey blinked several times, swallowing to
moisten his dry throat. He tried to focus on Sansa's hair and face, the steady
motion of her hand over his hardness. Her red curls swung around her shoulders,
free and loose. He favored her hair that way though the red color still gave
him slight unease, as beautiful as it was. Joffrey tried to lose himself in the
pleasure but the thoughts were getting in tonight.
At least she doesn't have it pulled up as she did earlier, he decided,
clenching his teeth as she looked him over for a response and continued to
stroke him, it should be clear to her by now that she should not wear such
styles. That stupid red-haired whore had red curls all set up atop her head; it
was almost as though Uncle Tyrion knew and chose her to mock me. Stop thinking
about it. Think about Sansa. But as he watched her shyly work his cock with her
hand, Joffrey's dread grew. Sitting back was not his place. He wasn't going to
be the recipient here. He did not want her to have the satisfaction of seeing
his reactions, did not want to weaken himself by letting her please him like
this. Besides, her bowed head was distracting; he kept imagining her red curly
locks pulled up in a Southern style and while he could not quite explain why he
was so fixated upon this, he could not stomach another second. He pushed her
hand off him and gripped her throat.
"Lie back," he hissed and she did as she was instructed, letting out a small
whimper. Joffrey smiled at her submission, instantly feeling his strange
apprehension disappear like smoke in the air. Sansa kept her eyes on his as he
struggled to put himself inside her, and she let out a short, piercing cry when
he finally found her entrance. He massaged her breast through the silky gown as
he slid inside her cunt, and he felt an enormous difference in the feeling
instantly. "You feel—wet," he managed to get out, sighing in pleasure. "You're
so, so wet—"
"I'm sorry!" Sansa said, and her face looked rosy; she was blushing deeply.
"It feels good," Joffrey retorted. "It pleases me—." He stopped talking to let
out a groan, bringing himself out of her a tiny bit and then slapping his cock
back in. He relished in the sensation, the skin-on-skin sounds and Sansa's
dripping core. Let this be enough, he told himself, let it do. It's good
enough. But in that place in the back of his mind, he knew he'd need something
more eventually. He lasted a minute before the feeling grew tired, and he
squeezed her nipple as hard as he could through her nightgown. Sansa gave a
cry, a shrill and loud protesting cry. "It hurts, doesn't it?" Joffrey grinned,
and drove himself into her again. "Only I can make you hurt," he whispered, his
eyes heavily lidded with enjoyment. He worked up a rhythm, slamming into her
quickly as she gave short moans and stared up at him widely. And you won't ever
hurt me because you're afraid of me. Just as it should be.
Joffrey's motions made a rapid squelching sound as he drove himself in and out
of Sansa, and his jaw was slightly ajar with pleasure. He sighed and gripped
her hands, taking them hard in his fingers and holding them against the pillow.
"I can't stand much longer," he said, "you do feel good, Sansa." She said
nothing, her face motionless. "I said, you feel good—"
"And so do you," Sansa offered almost cautiously, prompting Joffrey to pump her
harder, tightening his grip on her fingers. "Joffrey! Yes, it is good!" she
called, in a tone that was neither unpleasant nor favorable. Another familiar
voice, one that Joffrey sometimes heard in his ears if he did not go to great
lengths to avoid it, rang in his head as he fucked her:You are a good boy
aren't you, a handsome prince, his grace is too tired now, what is wrong now,
come and I will help you, no I do not know where the queen is, not here, why
don't you come sit in my lap. He gripped Sansa strongly and drove himself into
her, willing himself to be vacant, to lose these wandering thoughts. He'd been
so successful at focusing before—why couldn't he do it now? Why was his mind
playing these tricks on him when he needed to be in control? He had to be in
control, had to overpower Sansa, prove himself, proving himself would take away
the bad things. It always seemed to, at least.
Joffrey let out a small, reproachful sound as he felt on the verge of softening
inside of Sansa and in that instant he knew it was unavoidable. He mentally
cursed, making a face. Just like that, he lost his erection and was staring
down at her, completely mortified. Sansa stared up at him in that naïve, wide-
eyed way and he prayed she did not understand. He pulled out of her and ran a
hand nervously through his hair, his shoulders shaking slightly as he sat up
straight next on the bed next to her reclined body. It seemed that there was an
endless silence that followed, Sansa looking at him apprehensively as his
breathing returned to normal. He wanted very much to release his orgasm inside
her, but he knew from experience it would be difficult now. He did not want
Sansa to see him struggling with his erection, and he'd have to try other ways
to get himself hard; given his usual routine, it could take several minutes or
an hour, or two. Or three. Worse, it might never happen. Tonight, it had almost
worked to be content with talking to Sansa and feeling her mouth on his, her
hands on him. Almost. Joffrey seethed inside. It's never enough! He punched the
mattress in frustration and Sansa jumped, making a slight noise of surprise.
"Is something wrong?" she bleated.
"I'M FINE!" Joffrey burst out, balling his fists and refraining from slapping
her across the face. "I can handle myself, you know!" Red-faced and feeling
very young, he gathered his clothing and dressed, turning away from her as he
did so. He pulled his trousers and tunic back on, and put on his boots,
breathing hard. "I request you to be at dinner this week," he said through a
glower when he finally turned back to face her. He pointed at her, finger
shaking slightly in the air. "And you won't wear your hair up. Be sure to
remember that!"
Sansa pulled her nightgown over herself and peered at him from the bed as he
stalked toward the door. Next time, I'll fuck her until she bleeds! I'll have
her until she's screaming! That will work! It has to, he decided and grabbed
the doorknob. He threw the door open and found himself face to face with a
slight, very pretty dark-haired woman. Joffrey looked her up and down, eyebrows
raised. She was wearing the attire of a handmaiden but she was unfamiliar to
him.
The strange handmaiden gasped, covering her mouth. "Your grace!" she exclaimed,
giving Joffrey the very worst curtsy he had ever seen in his entire life.
He couldn't hold back a snort before throwing a glance back at Sansa. "Is this
one yours?" he asked in a scoffing tone, though he approved of the woman's
obvious respect for him.
Sansa nodded, and her eyes were huge. "I'm so sorry!" she put in, grabbing her
coverlet and throwing it over herself. "I—Shae—the king was just—"
"No explanation is necessary," Joffrey said with a flippant shrug and a sneer.
He looked the handmaiden straight in her black eyes. "You won't repeat to
anyone that I was here… or I'll chop your head off. Ask Sansa what I did to her
father and you'll think twice about spreading rumors about your king." He threw
a sweet smile back at Sansa and then faced the handmaiden. "Besides, my
betrothed and I were merely conversing." His voice was thick with honey, that
tone that made his mother smile and everyone else shake.
The handmaiden kept her head lowered, hands held in front of her. "I wouldn't
dream of it, your grace. I saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. You were not ever
here, your grace," she said in a firm, serious tone.
"Good!" Joffrey said loudly. "Goodnight, Sansa. Sleep well," he said, his voice
somewhere in between falsely polite and sincerely caring. Joffrey liked to keep
everyone guessing, especially the people closest to him. They should never take
him for granted. He could do anything he wanted and say what he pleased.
As he pushed past the handmaiden and made the walk back to his chambers, he
felt a very tiny inkling of dread. In the days to come, he'd need to be prudent
about making certain that bitch was not going to blabber to his mother or any
of the other cunts who worked in the castle. There were always little birds
flitting around, and that did not just mean ravens. Although Joffrey's tone had
been confident, he realized after a few moments of walking that his knees were
wobbling slightly. When he reached his chambers, he flopped onto his bed, his
mind a cloud of images that played behind his eyes like gruesome illustrations.
He passed out moments later, immune to it all by now. He slept deeply but it
was the kind of sleep that brings no comfort; it was only a few hours' rest to
endure the next living day.
 
***** No Children *****
===============================================================================
 
                                     SANSA
===============================================================================
                                        
"Lady Sansa!" burst out Shae in a hushed voice, rushing to the bed. Her eyes
were wild with question, questions Sansa knew she did not wish to answer.
Sansa's cheeks were tinged pink and her body pulsed with emotion: she was
reeling over Joffrey's frivolous mentioning of her father's beheading but also
ashamed, and confused and… Something else? She was unsure how to pinpoint just
what it was. When Joffrey had asked Sansa to describe the scene of him rescuing
her from her assailants, she'd realized just how important it was for him to be
the hero of the tale rather than the Hound. It was almost sort of
sweet. Well, she corrected herself, it would have been sweet months ago. Before
Father. Before everything went so wrong. Though, as she'd questioningly watched
him touch himself, Sansa had discovered how very easy it was to imagine Joffrey
in the hero's role. After all, she'd spent much time in Winterfell idealizing
Joffrey, fantasizing about her sweet blond prince with the emerald gaze and
kind heart. Though Joffrey's request to hear about the blood was a bit off-
putting, he'd also fashioned them a story where he'd promised her loyalty,
romantically clutched to her and lifted her onto his horse for them to ride off
together back to their castle. He'd even called her his queen. This kind of
tale always put Sansa's heart aflutter, and just moments ago she'd been in bed
beside her betrothed king, sharing fantasies together and touching each other
in a manner Sansa did not dislike. And when he'd entered her, it had been
different, entirely different. There was something in his touch that was more
appealing. He had not been so harsh or hasty until the very end when he'd
looked at her as if he was furious with her. Sansa had no idea why and she had
no time to dissect the scene because Shae was staring at her in expectant
concern.
"I had no idea, I mean—of course I did not know, but it was not my intention to
walk into that," Shae said quickly in a whisper. "He knows you have servants!
How did he think he could keep it from everyone?" She spoke in a very quiet
voice that Sansa had to strain to hear: "He is as stupid as they all say, isn't
he!"
"That is not it," Sansa found herself saying, "he's not stupid, he likely did
not even think about anyone else being here!" Why am I defending him?
Luckily Shae did not seem to notice the slip. "I'd be so sorry if he comes down
harder on you for it but he cannot really expect to keep this hidden from
everyone forever. Did he hurt you, Lady Sansa?"
Sansa felt her eyes slightly glaze over as Shae was talking and very slowly
shook her head in response to the question. "It was—" she stopped herself, and
tried to think of how to answer. "No, he did not hurt me," she finally said.
Her face felt on fire; she was certain Shae was going to see beneath her red
cheeks, see how she'd actually enjoyed her time with Joffrey, all things
considered. It could have been much worse. He was not kind but he was not
cruel. His teeth and the way he gripped my hands—that hurt, it hurt very much,
but it was a different sort of hurt than a riding crop or having me beaten. It
was… It was a nice sort of hurt. Sansa bit her lip at this bizarre thought,
trying to make sense of it. Joffrey had had repugnant moments while in her
bed—the blood, his loud commands, his assertion that he was the only person who
could make her hurt—but in contrast with the other times they'd spent together,
Joffrey had actually shown a more favorable side of himself.
When he'd kissed her, Sansa was able to imagine everything was as it should be.
This only lasted so long, but it was a welcome state of mind to live in, better
than the reality of the situation that made her sick and ashamed. She'd been
horrified at first at Joffrey's rough fumbling but it had improved drastically
as they lay side by side. Sansa had been able to fashion a story in her head,
that she'd been at the mercy of four very bad men and her heroic King Joffrey
had ridden in on his horse, Valyrian steel sword swinging high in the air. The
thing was, once they'd got to talking, it was not so difficult to imagine. When
Joffrey kissed her with tenderness and slowly touched her tongue with his own
instead of shoving it down her throat, he'd been like Sansa's ideal suitor.
When he'd put himself inside her and stared into her eyes, she'd lost herself
in his gaze, staring up at his handsome, boyish face. Sansa knew this was not
real, yet it felt so good to wish it was.
"If you need me to stay away for a bit, I will," Shae was saying, "I just do
not want you to be blamed. I do not want to leave your side, believe me—but I
will do what is best for you. Especially after today! You have been through far
too much in this place—"
"Shae, it is not your fault," Sansa said quickly, her body tensing up as she
held the coverlet over herself. She was still pulsing and tingling slightly
between her legs where Joffrey had been, and frantically trying to ignore it.
"I can help you," Shae said strongly, and she reached out to grip Sansa's
shoulder but Sansa shrugged her off, disliking the contact. "Forgive me," Shae
said, drawing back. "But—please, I offered before, when this all started
happening, I can tell someone and he can help you. I know he can. He is close
to the king, and while the king might not listen to him he could at least try—"
"No!" Sansa hissed, shaking her head. "No one can know! You heard Joffrey! He'd
have you murdered—"
"He could try," Shae said quietly, and Sansa was irritated with her
handmaiden's confidence. "Let me help you, Sansa. Let me do something."
"You can draw me a bath," Sansa said, "and stay with me until I fall asleep.
That would help me, I think. Sometimes I just lie awake and I can't stop
thinking of all the terrible things I cannot change. I try to pray but mostly I
just try to piece together how it all went so wrong."
Shae gave a gusty sigh, her facial expression wholly empathetic. "You are only
thirteen, but sometimes you seem to be much, much older."
Sansa looked at Shae and offered a slight smile. Years ago, she would have
considered this a compliment, a quality to be cherished. "Thank you," she said
in her best imitation of earnestness.
"I would not wish that on anyone, my lady. My childhood was robbed of me," Shae
said quickly and she sat delicately on the edge of Sansa's bed. Sansa was
mortified, she wanted to tell Shae she was not decent, wanted to exclaim that
the king had just had her there, but she did not have the words. Shae went on,
lightly fingering the bedspread between her pointer and thumb. "When I look at
you, I see a beautiful and kind girl who sits trapped in a room all day. A
prisoner."
Get this bird back to her cage, the Hound had said.
"It is not so bad," Sansa said, voice cracking slightly as she held the
coverlet to her still, with trembling hands.
"No need to pretend with me," Shae said, and her warm, kind tone sounded alien
to Sansa after a long day spent with Joffrey and Ser Clegane. "You are safe
with me. That I can offer you, if nothing else. I will help you bathe and I
will brush your hair, and if you would like, I'll talk and if you don't like,
I'll listen. I would offer to sing you a song, but you might throw me out the
window when you hear my voice."
Sansa's brows furrowed slightly, slowly working out that it was a joke. A true
smile blossomed on her lips and she allowed herself to laugh, to really laugh.
Shae laughed, too, a musical and comforting sound. Sansa continued to laugh,
breaking away from Joffrey, away from the fake story of her rescue, away from
his piercing stare and pinching fingers, away from the possibility of being
thrown to a man who terrified her for the king's amusement, away. And suddenly,
Sansa was laughing and crying all at once, and she leaned toward Shae and let
the woman take her into her arms. As Shae wrapped Sansa in a hug, Sansa felt
present for the first time that day. Shae cared about her enough that she would
not hurt her. At this thought, Sansa wept with joy as Shae gingerly stroked her
hair. This is real, she told herself. This. Is. Real.
                                     . . .
The week flew by and Sansa played all of her parts accordingly. She remained
indifferent toward Ser Clegane as he delivered her about the castle, despite
his ugly scowls and silent treatment. Her suppers with the Lannisters were
fairly uneventful, which Sansa was deeply grateful for. Joffrey wasn't overly
thrilled with her, that much was obvious, but he was not hot-tempered either.
His mind seemed to be occupied with other matters that Sansa did not wish to
inquire about. Cersei asked Sansa dozens of questions about what she'd been
busying herself with, and Sansa was ready with the kind of answers she figured
the queen wanted to hear: Oh, I've been studying poetry. I wrote a sonnet. I
attended court and watched his grace's rulings for the day. I admired the
tapestries in the east wing—they are ever so grand! I walked about the godswood
and prayed the war will be over soon. When Cersei asked why Sansa wanted the
war to be over, Sansa already had an answer prepared: Because I wish to marry
my beloved Joffrey as soon as possible. At this, the king had tilted his head
to the side and smiled thinly, giving a very boyish look to his smooth face.
Sansa had been the picture of ladylike and had bowed her head, smiling
serenely, until she felt his eyes cease to dissect her movements. The queen had
nodded her own golden head in approval.
Of course, the truth was that Sansa was praying as hard as she could that her
brilliant brother Robb would triumph, that he'd slaughter all of King Joffrey's
armies. Then, Sansa had ruminated, he'd appear in King's Landing, valiant and
victorious as he always was in the North and he'd slay the few who remained
between him and the Iron Throne. Was Joffrey really not the rightful heir of
Robert Baratheon? It was something Sansa had given little thought to; she
didn't care about the logistics. It had not even crossed her mind, as she could
not imagine what this meant. It simply did not matter. She wanted Robb to
defeat the Lannisters with all her heart, whether Joffrey was a Baratheon or
not. Although Sansa could imagine Robb triumphing over Westeros and usurping
King Joffrey, Sansa could not truly picture seeing the Lannisters slain in
front of her. She remembered her words to Joffrey so many months ago, when she
threatened that Robb would bring her his head—her only retort to Joffrey before
he showed her exactly what he'd been waiting to use his new power for. But
Sansa had thought about it again and again though in sincerity she did
not want Joffrey's head. It might please her for one moment, the meaning behind
it, but it would make her sick more than anything. She wanted no one's head.
She only prayed for her family and freedom.
Lately, Sansa was attempting to find the things about King's Landing that did
not make her wish to die. This had been another urging from Shae on the night
she'd given Sansa much needed company in her chambers after Joffrey had
departed. Sansa had begun to make a list for herself, a list of the good
things, and the places and people that kept her strong.
Things and places were easiest. Sansa still enjoyed the release that drawing
and sewing allowed her, and she did find distraction in her studies. Her
favorite places were limited. She had come to detest most of the castle grounds
because they reminded her so much of her father's demise and of Arya's
disappearance. She supposed she enjoyed the gardens: the breeze and flickering
sunlight could be somewhat comforting in comparison to her quarters and the
dusty darkness of the throne room she couldn't help but associate with
Joffrey's immense cruelty. But the godswood brought Sansa more comfort than any
place in King's Landing. She could clear her head and take in the beautiful
scenery while pouring herself into her prayers.
People were even more difficult to list. There was Shae, who topped the list,
of course. Sometimes, Sansa would see Ser Dontos, Joffrey's fool, and she was
also happy for that. Ser Dontos had been kind to her and had told her he owed
her his own life. But Sansa thought that was silly. She had not stepped in to
stop Dontos from dying for anything in return. It would have quite horrified
her to see the man drown himself in wine. She could count Ser Dontos among the
few people she truly liked. Varys, the soft-spoken and extravagantly dressed
man on Joffrey's small council, made Sansa feel some unease though he was not
unkind. Sometimes she felt he was watching her. She would feel eyes on her back
and turn to look, finding herself in Varys' focus. He'd smile slightly and tilt
his head respectfully before ducking away. Sansa also had Lord Baelish, her
mother's old friend. Sansa quite liked him (if only because he gave her a tiny
shred of hope she would see her mother again soon) but his astuteness was a bit
unnerving.
If Sansa really stretched her definition of "good", she could include several
other people who were related to her captors, though not responsible for
Father. Lord Tyrion was polite to her, for a Lannister. Tommen also brought
Sansa cheerfulness. He was a kind-hearted boy but timid around his mother and
Joffrey, which made Sansa's heart twist in a knot. Cersei said despicable
things to him, seemingly taking joy in remarking upon what she considered
babyish behavior and weakness. She was constantly comparing him to Joffrey who
would smirk intensely anytime the subject came up. Why, the other night, Cersei
had even scoffed that it was fortunate Tommen was not king for it would be
mortifying to have a ruler who had only recently stopped "wetting himself."
Cersei and Joffrey had enjoyed a good laugh at that while Tommen sat silently
staring at his plate. Sansa went out of her way to be kind to Tommen. After
all, she could not imagine someone saying such things to Bran, who was around
the same age.
"Are you really going to marry Joffy?" Tommen asked Sansa the following day.
He'd located her in the garden where she was sketching the winding roses, as
his nursemaid sat stitching across the walkway. She admired the crimson color
but couldn't help wondering if when Joffrey looked at them he thought of blood.
Sansa set her artwork down, thankful for agreeable company. "Yes," she said and
put on the placid smile she'd perfected for the queen regent, one reminiscent
of Cersei's own expression. "I will marry King Joffrey as soon as the war is
all done—"
"What will happen to you after?" Tommen wanted to know, and inspected Sansa's
painting brush with curious eyes that lacked the severity of his brother and
mother's gaze. "May I see?"
"What do you mean?" Sansa asked softly, flipping the pages of parchment for the
curly-haired little prince to look at her drawings. He admired them loudly,
making Sansa laugh happily. Tommen was a little boy but he was kind and
friendly. Sansa did not care what the queen said about him. She'd rather her
betrothal had been to Prince Tommen in a heartbeat though she expected it would
be a much different sort of union indeed. Sansa had long wished for a handsome
husband, but at least Tommen had the potential to grow into a good man, and
that was far better than Joffrey. Despite her strange new relationship to
Joffrey, Sansa was trying hard to hold onto the truth.
Tommen ran a finger carefully over the outline of Sansa's depiction of the
throne room, all chalky blacks and jagged lines. "Is he going to hurt you?" he
asked matter-of-factly.
Sansa blanched and gathered her drawing utensils back into her lap. "He
wouldn't hurt me," she said stiffly, doing a quick visual sweep of the
courtyard. She was never confident she was alone; someone's eyes were always on
her. "He's very good to me and I love him with all my heart." He is like Ser
Tomas. Or Prince Urik—he rode horseback straight up a tower to save his Lady
Amelia. Yes, when Joffrey marries me, I pray he will change. He'll be more like
our last night alone together, and less like a grotesque beast.
"I love my Joffy, too," said Tommen earnestly, "but he usually hates me!" He
shrugged. "He only says he loves me when my septa is there. Or Mother. And
even then sometimes he calls me names."
Smoothing her skirts, Sansa tried to decide how to approach this subject in the
most diplomatic way possible. "Sometimes brothers fight. I know, because mine
did all the time. And I don't only have one brother. I have four. And Theon—he
is practically the same as a brother. He teases me enough to be one."
"Four brothers?" Tommen asked, an eager tone to his high, sweet voice. "My!"
"Yes, four. And Jon and Robb often argued but I always knew they did not hate
each other. When you are older, you and Joffrey may get on quite well. You'll
see," she smiled, trying to believe this, for Tommen's sake. At least when I am
queen, Tommen will have me. I will not be able to do much for him, but I will
be there.
"Maybe," said Tommen a bit wistfully. "It's all so different now that he's the
King. He doesn't come to lessons with me anymore, and Myrcella and me got a new
septa. Before Myrcella had to go away, that is. I do not see him as much though
sometimes that's not so bad." He paused, looking up to Sansa as if he'd said
something wrong. "But I still love him!" he put in quickly.
"Of course you do," Sansa said gently, thinking what a good boy Tommen was, and
how much strife Joffrey must have put him through. At least the worst Robb and
Jon ever did was squall and, very rarely, come to blows. They were two young
men, matched in combat. Tommen was absolutely no match for his older brother.
"I am glad, though, that he does not wake me up anymore," Tommen went on,
lowering his voice and still tracing along Sansa's drawing. Sansa flipped the
parchment to show him an illustration of Death's Door, pawing at the ground,
his black mane flowing in the wind. "Ooh, I like this one! You did well! You
did very well, Lady Sansa!"
"Then it is yours, Prince Tommen," she said. "You can have it." The prince's
plump face brightened as she handed over the drawing and he clutched it to his
heart. Sansa turned to the next parchment, one of a great bouquet of roses with
doves all around it. "Why did Joffrey wake you up?" she asked.
"To play games with him in the dark," Tommen responded offhandedly, still
admiring the sketch of Joffrey's stallion. Sansa's gaze flicked to Tommen's
septa, who was still sewing and paying them no mind at all.
Sansa was about to ask what kinds of games Tommen was referring to, when a
noisy voice cut the quiet:
"Faster, Dog! I'm going to test this on the first enemy I see! Stannis won't
stand a chance! Ha!"
"Joffy!" Tommen exclaimed, and Sansa was bemused by the actual joy in his
voice.
Joffrey jumped into the walkway, Ser Clegane on his heels. The king was
brandishing a handsome hunting knife with a gold hilt. He swung it carelessly
to and fro in the air, and Tommen's septa nervously stashed away her sewing.
"Oh, look, Dog! Good! Three enemies!" shouted Joffrey merrily, and swished the
knife. His tone was merry and he wore a happy grin instead of a sneer, for
once.
"Two ladies and a babe," grumbled Clegane with a wry smile. "Some enemies
indeed, my king."
"I suppose you're right!" Joffrey said agreeably, and Sansa wondered what it
was that had him in such a fantastic mood. Still, she couldn't expect it to
last long so she'd certainly enjoy the moment while it lasted. "You'll all be
lucky I'm around when Stannis invades! I'll save each of you!"
"Indeed you will, your grace," said the septa, still fretfully eyeing the
blade.
Sansa stared, wondering exactly what Joffrey was on about. She'd heard the name
Stannis Baratheon thrown about, knew it was Robert's brother they were speaking
of, but she hadn't known he was thinking of invading. "Invading where?" she
asked tentatively.
Joffrey's eyes looked wide with excitement, and he puffed out his chest. "Oh,
you hadn't heard!" He practically skipped toward them and shoved Tommen aside
to sit beside Sansa. She tried to ignore the fact that his scent set her legs
to wobbling and instead tried to focus on his words. "Stannis sails in as we
speak. He thinks he's going to overthrow my reign! He's jealous, you see! What
he does not know is I will stick him, just as someone did my Uncle Renly!"
Joffrey made a jabbing motion with the knife and laughed. "I'd knight the hero
who did that deed!"
"Renly was a coward," barked the Hound, shaking his head. "You might as well
knight a sheep."
Joffrey burst into slightly manic giggles, jabbing the knife in midair even
still.
"But what's to happen?" Sansa pressed, her tension rising a bit. "What will
Stannis do?"
"He'll try to throw me off the throne. He wants to be the king, but I'm the
king! He wants to take over the castle but I won't let him!" Joffrey said, a
hint of snappishness springing into his voice. "I'll cut him!" Joffrey said,
and made like he was going to impale his blade into Tommen's brain.
"Oh, please be careful!" Sansa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her
hands. Stupid! Stupid!
Joffrey's eyes flashed. "What?" he snapped acidly, and his teeth looked sharp
and bright in the sunlight. Monster.
"It's just—he's a little boy," Sansa said, attempting to sound relaxed. "You
don't wish to hurt him." Suddenly, she got an odd feeling, almost a flash of
what the future might be like with the king. She could imagine this scene
playing out exactly the same in a few years, except with Sansa defending their
children from Joffrey. It was such a profound vision that Sansa felt weak with
the weight of it.
"No, but I will cut Stannis. Here." Joffrey very lightly touched the tip of his
knife to Sansa's throat. "And here, too," he said in a low mutter, the very
voice he used in the candlelight in her chambers, making a motion of sawing at
her stomach. "Until all of his guts spill out."
Sansa set her jaw. She had some faith Joffrey wouldn't really kill her; she
wasn't certain he was capable of it, but felt her heart race all the same
Tommen looked straight ahead, not making any movement and the septa stared down
at the ground, feigning interest in the cobblestones. Ser Clegane rolled his
eyes and strode forward.
"I thought you were done with picking birds apart. Let this one fly away," he
said gruffly. "You can test your new knife on far more satisfying targets than
sparrows who can't even chirp." He raised his eyebrows at Sansa. She reddened
at the obvious insult and pressed her legs together tighter but was relieved
when Joffrey removed the blade from her skin.
"My Hound is correct. Mother gave me permission to take a short hunting trip.
When I return I'll be ready to slit a hundred throats!" he announced, sounding
upbeat again. He leapt off the little stone wall and in one move, he thrust his
knife across the plants and knocked the heads off a assemblage of roses. "Like
that!" he shouted. Sansa felt on the verge of tears, watching Joffrey destroy
beauty in such a way.
Ser Clegane let out his signature wheezing guffaw. "I was told by the queen
regent you would be hunting, not gardening."
"Gardening! Ha ha ha!" Joffrey erupted into loud laughter. "Good one, Dog." He
threw Sansa a last look-over before bounding down the walkway, destroying all
the roses he could manage.
                                     . . .
Fast asleep, Sansa rolled back and forth under her coverlet with sweat
surfacing upon her temple. She was in the midst of a terrible nightmare, one
where she was back in the midst of the King's Landing riot. This time there was
no one there to save her. Not Ser Clegane and not even King Joffrey. She ran
from the men, their hands pawing at the skirts that trailed behind her, greedy
and angry. She was screaming but no sound was coming out. Please, no, no, no,
don't! Finally, the inevitable happened. She was overtaken and slapped, then
thrown onto the hard ground and one of the men pulled out a knife. The knife
changed in her mind's eye, looking much like Joffrey's new blade, and-
Sansa reared out of her covers, out of breath and gasping for air. She ran her
hands through her damp hair, feeling terrified. The light that seeped through
the windows of her room felt eerie and much too bright and her legs, her legs
felt sticky. At once, she threw the covers off herself and let out a mortified
cry.
"No!" she said aloud, for there was a dark blot of blood between her open legs.
Her thighs were coated in the red mess and it was spreading; she could tell it
had already sunk into the sheets and perhaps even the mattress. "No, no, no!"
she whispered, out of bed in a flash. She was trying to cut out the bloody
stain out of her bedding as fast as she could when Shae came into her room.
"What's this—" Shae's expression was clouded with confusion until she spied the
blood, perking up a bit. "Oh! It's only—"
"No!" Sansa cut her off, her voice a curt hiss. "It means I can bear
his children! If we... if we...are together again, I could become... and, I'll
be dead, Shae! I'll be dead if I am with child before we are to be wed!"
Shae's face instantly became stoic and she rushed to Sansa's side, and together
they worked at pulling the blankets off. Sansa felt even more panicked as it
was confirmed that yes, the blood had seeped through into the mattress. They'll
know! They'll know and I'll be wed to Joffrey straight away and it's going to
come true, what I thought about Tommen. It's going to happen sooner than I ever
thought and I can't do it! I can't!
"Focus!" Shae urged. "We must find a way to burn this! We'll get rid of it!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa caught a glimpse of another woman, a
handmaiden she'd never seen before. She let out a strangled cry, pointing. Shae
whipped around.
"I must tell the queen!" the fair-haired woman exclaimed, and turned to run but
Shae took off after her. Sansa heard their footsteps clattering down the hall
and hoped this might buy her time, that she could hide the evidence she was
finally ready to be Joffrey's queen. She'd been hoping, somehow, that she'd get
out of her betrothal—Robb was supposed to have won by now! And Stannis was to
invade! Perhaps a few weeks more, that was all she needed! She wrenched the
blankets off and set to work at the mattress, stabbing at the stain.
"It's no use, little bird. You can stop that now."
Eyes widening, Sansa slowly turned around to see Ser Clegane hovering over her.
Her face burned and she couldn't help but burst into tears. "Please, please,
please," she murmured in a sob, rocking herself back and forth and trying not
to think about the fact that he'd likely seen the blood, seen the stains on her
legs. Somehow that was worse than the fact she'd very obviously been planning
to tell a huge lie to the Lannisters.
"There are some tasks a Dog takes no pleasure in. Try to know that, girl,"
Clegane said, and his voice was neither dry nor sullen. On the contrary, it was
quiet and dismal and may have comforted Sansa if it weren't him. But it was
him, it was Joffrey's firsthand guard, and so Sansa wept quietly into her hands
until the Dog made her get up, his gnarled hand remarkably soft on her
shoulder. It was time to tell Queen Cersei about the news.
 
***** Inner Workings *****
Chapter Summary
     Contains brief description of animal abuse that I did not enjoy
     writing.
===============================================================================
                                    JOFFREY
===============================================================================
                                        
 
"Let's to the castle, quickly! I want very much to use my new knife!" Joffrey
said enthusiastically, as he knelt before the carcass of the doe he'd just shot
down using only three arrows.
Clegane chuckled. "I thought you were searching for a name. Just calling it a
knife? Good. I can't stand for cunts who go naming their swords. Imagine how
foolish you'd look waving around a wee hunting knife with some grand title—"
Joffrey let out a loud snort. "Not me," he scoffed. "Only a grand weapon
deserves a grand name!" He had, in fact, been thinking of a name for the new
hunting knife but the Hound was right. It would sound rather stupid. Even
though Joffrey did not care much for what others thought, Ser Clegane knew a
great deal about fighting, killing and being a man. Joffrey did not want to do
anything to seem boyish or weak around his Dog, servant or not. He very
carefully removed the arrows and cleaned them meticulously with a cloth from
the satchel that Meryn held out steadily before him. He'd brought along Meryn
and Clegane to attend to him during the hunt and it had been a splendid
adventure. They had not traveled too far, only about three hours out on
horseback, though still a very agreeable trip. It was good to be in the company
of men and men only. Women had only helped in confusing or angering Joffrey as
of late.
Mother had been especially annoying after delivering the news of Stannis'
impending invasion. She'd been doting and teary-eyed for days, and had begun to
deliver very unhelpful, depressing bits of advice for him. Joffrey wanted to
stuff something in her mouth to stop her from speaking. And the situation with
Sansa was on his mind more than he'd like to admit. He felt their last sex had
been an improvement over the first time, and though he was determined to try
again he did not want to appear too eager. It had also been a bit jolting that
bedding Sansa had reminded Joffrey distinctly of her, the girl (or was it
girls?) he sometimes heard in his head or saw in the blackness when he was
trying to sleep. He did not know what to make of these thoughts and so he shut
them out.
He also had not heard any evidence that Sansa's handmaiden had squealed on
them. Likely, Sansa had either denied their relations or explained how sweet
Joffrey had been to her, how he'd saved her life. Joffrey did not want Mother
knowing about his sexual life, but he was slightly disappointed Sansa's maid
had apparently stayed silent for he very much wished to punish her. She'd been
very pretty and Joffrey could perfectly imagine her gagged and then bound with
ropes to the posters of his bed, her wide eyes gleaming in the soft
candlelight. Perhaps with Sansa standing in front of her hanging form, ready
with his new knife, ready to tease the hole between her traitorous handmaiden's
legs while he watched.
It was time for Joffrey to face the truth: Sansa was his betrothed and the war
would likely be done. That combined with the interesting information Mother had
relayed to him, that Sansa had truly become a woman, was weighing heavily on
him. He knew if he did wish to fuck Sansa again prior to their wedding, he
would need to be much more careful. However, he was not quite certain how he'd
be more careful. He'd never been well versed in the ways of sex and even now
that he'd done it, twice, he was still a bit mystified. If Sansa got pregnant
with his child before they were to be wed, he could lie and say another man had
fucked her. He could pin it on anyone, really—anyone he pleased, anyone he
wanted to be disposed of. No one would dispute him and Sansa would likely be
thrown out of his kingdom and killed, along with their bastard baby. He wanted
to tell himself he did not care one way or the other, but Joffrey was even more
torn about Sansa then he had been before having her. He still wasn't looking
forward to marrying Sansa Stark but he had to admit he did not want her dead.
Joffrey had much on his mind, and the hunting trip had done well to settle him.
Being in the company of the Hound often eased Joffrey's mood, even when the
Hound's behavior had been somewhat suspicious lately. Killing things also put
Joffrey in a much happier way. He had slain three hares, a large pheasant, and
now, the beautiful young doe that lay glassy-eyed before him. Though, truth be
told, the Hound had helped a bit with the doe. Still, it was Joffrey who had
shot her down. The Hound had merely directed his aim, and had told him where to
shoot to bring her down more swiftly. "I am going to skin her hide off and have
a cloak made, and when I triumph over Stannis I will do the same to him and all
of his men! But I'll skin them alive! You'll see, Dog!" He gave the Hound a
victorious smile.
"Will I?" questioned the Hound wryly, and Joffrey nodded, nose held high. "I
thought her grace the queen regent wished for you to stay back from the battle.
She said you would be safer within the castle walls. I think she fears Stannis
will send you back to her in pieces, your grace—"
"No, no, no," Joffrey scoffed, rolling his eyes. He carefully placed the clean
arrows back with his hunting tools and quickly turned back to the carcass of
the deer. "Mother knows nothing about battles. She has silly ideas and only
said that because she still thinks of me as her precious child—"
"You are rather precious, indeed, your grace," the Hound said gruffly and
Joffrey laughed. "But in truth, it surprises me you would wish yourself upon
the battlefield. Look how spotless you've stayed throughout these past hours.
You may not want to be fighting when you see what war means, your grace. You
may dirty your boots-"
"I don't care so much about cleanliness," Joffrey lied, "and besides, I know
what war means! It means I get to kill Stannis! I told Uncle Tyrion what I
shall do to him when I get him! I will greet him right on the bay, and I will
give him a red smile!" Joffrey made a swiping motion inches in front of his own
face with the knife. Meryn and the Hound stared at him. "Get it? Because they
say he never smiles. Get it? A red smile!"
The Hound gave a deep laugh and Meryn followed suit. "That I'd like to see,"
grunted Joffrey's Dog with a grin.
Joffrey nodded, pleased that Clegane was impressed by his remark. Tyrion never
understood the brilliance of Joffrey's wit, but then again Tyrion knew nothing
of battles. Lately, Joffrey had done his best to stay away from Tyrion, for his
uncle was constantly commenting about Joffrey's lack of courage. This only made
Joffrey smirk, for Tyrion was a weak dwarf who could only drink buckets of wine
and sleep with the loosest of women. Apparently, Tyrion had attempted to fight
against Robb Stark's armies—what a joke that must have been! Mother said Tyrion
was knocked out cold, and she and Joffrey had both agreed that they had missed
out on a great opportunity to laugh at his foolish attempts at battle.
Mother had reminded Joffrey whenever Uncle Tyrion would wound his ego that he
was simply a coward who hid behind books.
On the contrary, Joffrey knew he was like his own father: a brutal warrior! He
did not think of his late father very often. He'd driven Robert Baratheon's
death out of his mind as he did so many other unpleasant things. Mother said
that forgetting was the only way to move on. When he did think of his father,
he wished he'd been allowed more time with him. Joffrey had often vied for his
company, but when his father had any free time at all it was likely he'd be in
bed with one (or more) of his many whores or else out with his men on hunts.
Or, in the earlier days of Joffrey's childhood, he'd be out, fighting on the
field with his knights. Joffrey would have done anything for Father to allow
him to come along, but he always said he had no room for him. Joffrey would
stay back at the castle with Mother, who seemed just as thrilled by Robert's
dismissive behavior as he was. But unlike Mother, Joffrey forgave his Father
and understood that kings were busy. Still, he wished he could have known
Father more, wished he could have gotten his affection.
That was why Joffrey was so eager for Stannis to arrive. This would prove to
everyone he was just as much of a fighter as Robert had been! Though he had the
tiniest fear of being overtaken, Joffrey knew this would not occur. He was
fantastic with a blade and with his crossbow—what could happen? He could not
wait for the fighting because he knew he'd be good at it; he was great at
slaying animals, so how different could it be to kill a man? He'd imagined it
countless times. He thought about the feeling of his sword slicing into the
stomach of an enemy and how it would feel to spill all of his guts onto the
ground, to watch the light leak out of the pupils of his eyes before he dropped
down and died at Joffrey's feet. Or the thrill of loading an arrow into his
crossbow, pumping the crank and letting it fly into someone's heart. Or better
yet, right in their brain. But Mother said if I do go to battle, I shan't bring
my crossbow. She says it takes too long to load and that it's far too
dangerous. She really did not need to cry. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a man and
I'm king, and a king must defend his kingdom! Stannis is an old idiot who will
be easy enough to defeat and Mother said there's absolutely no chance we'll be
bested. I have more men than Stannis, and I'm not afraid! Not in the least. I
cannot die. I'm the king. As the Hound lifted up the doe and tossed her over
his shoulder and they made the trek back to their horses, Joffrey went on in a
loud voice. "I told Mother not to be worried. I'll have my Kingsgaurd. You'll
all be there when I triumph!"
"Yes, your grace," Meryn said with a brisk nod. "We will indeed. I hope to
bloody more than just a few of those traitors who dare dispute your right to
the throne!"
"Bloody? You are another to talk," the Hound declared. "I will rip Stannis'
heart out through his chest and then feed it to him—"
Meryn looked tense but said nothing as Joffrey dissolved into laughter and
clapped his gloved hands. "Yes, yes, Dog! You do that and you'll be rewarded
greatly—"
"I need no reward," grunted the Hound, the doe's legs flopping to and fro. "I
look forward to slaying them. Though most of the boys fighting alongside me
will be dead in seconds. They know nothing of combat. Do you know Lancel's got
it in his head he's going to fight? That's a joke, that is—"
Meryn grinned. "That pretty hair will be no use to him when his head gets
lopped off—"
Joffrey laughed loudly, though he was certain Mother wouldn't like to hear his
men were speaking ill of a Lannister, even if it was obnoxious Lancel.
"I have half a mind to do it myself," the Hound said through gritted teeth.
"Half these cowards will soil themselves the moment they see the first ripple
from Stannis' fleet!"
"My mother says Stannis will be lucky to have an army of ten men," Joffrey put
in smugly, heart pounding with the excitement of the conversation. He felt
important and grown-up. "We had a good laugh about it—"
"I thought you said her grace knew nothing of war," the Hound said, raising his
eyebrow.
"She doesn't," Joffrey said instantly. "It was a joke—"
"Do you argue with the king, Clegane?" Meryn asked combatively, hand on his
sword.
Clegane snorted loudly. "Rest easily, Ser. I've known the king since he was a
boy. He knows I jest, and if I should anger him, no doubt he'll see fit to tell
me himself. King Joffrey and I speak man to man, something you may not be so
used to, Meryn."
Joffrey nodded, swelling with pride at the Hound's words. "Yes, my Dog means no
harm. And I'd do well to inflict my own punishment on him if need be, so you
can rest easily and stand down, Meryn," he went on, waving his hand.
"Of course, his grace is likely focused on more than simply warfare. The queen
regent did pass along that the Stark girl is now a woman. Did she not?"
inquired the Hound, and Joffrey noticed he gave a longer scan of Joffrey's
expression than usual.
"Oh, yes," Joffrey declared, "we're to be married as soon as the war is over. I
can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I made a sacred vow. And Lady Sansa is
rather attractive." He smiled thinly, and looked back. "You think so too, do
you not, Meryn?"
Meryn gave a short nod. "I do not notice my king's lady so much, but I will say
she is very appealing. No offense—"
"None taken. I like when others notice what's mine," grinned Joffrey cockily.
"You liked beating her, for me, too, I assume?"
"I did not feel one way or the other. It was my duty and I was obliged to act
out your orders, my king—"
"And you enjoyed watching, too, didn't you, Dog?"
"Yes, your grace," replied the Hound dutifully. "It pleases me to see the
king's justice enacted."
"Shame it wasn't me," Joffrey went on, watching his Dog all the time, "I would
have enjoyed it greatly. Of course, it would have been far more exciting if she
had been fully naked. Of course, I did like whipping her with the crop. That
was a good day, wasn't it?"
"Perhaps once you consummate your marriage, you'll care less for beatings with
arrows and swords, and more for pleasing her with your own weapon," Clegane
said in a dry voice. "You may find it quite enjoyable, your grace. Your bedding
will indeed make you a man."
"I am a man!" Joffrey snapped without thinking. "As it is, I know already that
I enjoy doing both—" he went on loudly and then stopped as the Hound turned to
give him a brisk look over. Curse this! No one knows I have been intimate! What
if my Dog informs Mother? He would not, would he? He wouldn't dare! I must
think of something, and fast!
The Hound looked ahead once more, brush crackling at his feet as they all
hurried onward. "I had wondered, your grace. So, Lady Stark—"
"Not with Sansa," Joffrey lied at once, and looked from the Hound to Meryn in a
quick swoop. Meryn was avoiding eye contact, focusing straight ahead with the
hares swinging listlessly in his grasp. "The whores on my Name Day, Dog. Surely
you recall. You saw the red-haired one drag the other out by her feet. Did you
not?" He forced out a cold snicker.
"I did," Clegane nodded, but Joffrey heard a twinge of skepticism in his tone.
Still, he spoke respectfully even when he was gruff. "I had to carry the girl
to your uncle's chambers myself, if you'll recall, your grace. The other girl
was crying too hard to do it—"
"Yes," Joffrey said with a quick nod, already visualizing the scene of himself
fucking the two whores so clearly it was hard to believe it had not occurred.
He'd thought about it before, alone in his chambers. He could see himself
forcing the redhead to use her mouth on the other before he grabbed her by the
throat and stuck himself inside her. Next he'd take the dark-haired girl from
behind as she screamed and squalled from the soreness. He made certain to speak
with a firm tone, one that did not invoke disbelief. "Yes, I thought you knew I
had—"
"I assumed you only played with them, your grace. The black haired whore's arse
was covered in black and blue bruises the size of shields. What did you do,
smack her around with your cock?"
"I had the other beat her and then I fucked her," said Joffrey plainly, with a
smug smile. "After I was done fucking her, I fucked the other—"
"A job well done, your grace," congratulated Meryn, as if Joffrey had just
detailed how he'd shot down his kills. Joffrey threw him a proud look.
"While the black haired girl was out cold?" questioned the Hound. "It seemed to
me you got rid of them fairly quickly. As I'm sure you remember, I was guarding
your door—"
Joffrey's voice rose as he replied: "Of course I remember! You heard the
wailing, I expect?"
"Yes, your grace," the Hound said. "The wailing I did hear. I am surprised you
did not boast to me straight away. You've been keeping this inside for some
time. You usually burst at the seams with good news-"
"Yes, well, you know my mother," Joffrey put in, his speed of delivery
quickening. "Always asking questions. She'd likely be quite upset if she knew
I'd used them in that way. She doesn't think too highly of prostitutes. She was
quite angry with my Uncle Imp for sending them—"
"Which was your favorite, your grace? If I may ask," said the Hound gruffly.
Joffrey bit his lip, deciding how much he should say, how far to drag this
story out. He wanted it to be believable. After all, there was a chance that
Clegane suspected something was off, which would certainly explain the
relentless questions. I cannot risk anyone knowing, even if the Dog won't tell.
It seems unlikely he would, but then again his behavior toward Sansa is quite
out of the ordinary. Perhaps he is jealous! If he wants her for himself, I'll
soon know. But now, I must act as though I am none the wiser.
"The girl with dark hair," Joffrey said after some consideration, remembering
the girl's excited face as the redhead had licked the space between her legs.
"I liked her smile, and how quickly it faded when she was slapped by the other.
She looked so innocent, so scared. Her cries were real—I could really hear the
fear in her voice," he said quietly, feeling a bit excited by the memory. Use
what you know, he urged himself. Joffrey noticed that Clegane slowed down to a
creeping pace as he listened. His thoughts moved back to Sansa and how she'd
cried while being stripped and beaten, then later how he'd ridden her and
bitten her shoulder and neck while she shrieked in the candlelight. Her
gorgeous Tully hair shining as he pulled it, her lips parted as she pleaded
with him. Her wide, frightened eyes as he went in and out of her, faster and
faster. "Her cunt was tight. Tighter than I expected. And wet to the touch.
When I spoke into her ear, I felt her wiggle, like she really enjoyed the
feeling. I think myself quite skilled."
"It sounds very well, your grace," said the Hound agreeably, "though perhaps
next time you should be a bit more lenient with the beatings. I may not always
be there to carry your women from place to place!"
Joffrey laughed. "I'll do to them what I please, no matter where you are."
Clegane looked back at Joffrey for a brief moment, and Joffrey gave him a very
wide grin. They had reached the horses, and so it was time to descend back to
King's Landing. A very thick silence followed that Joffrey enjoyed. It was
clear his men believed him. They knew he was not a virgin, and he could feel
their respect for him rise as high as the creeping trees.
                                     . . .
Joffrey was satisfied with the short hunting trip, and he felt he'd
successfully swayed his Dog from questioning him any further. He figured that
Clegane knew better than to get in his personal affairs, even if he did have
some sort of lust for Sansa. Poor ugly Dog, he thought with a faint smile,
beginning to slice away at the doe's front haunches. I like him enough that I
shouldn't like us to clash, especially over an issue as stupid as the Stark
girl. The blade was exceptionally sharp, just as Joffrey demanded all of his
weapons to be, and it was nearly an effortless exercise to clip the hooves.
With his old knife, this process had taken so much longer. This time, the knife
dove into the elbow flesh cleanly and he was able to snap the legs off at their
joints almost at once. He relished the sound of cracking bone with a satisfied
shiver. He cast the torn leg pieces aside with the organs he'd removed minutes
before, being very careful to resist bloodying his sleeves as he did so.
Joffrey tugged on his gloves as he did every few minutes, making certain they
were in place, and brought the knife to the doe's ear where he carefully sawed
into her tender tissue.Sansa is mine, no matter how disgusted she makes me. No
matter how little I might feel for her. She's mine and no other man will touch
her, he thought, and cut around slowly, breaking open the skin around the
deer's neck. He licked his lips, his eyebrows flexing as he worked. He tugged
on his gloves again, and wiped them on the cloth beside him. There were others
who could do this for him. Father enjoyed the hunt and did not dress his kills
after becoming king, pleased enough with the sport. But Joffrey liked attending
to the carcasses nearly as much, if not more. He worried that someone else
wouldn't be so fond of splitting off the skin, of letting the organs and blood
spill and pool, of cracking off ligaments. Others did not work in the
meticulous way Joffrey did. There was a craft in knife work, and a talent in
appreciating the magnificence of what dwelled inside of dead things.
Of course, Joffrey hadn't always been so careful. These things take time. His
curiosity for the inner workings of living animals was once a hasty thing. At
age seven, he'd hacked off the head of a pigeon without a second thought, only
invested in the reward of seeing the tiny arteries, the small spurt of blood,
and playing with the slack-jawed beak. He'd remembered this very clearly,
because Father hadn't liked it so much. "What kind of boy cuts down birds with
brains the size of a corn kernel? I got you that handsome sword to spar, to
fight! You use it to kill a bird so stupid it's a regular in pies and
pastries?" Joffrey had recalled his father's booming laugh, ringing in his
ears, and how he'd realized that Robert was right. It was quite stupid to
behead a pigeon, a bird notorious for being easy to catch.
Joffrey ran the blade down the length of the doe's body and pulled up carefully
at the velvety fur that held the skin on fast. The sound of soft squelching, of
flesh and skin peeling, was nearly erotic in itself. He paused to pull up his
gloves and wiped the knife, admiring the crimson that stained the cloth.
Cats, though. Cats were not so easy to catch. Joffrey had though, at age
eight—he'd caught one he'd heard was pregnant and had carefully split her open
to see her insides. It had been a delight that the rumors were true, and the
unborn kittens had looked so interesting, so tiny, in their dead mother's womb.
Tommen's reaction, all blotchy babyish tears, had been hysterical. Myrcella had
shrieked and run off. Thrilled with himself, he'd shown his father he was far
better than the prior assumption. Not only had he done better than a pigeon,
he'd also done quite well with the handiwork of his sword. "See what I did!
See, Father?" Joffrey had shouted excitedly, one of the dead babies in his
outstretched gloved hand. But surprisingly, his father had not been impressed
in the least. Joffrey couldn't quite remember what had happened, only that his
mouth had hurt a great deal and that blood had pulsed, thick and hot, from his
lips and stained his favorite tunic. And Mother's high-pitched screams at his
father ("Honest to Gods, Robert! You could have really hurt him! And for what?
For what, Robert? Some foolish business with a cat?!")—he remembered that, too.
His jaw had been wrapped up in cloths and attended to, and Cersei had cradled
him in her arms for a very long time. But Joffrey did not blame his father for
whatever had transpired between them. Cats were far more impressive than
pigeons, but he could do so, so much better.
                                     . . .
Joffrey had awoken the next morning with only one thing on his mind: He wanted
to show Sansa the fantastic job he'd done slaying the doe, and he looked
forward to giving her all the details of his hunt. He knew she would be very
impressed by the slick way he'd dressed her, and perhaps Sansa would even want
a piece of the glory. Joffrey would happily gift her the head of the doe to
decorate her room, or perhaps even have a cloak made for her with the hide.
Sansa was enthralled with heroes in stories; imagine her excitement when she
saw proof her betrothed was as skilled a hunter as those myths she loved so
very much. He went to her chambers first, but found them empty. She was not
taking lessons or sewing.
Joffrey practically skipped out to the gardens to look for her there and when
he spied red shining hair and a glimpse of deep blue skirts near the rose
garden he nearly shouted out. Then, he heard a rasping familiar voice and
realized that his bride-to-be was not alone. Beside her stood Clegane and they
were shadowed by a hulking tree just beyond the garden gates, whispering
together. Joffrey quickly slid behind a large statue, obstructing himself
completely from view and straining his ears to listen to their words. At once,
a dizzy sort of feeling twisted inside of him.
"The king made it sound as such, and though you have made it clear that your
fear of my face impedes your judgment I wanted to see if there was truth in the
matter. He says he bedded two whores on his Name Day but I stood outside his
door the whole time and thus heard what went on inside. It did not sound like
anyone was bedded, but he speaks like he knows what he talks about." The hound
lowered his voice and Joffrey had to focus hard to hear him. "For once."
Joffrey's chest panged. But that was what happened! That's what I said, at
least, and so he should believe that is what occurred!
"My king can do what he likes," Sansa said stiffly. "I have no idea why you
summoned for me."
"I'm not here for you to chirp at me, little bird," snapped Clegane and Joffrey
bristled at the tone. No one can speak to Sansa that way, he thought angrily,
heart thumping harder still. "Now, I've seen him steal to your chambers at
night, and I've seen the way you two have been carrying on. Has he touched
you?"
"My Joffrey has kissed me and nothing more," said Sansa in a dutiful way.
Joffrey knew she was obeying his orders but he almost wanted her to say, 'Yes!
Yes, he has touched me. He has bedded me and I am his.'
"You covered your neck with ribbons. You watch him with something different,
something not unlike when I met you in Winterfell and you stammered at him as
though you'd never seen anything with a cock in your life. So tell me, has he
fucked you or just beaten you for fun—"
"Ser! I am a lady—"
"And I am a Dog! Not a Ser! I am the king's sworn shield and I am loyal to him.
I battle for him and I protect him. But while some men blindly protect him,
I've seen too much. The king has certain tastes and the king has hobbies.
Hobbies that would make a bird fall down dead in fright if she knew. I can look
out for you, as you are my future queen. You need not say a word. You may only
nod."
Joffrey's entire body shook with both rage and deep, deep dejection. Clegane
was his Dog, just as he'd said! And here he was, speaking in ways that Joffrey
did not approve of, ways that made it sound like he did not stand by Joffrey!
Not only was this traitorous and against the realm, but it was disturbing. The
Hound was not only Joffrey's sworn shield. He was Joffrey's closest friend and
ally, who had been there with Joffrey since he could remember! This was
slander.
Joffrey fought back tears of utmost fury and, despite his desire to charge over
there and tear Sansa away from the Hound, he waited for a sign that Sansa
believed in him. She hadto.
There was a pregnant pause, and then the Hound gave a great scoff of a laugh.
"You have nothing in your brain except those damned songs you hold onto!" he
said loudly. "Let us hope your head stays pretty. I should hate to be the poor
bastard assigned to whacking it off your neck." At the sound of pounding
footsteps, Joffrey hid back behind the statue. He heard the Dog pass him, and
realized his hands hurt from clenching his knuckles.
The Hound insults Lady Sansa and thinks he can get away with it? Threatening
the future queen is a crime! And Sansa should know better than to meet with my
Hound out of my presence. It is indecent for a lady to be alone with a man she
does not belong to, thought Joffrey, and he suddenly seethed about that, too.
It was all infuriating, the entire situation! But Joffrey could not show how
angry he was. Not yet.
As soon as he heard Sansa's careful footsteps coming up the path, he put on a
very sweet smile. "Lady Sansa!" he called out. "I have been looking for you.
May I have a word?"
 
***** Sometimes They Hurt *****
===============================================================================
                                     SANSA
===============================================================================
 
Sansa had been reading in the warm sunlight when she'd heard Ser Clegane
approach. She knew the sound of his clinking armor quite well by now, and while
she did not dread seeing him as much as others she always got a nauseous
feeling to hear his footfalls. It meant King Joffrey was not far. However,
Joffrey was absolutely nowhere to be seen. When Clegane had hoarsely requested
she follow him in a quiet tone that did not suit his hulking frame, Sansa had
felt nothing but dread and stayed rooted to the garden wall. What does he want
with me? What more can he do? He already brought me to Queen Cersei after I
tried to hide my first blood. Does he mean to embarrass me further?
The conversation with the queen regent had been awkward and foreboding. Sansa
had blushed the entire time, both because of the subject matter and the fact
that she'd been intimate, twice now, with King Joffrey. Cersei's scrutinizing
eyes had stayed on Sansa's face, keen as a hawk, but Sansa was completely sure
the queen had absolutely no idea. The entire time, Sansa had wished it was her
own mother offering her reassurance about her first period. Instead of kind
words and hugs, Cersei had offered Sansa nothing but further trepidation for
her future as Joffrey's wife. Sansa had felt sympathy for the queen, though. It
seemed unfair that she should be alone giving birth while the late Robert was
out on hunting trips. At least she had her brother by her side, but a brother
was not the same as a husband! Sansa had always supposed the father of her
children would be by her side at every important moment. She imagined that
during her own birthing, he'd be offering her encouragement and peace of mind.
Cersei was correct, though. Sansa knew Joffrey would not be there for
her. Except, she'd thought to herself as the queen regent spoke, perhaps
he would stay by my side. To see all the blood, that is.
"Come quickly, girl, or not at all," said Clegane in a sharp voice that finally
made Sansa move, for she heard urgency in it. She followed him past the garden
wall, past the rose garden and when he took a step behind the winding tree in
the middle of the yard, Sansa hesitated. She did not like the way it felt to be
alone with Joffrey's dog. It seemed wrong, and he was always mocking her or
laughing at her habits. Today, he was not laughing. He stared at her intensely,
his eyes narrowed.
"Do you remain a maid?" he demanded in a snarl.
Sansa was not certain whether she was more affected by the question, or the
Hound's angry tone, almost as though he was ready to pick a fight with her. "I
don't—I don't know what you mean," she sputtered.
"The king has had relations. That much is clear. And I have seen the signs. So
tell me, little bird. Has he had you, or not?" Clegane's tone was softer now
but he still glared down at her as though she'd wronged him personally. Why did
he care? It was beginning to seem that he was attempting to help her, though
Sansa had no idea why he'd want to do that. Was this just another thing he was
going to pass on to the queen regent? She'd even tried to thank him for saving
her during the riot a few days back and he'd merely glowered at her, and had
gone on about how sweet killing was. He'd also implied Joffrey would do worse
to her than she'd seen. It was absolutely clear to Sansa that the Hound thought
she was a joke. Still, she was not entirely certain what his motives were.
"Yes, I am a maid," Sansa whispered, running her hand up the gnarled bark of
the tree. "I am waiting patiently for my marriage to his grace—"
"Has the king committed rape on you, girl?" asked Clegane, and Sansa tried not
to look at the distracting burns, the glint of red skin and craterous pours
that traveled up the side of his face like a bloody mold.
What does it matter? Joffrey can have me when he wants and though the first
times he touched me I was not ready for him, the last time I took him
willingly. If what Joffrey is doing is bad, then I'm just as bad. I think
impurely when I see him now. I very much do want to kiss him again, though not
the boy who had my father's head chopped off. I want the boy from my dreams,
the one I was promised. And Joffrey is like that, sometimes. Sometimes his
touches are tender and sometimes they hurt.
"I am trying to help you, girl, don't you see!" Clegane said, and he threw up
his massive hands. There was such an exasperated sound to his tone that Sansa
had the terrible feeling he wasn't really asking her if she was a maid. It
seemed he already knew she was not one.
She lowered her head, feeling her body begin to shake. "I still do not know why
you are asking," she said in a low voice, trying to keep composure. "Yes, I am
a maid. Yes, I am loyal to Joffrey. And no, he has not done anything to me—"
"Aside from ordering you stripped and smacked? Aside from smacking you with a
riding crop?"
"I disobeyed him," Sansa said instantly, meeting the Hound's dark eyes once
more. "He taught me a lesson!"
Clegane snorted and lowered his voice. It reminded Sansa of gritty bits of
rock, or a sword being dragged on a marble floor. "Which is why I question you
so. Joffrey has bedded a girl of some sort. I've known the boy for years and
I've heard how he talks about women. His tune changed, little bird. Virgin boys
seldom speak so boldly of the sensation of a tight and wet cunt—the young king
used to balk at the talk of cunts. He used to nearly fain at the word! Not so
long ago, he said he'd never like one as long as he lived. It used to be quite
funny to get a rise out of him by reminding him of his impending duties as a
king! But way he spoke about this bedding—well, it was the same wide-eyed,
excited look he gets when he sees something die, he's a strange sort and no one
knows that more than I do—"
Sansa felt her face get hot at Clegane's coarse words. She wanted to know more
about what Joffrey had said. She hoped nothing too personal. And had he found
her favorable? It seemed he had. Did this mean he'd be kinder to her? Sansa had
a thousand questions, and she could ask none of them. Instead, she played her
part. "I have no idea what his grace was speaking of. And I don't discuss such
things. I am a lady. It is improper. As I have seen it, King Joffrey is not
interested in me and will not be until we are wed. I know not what he was
referring to but he has not had me-"
"The king made it sound as such, and though you have made it clear that your
fear of my face impedes your judgment I wanted to see if there was truth in the
matter. He says he bedded two whores on his Name Day but I stood outside his
door the whole time and thus heard what went on inside. It did not sound like
anyone was bedded, but he speaks like he knows what he talks about…For once."
"My king can do what he likes," Sansa replied, and she made quite certain to
give Clegane a fierce look right into his eyes to hide her deep shame. "I have
no idea why you summoned for me."
Clegane stamped at the ground like an impatient steed. "I'm not here for you to
chirp at me, little bird. Now, I've seen him steal to your chambers at night,
and I've seen the way you two have been carrying on. Has he touched you?"
Sansa blanched. So, he has seen! He does know! Well, I won't let on! I won't
give him the satisfaction! "My Joffrey has kissed me and nothing more."
Clegane gave a roll of his eyes and sneered at her. "You covered your neck with
ribbons. You watch him with something different, something not unlike when I
met you in Winterfell and you stammered at him as though you'd never seen
anything with a cock in your life. So tell me, has he fucked you or just beaten
you for fun?" Clegane questioned, and there was a hint of bitterness in his
tone.
"Ser! I am a lady!" Sansa burst out, tears stinging in her eyes.
"And I am a Dog! Not a Ser!" declared Clegane. "I am the king's sworn shield
and I am loyal to him. I battle for him and I protect him. But while some men
blindly protect him, I've seen too much. The king has certain tastes and the
king has hobbies. Hobbies that would make a bird fall down dead in fright if
she knew. I can look out for you, as you are my future queen. You need not say
a word. You may only nod."
He was speaking as if he hated her but he was offering her protection. He was
stating that he worked for Joffrey, and then saying he would help her. Nothing
in his words made sense, and Sansa just wanted to be rid of him. She did not
like his mocking tone, or his gritty laughter, or the coarse way he talked
about intimacy. At least Joffrey had regal manners, when he did choose to be
kind. Joffrey did not go on and on about "cocks" and "cunts" and he kept his
hands perfectly clean. He spoke well and dressed finely, and his cruelty could
easily be masked by his striking face. Sansa did not reply to Clegane and she
did not nod. She merely stared straight ahead, willing herself to think of
Joffrey's good traits.
"You have nothing in your brain except those damned songs you hold onto!"
Clegane said loudly with a rude laugh. "Let us hope your head stays pretty. I
should hate to be the poor bastard assigned to whacking it off your neck." With
that he took off, leaving Sansa feeling as though he'd struck her hard. She
willed herself not to cry; she'd been so emotionallately, she could just
imagine Arya's disdain for her wavering emotions.
'Crying? Again? What are you doing? Run away! Get out of there! Don't let him
speak to you so!'
I'm not like you, Sansa thought, drawing a deep and shuddering breath. You're
strong, Arya. And I am not. You know this—
'You could be strong, if only you'd listen. Maybe the Hound only wishes to help
you. Maybe you should listen to him instead of being so stupid over dumb old
Joffrey!'
You wouldn't understand, though. You never do.
'He had Father murdered in front of your eyes. You really are stupid.'
Sansa nervously put her hands through her hair. You might feel differently when
you sleep with a boy—
'Sleeping? Is that what you call it?' Sansa could hear Arya saying this
perfectly, and a small smirk flashed on her lips as she imagined Arya's
disgusted face. Arya hated most boys but she had a special sort of loathing for
the boy king. Sansa really could not picture telling Arya what she'd done, what
she was doing, with Joffrey. She couldn't imagine telling anyone, especially
her parents. 'What would Mother say? She'd be furious—'
Ugh. I cannot think about that! I wish Mother were here but she's not! You're
gone, too. I'm all alone. What else do I have? Nothing! I don't have anyone but
Joffrey and the queen. They are my family now. You all left me.
'You can think of me! Think about me and stop thinking about the king, and
about his mother! Think about Mother and Robb and Jon and Bran! Think of
Rickon, too. Think of Father, don't forget Father!'
I don't want to think of Father.
'Why?'
Because Father is my fault, and it makes me sad. I cannot think of Lady,
either. I have to think about how much I love Joffrey and what a dashing king
he is. How kind he is. What a fine husband he'll be—
'Are you crazy?'
Sansa paused. Well. I am hearing my sister's voice in my mind, so—
'Joffrey is evil. He won't make a good husband. He killed Lady. And he'll kill
you, too, if you don't run—'
Shut up, Sansa thought, I need to believe in him! And he didn't kill Lady! You
did!
'You know that isn't true. Stop trying to forget what you saw. You know what
really happened.'
Sansa drew a breath and tugged up on her skirts as she walked, trying to ignore
the loudness of her own mind. She followed the narrow path toward the castle,
wanting away from there but not sure where she could go. It was then that
Joffrey jumped out at her, a big smile on his face.
"Lady Sansa!" he exclaimed, "I have been looking for you! May I have a word?"
Though his voice was good-natured, Sansa jumped and her heart pounded. Joffrey
continued to smile at her, his green eyes watchful and hair bright gold in the
sun. Has Joffrey been here the entire time? Did he hear Ser Clegane? She looked
him over as she thought about how to reply, and saw nothing upon his face but
pleasantness. She'd of course learned that his outward expressions said nothing
about what his actions might be, but she was glad he wasn't acting angry with
her at this moment. "Good morning, your grace," she said, and she was glad that
her voice did not waver. "Of course you may—"
"Good," he said with a cheerful-looking sort of nod, and he put out his arm for
her to take. "How have you been fairing?" he asked, and Sansa gave him a
tentative smile as she slipped her arm through his.
"Well," she answered, as she tried to forget her conversation with Clegane and
the "warning" she'd gotten from Arya's voice in her mind. Sansa couldn't
believe herself, fashioning a fake conversation with her missing little sister
who'd been absent from her life for nearly a year. She hadn't played pretend
since she was eight years old, for Gods' sake. "Quite well. And you, my king?
How was your hunting trip?"
Joffrey's face lit up like she'd offered him freshly baked lemon cakes, or
promised him an exciting surprise. "Oh, it was very good! I shot a pheasant,
five hares and a doe!"
"All on your own?" Sansa asked, slightly impressed at the news of the deer but
sad, too. She understood the practicality of hunting but she still could not
help but like deer for their sweet faces and graceful mannerisms.
"Of course it was on my own!" said Joffrey importantly. "One right after the
other. You should have seen them fall! I only needed one arrow for the doe! It
flew right into her head!" He gave Sansa a broad beam. "Only one arrow and down
she went!"
Sansa cringed, though she feigned interested and nodded with a pleasant
expression. "That's very good, your grace, that you only needed one arrow—"
Joffrey's eyes darkened a bit. "Well, yes, it was impressive," he said, and he
suddenly seemed somewhat irritated with her. "You should come with me sometime
and see just how well I do." It sounded more like a challenge than an
invitation.
"I need no proof that you're a skilled hunter, your grace. I don't think a hunt
is a place for a lady like me. I might be a bit scared." Sansa hoped this was
the right response as it left her mouth.
"I would protect you," Joffrey said instantly and he cupped the curve of her
back with the palm of his hand. Sansa felt a shiver down her spine, not at all
reassured by Joffrey's words. Joffrey went on, and though it was subtle, Sansa
noticed an obvious shift in his tone of voice. "Of course, my Dog would be
there, too, I'm sure. He could also protect you."
Is this merely a coincidence? Sansa thought, very aware of the way Joffrey's
fingers snaked around her waist. "Why should I need him," Sansa began
carefully, making certain the words came out in the correct way she wanted,
"when I have you by my side?" She was pleased with how humble she sounded.
The king must have been pleased with her, too. He whirled around and grasped
her face in his hands, bringing his lips to hers. Sansa squeaked into his open
mouth; the kiss was sweet, but he was being forceful, grasping her hips hard in
his hands and pressing himself against her. She could feel him, hard, in the
spread place between her legs. "Sansa," he whispered into her ear, and she
shivered at the tingling sensation. "Sansa, I want to see you in private—will
you come to my chambers later this evening? Please, my lady, please." His voice
was heavy and slow. Any evidence of cruelty, every shred of vitriol, was gone.
It had been replaced with something else, a sort of longing, pulsing with need
for her.
Sansa felt her breathing change and between her legs, she felt a twitch of
desire. She hated that he made her feel this way, hated that her brain could so
easily be tricked by the change in his voice and his hands—she wanted his hands
in places she could not even verbally describe without blushing, and his mouth,
too, she wanted to feel him all over. It scared her because the want was so
strong, it was not a lie, not playing pretend. "Yes, I'll come to you—"
"Good. I will send one of my men tonight," Joffrey responded, in that same
curling voice, and he kissed her face, then her hand. Sansa could not hide a
smile, and when he held her face again and brought his lips to hers, she
happily returned the kiss.
"Ah, young love. How quaint," said a voice behind them. Reddening, Sansa gasped
and turned to see Varys and Lord Tyrion, who appeared to be strolling through
the gardens. Varys had spoken and was wearing deep purple silk and a curious
smile, while Tyrion held a very large and heavy book.
"They seem to be getting on," Tyrion observed. "At least some people seem
unaffected by the imminent invasion. There is joy to be had in ignorance, I am
told."
Joffrey's mouth curved down as he removed his hands from her cheeks. "You
frightened my lady! Apologize at once!"
"No doubt your lady's tolerance for fear has increased in your presence,
nephew. She's likely able to endure most terrors by this point," returned
Tyrion politely and then gave a little bow. "Though I do apologize for
startling her all the same."
Joffrey caught Sansa at her waist again as soon as the two men strode off.
"Tonight," he whispered. "I'll see you tonight." And she hated to admit she was
looking forward to seeing King Joffrey, as long as he stayed like this.
                                     . . .
Ser Meryn escorted Sansa to Joffrey's chambers when the clock struck nine.
Sansa was glad it was not Ser Clegane, for although Meryn was boorish in his
own right, he was also far quieter. Any cruelty he displayed was through his
acting out of the king's punishments. But you can't think about that, Sansa
reminded herself as she followed, it is clear he's trying to be happy with you,
and you must stay positive. If you stay in his favor, he will not hurt
you. Instead of worrying about what could go wrong, Sansa recited her favorite
romantic rhymes in her head. When Meryn knocked on the king's door and she
heard Joffrey call out to enter, she walked in with a straight back and a
smile.
"Lady Stark, your grace!" announced Meryn a bit theatrically, and gave a deep
bow.
"Leave us, Meryn," Joffrey said from where he was standing near the end of his
four poster bed, and he turned to cast a pleasant look at her. He was clothed
in far more casual dress, a tunic of deep green and a sash of black velvet, and
in his stocking feet. His hair was slightly rumpled as though he'd just come
from the bath and Sansa liked how he looked so fine even in his evening
clothes.
Meryn nodded. "And when shall I return?"
"My lady and I have some business to discuss. I do not think I should need you
anymore, Meryn. If I do, I shall call for you." The king approached Sansa after
Meryn had left, head held high as he surveyed her. "My lady—I have waited for
you the entire day. I could hardly focus on my duties for I was thinking of you
so often."
Sansa felt herself flush. These were the words she would have adored to hear so
long ago, and perhaps they still meant something now. It was clear that Joffrey
was making an effort for her. Could people change? 'No, they can't, no, they
can't,' sang Arya's voice inside her head, but Sansa ignored it. "My king," she
said, and fell into a curtsy. "It pleases me to hear you say this."
"I wanted to speak to you in private," Joffrey went on, and he reached for her
hands and took them gently, "but first, be comfortable. If it would please you,
sit with me on my bed." Sansa nodded, and he took one hand and led her there,
where they sat at the edge side by side. The coverlet was velvety and the
mattress was a perfect balance of soft and firm. Candles flickered around the
room and Sansa was finally able to appreciate how beautiful it was, how grand.
Deep reds made the room feel warm, and trophies lined the walls. There was a
beautiful view of the outside; Sansa could see flames from lamplight in the
courtyard. A large dressing screen hid the darker corner of the room. She
focused again on the king, whose face was bright with excitement. "My mother
says you've become a woman at long last," he said.
Sansa's eyes grew a bit wide and she adjusted her weight. After all, she had
not expected they'd discuss such things. She was not sure what she thought
Joffrey wanted to see her for, but she'd hoped it was for more kissing, more
good-natured conversation—not embarrassing, private details. "Y-yes, my king,"
she said, a bit humiliated.
"You should be excited," Joffrey said with a smile, and he clasped her hands in
his own. "It means we shall be married after the war is all done, after I
conquer Stannis and bring down his armies!"
Sansa nodded, and though she was still apprehensive about their impending
wedding, she knew very well not to mention her hesitance to the king. She knew
she needed to believe in her excitement, and that the belief would help make it
a reality. "I'm very excited. I've been looking forward to my wedding all my
life," she said, making sure to sound enthusiastic. "I've imagined my dress,
the celebration, my husband—and how perfect it will all be."
"Yes, it will be perfect. I have long imagined my wedding as well," Joffrey
said, and the dimples showed in the corners of his mouth. Shadows danced across
his face but there was no darkness in his expression. He looked bright-eyed,
peaceful and most importantly, sane. "We have had a few arguments but as long
as you follow my direction and obey me, I promise to make your life here at
King's Landing as wonderful as possible."
A few arguments? Is that what you're calling them? Sansa nodded again, more
slowly this time. Could he be telling the truth? "I want that very much," she
said, because if she did not appeal to Joffrey, there was no one left to care
for her. In Joffrey's company, she needed to be behind him completely. Only
alone can I pray for Robb to conquer, Sansa told herself.
"It also means we must take precautions so that you do not get with child,"
Joffrey said quietly, placing a hand on her leg. Sansa breathed in, enjoying
the sensation of his palm on her skirts. "Do you know what I am saying?"
"I know you cannot… end it while you are inside me," she responded, blushing.
"I asked my handmaiden once and she said the man must stop before he
finishes—if that makes sense—"
Joffrey looked deep and thought, and nodded once after awhile. "Yes," he said,
"I understand. We must be very careful, Sansa. If you were to become pregnant
before our wedding, you would be in very harsh trouble. My mother would not
stand for it, and neither would the courtiers, or my subjects. A queen cannot
be impure, Sansa. But I will not tell anyone what we are doing." He looked at
her, eyes locking into hers. "And you should not either. Your handmaiden who
gave this advice, does she know?"
"She has no idea," Sansa put in quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I
said nothing. You had me promise—I didn't want to disobey you."
"That's good, Sansa," he replied, still smiling. "You did nothing wrong, don't
look so nervous. Anyway, it will be time soon to plan our wedding and I want
you to have everything you ever dreamed. We shall make it grander than grand,
just imagine! In the throne room, with thousands of guests from far and wide!
The best food and drink, and only the greatest entertainment."
"Yes, I look so forward to it, Joffrey," she said, though the eerie throne room
sounded a horrid place for a gay affair. "It will be perfect."
"You will be such a beautiful bride," Joffrey went on. "I want to see you with
garlands in your hair, in a lavish dress—I can imagine how good you'll look on
my arm. Every man will want you for his own but you're mine, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm yours!" Sansa replied in an instant.
"Some already look at you, you know. Some men desire you, even now. Their eyes
linger on you," Joffrey said, a sharp edge to his voice. "Even though they know
you are my future queen, they still want what they cannot have."
"I suppose I don't notice that. They should know I am yours," Sansa responded,
but she did not know where this was going or why the joy had left Joffrey's
tone. The only men who had noticed Sansa were those from the riot.
Joffrey crossed one long, lean leg over the other. "I overheard a very
interesting conversation today in the garden. Can you imagine what it was
about?"
"I—" Sansa began to speak but found her voice coming out in a sputter. No, no,
please, no! "I don't—know, your grace—"
"You were speaking to my Hound. Do you not remember?" Joffrey asked, and he was
smiling wider now.
"I—I remember," Sansa said, swallowing. "I didn't want to—he asked me to speak
with him and I was nervous, I didn't know what he wanted—you heard me, your
grace! Did you not? I said nothing, nothing but good things. I told him how you
are my king, that you may do as you wish—"
"Sansa!" Joffrey exclaimed, and he let out a low laugh, taking her hand again.
"You worry so. I heard everything, and you said nothing amiss. Though I was
quite disappointed in my Dog. You see, I thought he was my friend but a friend
would not do such a thing. He spoke against me. Did he not?"
"He did," Sansa said, breathing a sigh of relief and she squeezed Joffrey's
hand in her own. "He did, your grace, but I told him! I told him there was
nothing to worry about, that you are my king! I think he only looks out for my
wellbeing but I assured him I do not need him."
Joffrey blinked his long lashes, a befuddled look on his face. "But why would
he go against me?" he asked with a pout, which made him look years younger.
"Why would he care one way or the other about you?"
"I have no idea, your grace," Sansa gasped. "I was wondering the same! I told
him that I remain a maid, and that I'm loyal to you—you must have heard!"
"You are completely unaware of the fact that my Dog finds you beautiful. Aren't
you?" King Joffrey questioned, and he sneered as he stood and began to pace
before the edge of the bed. "Are you really so innocent, Sansa Stark?" He
hissed her last name like he was a predator preparing to strike and those green
orb eyes watched her every move.
Sansa was dumbfounded. Had she unwittingly walked right into a trap without
seeing any signs, or was this merely another test? Was the king jealous or was
he toying with her? She knew this was no time to mull over Joffrey's actions.
She needed to act fast and be smart. She needed to do whatever she could to
keep him content. "Your grace, I beg you—I had no idea! Why do you say such a
thing?"
"It's charming, you know," Joffrey began, "how simple you can be sometimes.
I've watched my Hound around you, Sansa, and he seemed interested in you. But I
thought, he'd never fall for a girl. He's much too tough, too hardhearted. He
rants about women, hates them. And furthermore, he'd never set sights
on my queen, not my Dog. But I suppose stranger things have happened and when I
heard you both today in the garden, I saw what I'd feared was happening. So
tell me, Sansa, for how long has this been going on?"
"What?" choked Sansa, her gaze following Joffrey's movements as he paced, his
hands folded behind his back in a prim manner. She was trembling. "How long
has what been going on?"
"I saw the way he looked at you that night in the hallway! Remember? He wanted
you! He saved you because he wanted you! And now today! Was that the first
conversation he had alone with you? Or were there more?" Joffrey asked, and
Sansa felt her stomach turn as he stared her down.
"I don't like to speak to him, your grace," Sansa said as fast as the words
would form. "I don't like to be alone with him. He scares me, as you know!
Sometimes he talks to me as he walks with me, but that is all—"
"What does he say?"
"He—he asks me questions," she replied, trying to recall. It was not a time to
lie. "He asked me about you, in the beginning. When we first… He saw the ribbon
on my neck and asked if you'd been touching me. He wanted to know if we'd done
anything—"
"And you didn't report straight to me?" Joffrey's voice was raising and he was
beginning to look the tiniest bit dangerous. "What kind of queen will you be
for me if you're dishonest? If you speak to other men behind my back?" He
ceased in pacing and instead halted in front of the large dresser to the left
of his bed, bathed in the glow of candlelight as he bent over and rummaged
about. His blond hair glistened.
"I didn't want you to worry!" she said, wringing her hands. "I told him to mind
his business. What else should I have said? I'll set it right! What do you want
from me?"
"I want you to tell me the truth," said Joffrey loudly, and there was an
abominable creaking. Sansa knew that sound. "Only the truth." When he turned
around, he was holding his precious crossbow out in front of him, aiming it
straight at her head.
"Joffrey!" Sansa shrieked, and she stood up, scrambling backward. "I didn't
do anything! I swear! I swear! I hate Ser Clegane! He frightens me! He speaks
to me and all I want is for him to leave me alone!"
Joffrey walked forward slowly, his sneer pulled as tight as the arrow he'd
loaded. "Tell me. Do you find him handsome? Do you want him to rescue you
again?"
"No! I can't stand to look at him! I told you! I hate him! I hate him!" Sansa's
voice was something between a wail and a shout and she cowered by the end of
the bed.
"Him or me, Sansa?" Joffrey called out, brandishing the crossbow out in front
of him with one eye shut, aiming straight for her brain. He took a step
forward. Only one arrow and down she went!
"YOU!" Sansa screamed, trying to use Joffrey's bedpost as a shield, clinging to
it so hard she was sure her hands would splinter. "YOU! ONLY YOU! Why do you
even question me? I love you with all my heart! You know I do! He disgusts me!
He isn't anything to me!"
"How can I trust you?" Joffrey asked, and he lowered the crossbow ever so
slowly. "How do I know you're not a traitor like the rest of the Starks?"
"I—don't—know," Sansa bawled, so relieved he'd dropped his weapon. "I'll do
anything, Joffrey—please, please—I'll prove it—"
"Don't cry," Joffrey simpered, but he strode forward and took her in his arms.
There was only tenderness in his touch and his eyes were kind again. "I believe
you," he said. His breathing was ragged, like he was excited. "But if my Dog
were to try anything again… if he were to try and touch you or speak to you…
would you tell him what you just told me, Sansa?"
"Oh yes," she nodded into Joffrey's shoulder, tears still pulling from her
eyes. "Yes, I would." Of course, Sansa had no plan to tell Ser Clegane she'd
called him fearsome and ugly, but she needed to stay alive and Joffrey would
never know the difference.
"Good," said King Joffrey agreeably, and he kissed the side of her face. "Oh,
Dog!" he shouted suddenly, sounding eager. "Dog! You may join us now!"
Sansa felt her face pale and her chest pang as she heard footsteps. Ser Clegane
stepped out from behind the shadowed dressing screen, and it was obvious from
the look on his face that he had heard every word.
 
 
***** The Hero *****
===============================================================================
                                     SANSA
===============================================================================
                                        
 
The Hound walked slowly into the candlelight, his scraggly dark hair shielding
his face. He was stumbling a bit and Sansa recognized that he might be a bit
intoxicated. "Your grace," he said slowly, his eyes narrowed. He did not look
amused. His fearsome expression scared Sansa but Joffrey went on, obviously
emboldened.
"Did you enjoy the wine I gave you? No need to be shy!" Joffrey called out, his
voice high and very loud. "Come Dog! I told you I had something interesting for
you to see? Didn't I? Didn't I?"
Sansa had set her jaw, very aware of Joffrey's arm still wrapped around her. Oh
no, she thought frantically. He must have heard everything I said! I was rude!
I was telling Joffrey the truth but it's nothing I wanted Ser Clegane to ever
hear! She did not want to look at the Hound's face but when she finally did, he
was averting his eyes from her completely. Sansa burst into tears again.
"Please, I had no idea—" she burst out.
"So, you made all of that up?" Joffrey asked, throwing her a wide eyed grin and
squeezing her waist. "Lying to a king is treason. You know that." His voice was
teasing and upbeat, completely mismatched for the situation.
"No—no, your grace—I meant every word," she shuddered, trying to make it
apparent to Clegane that she hadn't meantto be cruel. After all, she'd only
been following Joffrey's orders.But you did mean it, chirped a nagging voice in
her head, you meant every word, you think about how ugly he is every time you
see his face, you detest him, you hate his burns, you hate his voice. You
cannot deny this. You know this. As if he'd heard her evil thoughts, Clegane's
eyes flashed upward, and he glowered at her. Sansa let out a cry and hid behind
her hands.
Joffrey laughed. "Look! You scare my lady, even now! What was it you said,
Sansa? That you can't stand to look at him? Tell me, is it the burns on his
face that frighten you so? Or something else?" He pointed at Ser Clegane as if
he were a fascinating illustration in a book instead of a man.
Sansa shut her eyes and shook her head, whimpering. "I don't—know," she managed
to get out.
"Perhaps I should leave you, your grace," Ser Clegane said, his voice
reverberating and cool. "It is very clear to me how you and your lady deserve
each other." His words spoken courteously enough, but Sansa caught the sting of
them and she reddened. Her father had often told her things weren't what they
seem, that she should not judge outward appearances. Jon had warned her not to
put so much stock in physical appearance; he thought Sansa's interest in
handsome princes was ridiculous. They'd all think I was so cruel, the way I
spoke about the Hound! I am not me! Sansa would never say something so rude
aloud—Sansa would be polite, be good!
"Oh, don't be like that, Dog," Joffrey went on, flexing up on the balls of his
feet as if he could hardly contain his glee. "I'd like you to stay. I don't
think you've learned your lesson yet, and what an important lesson it is! If
you're going to continue as my shield, I need to know that you work for me."
"And haven't I proven that through my years of service to you?" Clegane asked,
his voice still low and steady. "I have gone against my own judgment to deliver
your justice, my king."
"Yet you conspire against me," said Joffrey in a crisp tone. "You worry for my
betrothed, worry I'm not treating her as well as I could. Sansa is mine, and I
can treat her however I like! If I want to touch her, I can." He coiled his arm
around Sansa's shoulder. "If I want to kiss her, I can!" He took Sansa gently
by the face, and pulled her hands from her eyes in a careful grip. She looked
at him in confusion just as he planted a soft kiss on her lips, his mouth
smooth and his breathing still very fast. She bit back her tears, the
pleasantness of the feeling twisting her mind to pieces. When she cast a
frantic look in Clegane's direction, pleading with him in her mind to forgive
her and see she had no choice, he averted his gaze at once. Joffrey went on.
"And whatever happens between Lady Sansa and me depends upon what I want for I
am the king. But you, Dog, you played the part of my confidant and now I come
to find you've tried time and time again to question Sansa about me!" "How do
you explain this? How?" Joffrey's voice was tinny and boyish. Sansa wanted very
much to scream at him and tell him to shut up, but her desire to keep kissing
him was just as strong.
Ser Clegane was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Your grace,"
he began, "it is my duty to make certain you are not in danger and the very
things you are doing could upset the realm. If the queen regent knew you had
been intimate with Lady Stark, as I feared, you'd both surely be punished—"
"You don't serve the realm," Joffrey spat, no longer sounding amused. Sansa
felt her stomach drop; there was no telling where this would go now. "You don't
serve my mother. You serve me! And you're wrong. I wouldn't be punished! My
mother would never believe you."
The Hound said nothing and Sansa figured he must be thinking the same thing she
was, that Joffrey was completely right. Sansa caught Clegane's eyes, but when
he stared back it was like looking into empty black pools. Sansa instantly
looked away, sickened by the fact that despite what she felt about the Hound
she still did not want him to dislike her. She wanted to find a way to
apologize and gain his favor, but this was not the time to think about that.
Sansa had a sense of strong dread and she waited for the Hound's next move, her
breathing quickening.
"Your grace," Clegane said after a few seconds of thick silence. "I do serve
you and I had no intention of conspiring against you. Sansa is the future queen
and I only wished to protect her, and you, by making quite certain you are both
being careful. She will be the mother of the future king, as it stands, your
grace. And as you made me stand guard as you spoke, I know now that you are
going to be careful. This Dog will no longer be worried about such matters. You
have my promise. And, with your permission, now I will leave you-"
"Admit it. You are fond of Sansa," said Joffrey icily, and he removed his hand
from Sansa's waist. "You fancy her." Sansa looked between them. Joffrey wasn't
right, was he? Clegane disliked her! He thinks me stupid. He's always going on
about songs and birds, making fun of me for only following orders and how
little I know. He wouldn't fancy me! He said so before!
"No," said Ser Clegane at once, and his voice was slightly louder. "I do not
fancy her, your grace. I do not fancy anyone. This you know."
"But you find her pretty. You shouldn't be afraid to admit it. She's beautiful,
isn't she?" Joffrey smiled broadly, and he twirled his hand through Sansa's
hair. She cast her eyes at the boar's head on the wall, wishing the gaping
mouth would swallow her whole.
There was a very slight clanking sound as Clegane shuffled his weight and put
up his shoulders in indifference. "She is not unappealing, your grace—"
"Not unappealing," Joffrey mocked quietly, slowly moving both his hands into
Sansa's hair. He threaded his fingers through her locks with a gentleness
foreign to her and she shut her eyes again, breathing harder. "When my father
and mother informed me of my betrothal they called Lady Sansa the treasure of
the North. My mother said again and again how a gorgeous girl like Sansa
shouldn't be kept in an eyesore like Winterfell. Wouldn't you agree, Dog? Or is
she just unappealing to you? Are your tastes so much better than my own?"
"Your grace, I do find her attractive. As does nearly every other man in your
service—"
Sansa blushed at this revelation; was he only saying this to make Joffrey be
quiet?
"Ah! Finally a bit of truth!" Joffrey said, and nodded approvingly. "Tell me,
Dog, what do you like best about her? I am partial to her eyes, and her hair."
He ran his hands down the length of her tresses and his palms landed on her
shoulders. "I like her throat, too," he went on, his voice silky, and Sansa
bristled as his fingernails lightly tickled her exposed collarbone, "and her
breasts. You almost saw them once, Dog. Before Uncle Imp spoiled my fun and
took Sansa back to her chambers. You put your cloak around my lady's shoulders.
What a valiant and generous hero you are, Dog. But tell me—how disappointed
were you, really? Did you think about what you could have seen? Did you think
about it all evening, how exciting it would have been to see Sansa completely
bare in front of you?"
Sansa's mouth hung slack in shock. Why is he talking like this? Doesn't he know
it's embarrassing? Ser Clegane wouldn't have thought about me in that way! Why
would he? That's not proper for a man to think about such things.
"Disappointed?" asked Clegane slowly, looking down blearily at the king with a
confused expression. "I have no idea what you are asking me."
And then, in a very casual voice, Joffrey asked: "Would you like to see Sansa
naked now?"
"What?" Sansa squealed, whipping around to face King Joffrey, her blue eyes
filled with terror. "You can't mean it! Your grace!"
"Oh, it will be fun," Joffrey responded lightly. "Don't look so disturbed.
Come, Dog. Use your sword and cut open her bodice. Consider this your luckiest
day—"
"Your grace," said the Hound, sounding uncomfortable, "I shouldn't think this
is what you want—another man to gaze upon your future queen?"
Joffrey laughed. "I'd let one hundred men gaze upon her as long as they knew
she was mine. Go on, unburden her." He waved his wrist.
"You can't!" Sansa shrieked. "Please, Joffrey—Please!"
"I can," he said, and smiled at her. "Here. I can begin to undress her." He
grabbed Sansa harshly by the shoulders, turned her around and wrenched at the
back of her gown, undoing the first clasp. Sansa squirmed, whimpering and
shaking her head; there was nowhere to run, she could not disobey Joffrey, but
she did not want the Hound to see her body! "Come and help me, Dog. This is
tricky—"
"Your grace, I really do not—"
Joffrey scowled, eyes flashing, and he dug his hands into Sansa's back. She
yowled. "Undress her!" he commanded, voice echoing off the walls of his
chambers. "Undress her or else I'm going to make certain she is punished.
She is a woman after all, and it would be very easy to make certain she is
unfit to be queen. It would be too easy."
"What are you going to do?" Sansa asked in a wild voice, struggling in
Joffrey's arms. She felt as if she were panicking, drowning quickly in deep
water with nothing to hold onto to.
But Joffrey did not address her. Instead, he shoved her forward hard. "Do it!"
he shouted. "Take your prize! See if she lives up to your expectations! Do this
or I'll yell out into the hallway. Meryn and Boros will be here in an instant
and I'll tell them you accosted my lady! Boros knows you were standing guard in
my room this evening! I told him! You cannot get out of this!" Joffrey's tone
was a manic thing, high and excited but with a twinge of fury.
Ser Clegane made a sound between a sigh and a growl. "Little bird," he said in
a low tone, "turn around and stand still. I must do this, by order of King
Joffrey."
Sansa shrieked. "Please! Please!" she begged, not even knowing who she was
addressing or what she was pleading for. 'I told you,' said the voice in her
head, the voice that was something between Arya's voice and her own. 'He's
evil!' No, she argued, No, he's right—I should never have followed the Hound
today, and the Hound should have known better. Why would he go against Joff
like that? It's against the realm. She felt coarse hands on her back and there
was a great sound of splitting material. Sansa gritted her teeth and shut her
eyes as she felt the rush of air to her exposed back.
"Pull down her gown over her breasts now. And remove her corset," Joffrey
ordered excitedly, and when Sansa dared to look at him she observed how he had
moved to sit on the edge of the bed with his crossbow at his side. His eyes
were gleaming in the candlelight and he was hunched forward, his hands on his
knees. She had no time to wonder what was making him so thrilled, because she
felt the Hound tugging at her sleeves and there was another sound of ripping.
Joffrey's shoulders seemed to shake as he leaned in, his eyes fixed upon
Sansa's chest.
"I'm sorry, my lady," muttered Ser Clegane but Joffrey stomped his foot, making
Sansa jump.
"No talking!" he said in a sharp voice. "Just take off her corset! Now!"
The Hound began to unhook the backing of Sansa's undergarment, his large rough
hands working slowly and smoothly, as Sansa held back tears and tried to
imagine she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Winterfell came to mind first
and Sansa imagined she was walking amongst the sentinels in the godswood, with
a light breeze playing with her hair instead of the Hound's gnarled fingers as
he held back her tresses with one hand and with the other coaxed her corset
open. Sansa could perfectly picture the old weirwood, and she imagined Bran
running in front of her, using his sword to flick droplets of water out of one
of the shallow pools. She bit her lip when she felt her garment fell away, and
ignored King Joffrey's excited whoop of laughter, put Ser Clegane out of her
mind as Joffrey commanded him to admire Sansa from the front.
"Come back! Come back! Don't run too far!" Sansa imagined herself calling to
Bran, pulling on Lady's lead and petting her from snout to tail as the direwolf
panted happily. She could really feel Lady's fur, soft and thick, in her spread
hands as Joffrey told her raise her arms to the side.
"Stop averting your eyes, Hound," Joffrey said. "Enjoy her while you can.
Sansa, pull down your skirts-"
Sansa stared blankly ahead, her mind focused on Lady's soft fur and Bran, she
had to get Bran home, he'd gone too far, Mother was going to be furious!
"NOW!" Joffrey insisted, and he raised up his crossbow, the quarrel still
loaded and ready to be shot.
"She's beautiful, your grace. What more shall I say? I admire her, but she is
yours. Your beautiful queen." Clegane's gruff voice was coming out as a deep,
slightly nervous chant as Sansa unhooked the clasp of her gown. "Lady
Stark—please, keep your skirts up—King Joffrey, your grace, I believe my lesson
has been learned—"
"Order me again and I'll shout for Boros!"
Vacantly, Sansa let her skirts drop to the wooden floor where they pooled
around her feet. She tried to keep focused on being out of her body, in
Winterfell, or in the gardens of King's Landing, or even in her living
quarters, but she could not ignore Ser Clegane's gaping face. He hulked above
her, and though his face was slightly shadowed, Sansa caught the attentiveness
in his stare. His eyes were firmly focused on her bare breasts and torso, his
mouth ajar as he stared at her. She did not have much in the way of experience
with men but at once, Sansa could feel the lust in his look. The Hound was
interested in her body. Joffrey had been right. She felt her face flush and the
Hound seemed to snap out of his daze. He shuffled his feet again and gazed
above her head.
"Do you like what you see?" Joffrey asked, lowering the crossbow again and
smiling primly at the Hound. "Do you wish you were me, that she was yours?"
"She's beautiful, your grace," the Hound repeated, and though his voice was
gruff, Sansa heard it waver. She closed her eyes again. Winterfell. Think of
Winterfell. The winding Kingsroad and Mother and Father and Bran climbing
trees, and Arya. Robb, Jon, and Theon quarreling, and Rickon. Septa's lessons
and lemoncakes and everything that happened before the world fell to pieces.
"Kiss her."
"This has gone too far, the lady is frightened—"
"Yes, because you scare her. You heard her. She loathes you," said Joffrey
instantly. "Kiss her."
Sansa shut her eyes tighter and shook her head from side to side, unable to
listen anymore. Joffrey whispered something that she could not quite catch,
something that made the Hound take a few steps forward, Sansa could hear his
clinking armor. And then, without warning, she felt Ser Clegane's scratchy face
pressed against her own and his dry, firm lips pushed onto hers. He smelled
pungent, like sweat and dirt and he tasted like wine. The kiss was not horribly
unpleasant—but it was so wrong, so very wrong. Sansa felt herself choking on
his odor.
"A Stark wolf and a Dog! What a perfect match! How is that, Sansa?" Joffrey
cried. "Is it good?"
"No!" she answered in a shudder. "No! Please, Joffrey—please—"
"Kiss her again, Dog. I know you wish to. I see it on your face—"
"Your grace—"
"Kiss her again or I'll shoot her in the head," Joffrey warned.
Sansa shook her head again, her heart feeling as though it would burst through
her chest. "You must listen to him! Listen!" she babbled. "You must listen!"
Again, she wasn't exactly sure who she addressing. She did not feel as if she
was even present. The naked girl in the king's chambers was some other poor
wretch. She felt Clegane stooping over her again, and this time when their lips
met the kiss was a bit longer and he caught her waist with his hands. His
uniform was abrasive and cold against Sansa's bare breasts and his hands
covered much more of her skin than Joffrey's could.
"Touch him," Joffrey urged, breathing in a heavy way. "Touch him there between
his legs, up inside his mail."
Bran. Come back here this instant, Mother won't like it! Mother won't like it!
No, she won't! And then Father will punish me for it! She did as the king
wanted. She reached inside Ser Clegane's mail and felt him with the tips of her
fingers. She clenched her teeth and sucked in air when realized that his groin,
exposed from the protection of his torso and leg armor, was hard. When she met
his eyes, he was looking down at her. His expression embarrassed Sansa; it was
eager but with a red tinge to his long, scruffy cheeks. She removed her hand as
though it were on fire.
"Does he grow there?" Joffrey asked and Sansa blushed deeply as she nodded.
Joffrey rose to his feet, crossbow in hand. His eyes were curious and wide as
he circled them, leering. "A Stark wolf and a Dog," he said again. "Yes. A
lying Hound and a dishonest bitch. If you two desire one another so much, why
not fuck? Right now."
"Joffrey!" Sansa exclaimed, hating to hear such awful words fall from the
king's mouth. "No, you can't mean it—Please, no—I'm yours! I'm yours!"
"Hound, you heard my command. Throw my lady to the ground like the wolf she is
and take her like a dog does. Fuck her until her screams nearly split my
eardrums. Don't be gentle!" Joffrey said, rubbing his hand through his flaxen
hair. His animated expression deeply perplexed Sansa, who, on the contrary,
felt sick.
The Hound did not make any moves toward Sansa. They stood looking dumbly at
each other as Joffrey circled them like a bird of prey. "Fuck her!" Joffrey
squawked, eyes suddenly blazing with madness. "I want to see blood! I want you
to punish her! Punish her now!" When nothing happened, he snorted impatiently.
"Sansa, close your eyes!"
She did so. What other choice was there? She prayed Clegane would be quick,
that he'd show her mercy. She hoped no one would ever know she'd had not one,
but two men, and that one of them had been the ugly, brutal Hound. He was twice
her age (maybe older?) and he was lusting for her—what was wrong with him!? If
he went through with this, she'd definitely be spoiled. Joffrey likely would
not want her, and she'd be cast out of King's Landing—and where else could she
go? And Gods—he could get me with child now! she thought wildly, beginning to
moan aloud with worry. She pulled at her hair, her eyes shut tight. "Please
Joffrey, please, please be kind and call off the Hound. Tell him to leave me
alone. Please, Joffrey, please. Please. Please. I'm yours and you're mine and
I'll never, ever go behind your back again! I promise!"
"Hound, on the count of three, I want you to begin or else I will release this
arrow! Fuck Sansa Stark! Fuck her like a dog! On your knees, Sansa!"
"Joffrey, please!" she bawled, but she did as she was told and fell to the
ground.
"Yes, just like that," Joffrey said approvingly, "now, Hound, rip her apart!"
"JOFFREY! JOFFREY, PLEASE!"
There was a clinking of armor and then a thick silence as Sansa's entire body
shook with apprehension. There were three footfalls and she felt Clegane's
rough hand on her back.Pretend it's only Joffrey. He hurts you but he's to be
your husband. He's allowed to hurt you. Gentle hands that raked her hair. It
will be over soon. She felt her teeth chattering from a chill and from fear.
She did not want Clegane inside her, did not want him to use her. She did not
like that he was desirous for her and she hated that he'd gotten her into
trouble with Joffrey. This was all the Hound's fault! Sansa's hands burned
against the wooden floor, her nails dug in as much as she could.
"Don't—don't—don't! Please! Please, Joffrey, please!" she shouted.
And then, a miracle happened. "NO! NO! NO! Don't you dare touch Lady Sansa,
Dog! Don't you dare hurt her! Get away from her!" King Joffrey shouted, and she
heard him moving closer to her. Sansa opened her eyes to see the king standing
between her and Clegane, in a protective stance. His crossbow was up and his
legs were shaking.
"Yes, your grace," Clegane said in a dull voice. "Of course." He stepped back
at once.
"I dismiss you! I think you've been sufficiently punished! You may leave, and
if you tell anyone about Lady Sansa and me, I'll tell them all exactly what I
said I would earlier. You have my word. Out, Dog, and do not ever disrespect me
or my lady again!" Joffrey said loudly, and Sansa watched him, baffled, as he
waved the crossbow at Ser Clegane. He was heads shorter than the Hound, but the
Hound was backing up, fear in his black pool eyes. King Joffrey stood his
ground until Clegane fled from the room, tossing the door shut behind him.
Sansa's body felt flooded with relief. She'd been spared from a horrific
experience. King Joffrey had pardoned her mistake and hadn't punished her. She
was so very glad, she began to laugh with delight. "Thank you!" she said,
"Thank you!"
"My poor lady," Joffrey mumbled somberly, and he bent down on one knee, placing
his cool, soft palm to her cheek. His blond bangs hung over his face as he
leaned over her, offering his hand. "Let me find you something with which to
cover yourself," he said sweetly, and he helped her to her feet in a sturdy
grip.
"Thank you, Joffrey. Please, please, don't be mad at me!" Sansa begged, the
threats of the crossbow and Clegane still very real to her. "I wouldn't have
wanted that from him. I hate him. I wasn't lying—"
"I could see that," Joffrey said, and when he kissed her gently on the side of
her face, she managed a smile. "I am so sorry that I did not trust you. It was
clear that you did not have any interest in him, Sansa. I don't know what I was
thinking."
'He's crazy. Don't trust him,' said Arya in Sansa's ear but Sansa felt nothing
but joy. Joffrey had seen her perspective and he had not let the Hound touch
her. He'd protected her.
"I thought I'd find it funny," Joffrey went on, "seeing you with him. I thought
it would be a very good way to get my point across. But I didn't like it. Not
at all." He removed his sash and put it over her shoulders so that it draped
down and covered her breasts. "It really made me jealous to see that," he said.
"I do not ever want to see you with another man. I want you to know you are
mine and only mine."
"Anything you wish!" Sansa said quickly and smiled as the king kissed her
again. She ignored the warning voices in her head and let herself only
experience the thrill of feeling him touch her.
"Stay with me for awhile? I really couldn't stand to be alone right now," said
Joffrey, and the lunacy was completely gone from his eyes. Sansa saw only
compassion there and she nodded her head in an instant. She did not want to be
alone either.
***** Absolute and Complete *****
===============================================================================
                                        
                                    JOFFREY
===============================================================================
                                        
You're mine, you're mine, you're no one else's. Not his. You are mine, Joffrey
thought as he pulled Sansa to him and stroked her hair. His heart was
palpitating viciously in his chest and he felt so relieved that the Hound had
left Sansa alone, so relieved he could almost feel himself breaking down. He
could not let that happen, though. Sansa was there and he needed to be strong
for her. She'd been so afraid, cowering on the floor and the Dog almost had
her- that brutal, lying bastard.
I should have shot him down. I should have planted an arrow straight to his
groin. What a sick, miserable excuse for a man. And to think I used to call him
my friend. I even used to see him as a father! He was always there for me, and
he protected me. He could never do anything like raise a hand to me or hurt me
because he worked for me. Even Father hit me. And there was the time Uncle
Jaime slammed my finger in the door when I just wanted to see why he and Mother
were taking so long in her chambers, he said it was an accident but it hurt all
the same. Uncle Imp is constantly berating me and smacking me. The Hound was
the one man I could trust. Well, not anymore! Never again will I entrust
anyone, especially around my lady. I have to protect her.
Joffrey had not wanted it to play out this way; he'd had quite a different
picture in his mind of how the events would go. He'd been amused at first,
seeing Sansa and the Hound act like unwilling players in his very own
performance. He'd felt completely powerful seeing the Hound, a full-grown man,
obey his wishes, and Sansa, too. Seeing them succumb to his every whim. Sansa
stripping down bare and the Hound's unwilling interest in her had been
captivating. Joffrey knew what lust looked like, ("He didn't love them," Mother
had snarled, her eyes blazing as she recalled Father and his whores, "he lusted
for them") and the Hound had gazed upon Sansa like a starving man longed for
meat. Being in control of the two of them had given Joffrey an instantaneous
erection that pulsed and rubbed in his velvet breeches, leaving him breathless
and wanting to see more, more humiliation, more touching, more terror on their
faces. But what had seemed like the perfect plan had become a complete
nightmare.
Joffrey had no doubts that he could pull off setting the Hound and Sansa
against one another. It had been easy enough to convince the Hound to stand
guard in his chambers behind the dressing screen. The Hound hadn't seen
anything off about the request after Joffrey had given him a flagon of wine for
his troubles and had instructed him to pay close attention to what Lady Stark
had to say because he'd suspected her of traitorous acts. Of course, by the
time Lady Sansa was delivered to Joffrey's chambers, the Hound was drunk enough
that Joffrey knew he'd do nothing unwise, like disobey him. Joffrey knew
Clegane enough to be certain of his limits, and when Clegane was sober or too
drunk, he thought quickest, reacted fast and strong. But in the place between
just a bit drunk and stupidly wasted, the Hound's thinking was blurred, his
will to act more subdued. When Joffrey had the Hound reveal himself, the look
on Sansa's face had been priceless. That probably would have been enough, and
it was where Joffrey's initial plan had ended. But he could not contain his
spontaneity. He really had no control.
Telling Sansa to expose herself was sheer brilliance and it led to such
hysterical reactions from the Hound! Had he been without a woman's touch for so
long? His longing looks had been telling alone, but when he'd finally confessed
his attraction to Lady Sansa, Joffrey wanted to jump with joy. It was hilarious
and pathetic and perfect, so perfect. Sansa had looked so blank and bewildered
and the Hound had tried so hard to uphold his honor. When he'd commanded the
Hound to kiss Sansa, he'd seen reason in the man's eyes, dangerous reason, and
Clegane had tried to get out of it.
But it was then that Joffrey whispered in the Hound's ear in a hissing,
singsong voice: "Kiss her, kiss her, if you don't kiss her I shall fuck her
sometime when you are gone and I shall not take any precautions and when she
gets with child I shall tell them all it is yours, I'll tell them you've been
having an affair with her. She won't be able to be queen. And you know what
that means. What they'll do to you I don't know. Want to find out?"
Joffrey had not planned to say that, though he had thought about how easy it
would be. It was such a stroke of genius and at the last moment, too, and the
Hound had looked nervous. Joffrey was also very proud of the lie that Boros
knew of the Hound's presence in Joffrey's room. But Clegane believed it all,
and he kissed Sansa, kissed her twice. It had been enthralling, just like some
of Joffrey's fantasies: a fearsome type of man accosting a pretty girl, and by
his own command, too- and the best part was, he got to watch, his eyes drying
from staying open for so long.
Then, in a matter of seconds, it stopped being exciting and began to disgust
Joffrey. The feeling hit him like a rolling black muck sliding down an emerald
green hill. This man, this hulking, badly burned, dog of a man was pawing at
his lady, was grasping her with dirty hands and kissing her with a dirtier
mouth. And his lady, standing still, had done nothing to stop the Hound. But
Joffrey reasoned with himself, told himself it was not her fault. She was
trying to be dutiful. Yet the feeling still made him sick, especially when she
felt the Hound inside his armor and confirmed that he was hard. It was not just
a game. The Hound truly did desire her. That had sparked fury in Joffrey. If
they wanted each other, then so be it! If Sansa wanted to be fucked and filled
with the Hound's seed, then why not see her treated like the Wolf bitch she
truly was? His hatred for the both of them had made him feel furious but also
elated as he commanded Sansa to fall to her knees like a Stark wolf. To get
ready to be fucked and split open like she surely deserved for going against
him, for breaking his heart with her treachery.
The Hound had been apprehensive as Sansa turned her back and dropped to her
knees, though his hand had subconsciously moved to the front of his armor, his
body in competition with his brain. Sansa's moon white back, her hands clawing
the wooden floor, her arse up high in the air with only the very last thin
undergarment hiding her buttocks from Joffrey and Clegane- it was a beautiful
sight to behold, absolute and complete submission mixed with fear. The very
definition of eroticism. And right then, Joffrey realized he did not want it to
be the Hound who fucked Sansa there on the floor. Joffrey could not have anyone
on her but himself. She was his bride-to-be, his prize, his lady. When he'd
drawn his crossbow, ready to deliver a fatal arrow to Sansa for reasons he
really could not explain, the Hound had moved over to shield Sansa. But Joffrey
didn't want the Hound to save her again, either. Joffrey wanted to save her.
And he had.
Now, Sansa was safe in his arms and Joffrey wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Not
the Hound. Not anybody. Joffrey draped his sash around Sansa's shoulders to
cover her bare breasts and then set to work collecting her garments from the
floor. The corset had not been harmed but the gown was unfortunately ripped by
the Hound's blade. Joffrey helped Sansa string the corset back together, and
stepped behind her to gently tie the back. At least she'd be a bit less cold.
He gave her the skirt next, and she stepped into it, smiling at him in an
adoring way that made his insides fill with a warm, pleasant feeling.
"Thank you, your grace," she said finally, breaking the quiet. "Thank you so
much for sparing me." She held out her hands and Joffrey took them in his own,
swinging them slowly from side to side. "I didn't mean to go against you. I
never want to, and I never will, ever again." Her crystal blue eyes were so
demure and her mouth was so sweet. Joffrey could not imagine hating her; he
couldn't even remember why he ever had.
"I hope not," Joffrey said seriously. "I want us to be happy. When you do these
bad things, it confuses me. You know I..." He paused, hesitating. We are the
only ones we can trust,said Mother's voice in the back of his mind. Love makes
you weak. And you, my son, are anything but weak.
"What is it?" Sansa asked in a murmur, her gentle fingers massaging Joffrey's
very slightly. "Joffrey?"
He shook his head. "Another time, perhaps," he said, and brought his lips to
her cheek to deliver another light kiss. "But now, will you lie with me for a
bit?" She nodded her head and so Joffrey led her to his bed and pulled back the
silk coverlet, allowing Sansa to slide in first. Her shining hair shielded half
her face, giving her a shadowed and mysterious appearance.You're so
beautiful, Joffrey thought as he curled up next to her, entwining his fingers
in hers again. I think I might be falling in love with you.
"I don't like making you angry," Sansa whispered, her eyes grave.
Joffrey dropped her hands. "I don't wish to talk about that anymore. Besides, I
was not angry." He thought about that for a moment. Angry? No, I don't think
so. Maybe a bit. I don't remember, actually. "Not really. I saw at once you
weren't interested in my Dog, but then I had my doubts in the end. Mostly, I am
angry with him. He was dishonest."
"He was," Sansa agreed, though her eyes traveled to the canopy. He followed her
eyes upward and then stared at her face, hard, wondering if she was hiding
something. He prayed she wasn't. At Joffrey's inquisitive glance, she
immediately locked eyes with him again. "He should have never gone behind your
back. You are the king."
"The true king," Joffrey agreed offhandedly, and then took Sansa in his arms,
leaning into her neck. He drew her close to him but positioned himself so that
she could not feel the hardness that still throbbed between his legs. He willed
it to go down. But having Sansa beside him was too much. Still, he didn't feel
like fucking her. He just wanted her there. "I don't want him talking to you.
And I wish for you not to even look at him. That's an order," he said, and
grazed her neck with his lips. Sansa shuddered and he smiled.
"I wouldn't dare, Joffrey. I don't wish to look at him—"
"Meryn will fetch you from now on. He's not as good but he'll be silent if I
tell him to. Or I can visit you in your chambers," Joffrey said, feeling
happier by the minute. And perhaps we'll run into Sansa's handmaiden again. His
mind flashed to the memory of the whores beating each other and he wondered if
perhaps Sansa would be interested in doing something like that. It would be a
fantastic bonus if the same sort of thing excited her. He'd had his doubts
about Sansa's constitution, and he and his mother had agreed that she was a
sensitive girl. But it made the fantasy even sweeter to imagine sweet, good
Lady Sansa, Queen Sansa, beating her handmaiden with a candlestick, or better
yet, his scepter. Joffrey was beginning to think that despite all of her
faults, Sansa Stark was going to be the perfect queen.
 
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