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thesphererp2020-11-07 06:48 pm
Memory Share: Sansa Stark (6)
The shadows were getting longer earlier, but that was not the first thought young Sansa Stark had. No, she kept her mind as blank as she could, almost no time having passed between that day on Baylor’s Sept and now. She walked next to her betrothed, King Joffrey was of height with her now, the Kingsguard trailing behind them in their gold cloaks.
“And as soon as you’ve bled, I’ll put a son in you,” the boy king was saying to her. It had always been the plan- marry him as soon as she were able, bear him beautiful blond babies. When she’d thought that, she had been in love. Now, she knew this was not love, not at all. Joffrey Baratheon was a hateful person, a weak boy who hurt others for fun. She hadn’t seen it before, but now all was laid bare before her. “Mother says it won’t be long now.”
He didn’t even realize how pathetic he sounded, mentioning his mother in such a way. Sansa’s eyes stung in the fading light, her eyes red, ringed in shadows. She had been unable to sleep, unable to stop her weeping except for now, when she knew she did not dare cry. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but she knew better than to protest.
Slowly, they came to a stop, The Hound with his burned face behind her, followed by Meryn Traunt. Joffrey’s eyes gazed upward, and he smirked, looking at her for her reaction. She looked, and there on the ramparts of the castle— “No!” She screamed, taking a step back, “Please, no!” She started to cry, turning her head to the side. Traunt’s hands found her shoulders holding her as Joffrey admired his handiwork.
Joffrey stepped forward on to the wooden walkway that separated the battlements from the keep, pointing upward at one. “This is your father. This one here.” He was so at ease as he looked back at Sansa, who was being forced out on to the walk. She could not look at Joffrey, keeping her head turned aside. “Look at it,” the king ordered. “Look at it, and see what happens to traitors.”
“You promised to be merciful!” She said, still looking away, pleading with the king.
“I was. I gave him a clean death.” He looked back at Sansa, her eyes shut tight and head turned away. Traunt still held her, tighter still. “Look at him.”
“Please let me go home,” she begged him. “I won’t do any treason, I swear!” She was so scared, alone in a horrid place with horrid people that hated her for things she had never done. She had only ever been loyal and loving to Joffrey. But he had turned his executioners sword on her father without so much as a second thought.
“Mother says I’m still to marry you, so you’ll stay here, and obey.” it was an order, undermining his own words even as he said them. Still, she would not look.
“LOOK AT HIM!” Joffrey roared, and Sansa knew she had to. if she wanted to stay and survive, she had to look. Steeling herself, she slowly looked up, seeing but not really seeing. There he was, his head mounted upon a spike for all to see. He looked so sad, so unlike her father, but it was him. Joffrey waited until she’d drunk her fill before speaking again. “Well?”
“How long do I have to look?” She kept her eyes on her father, memorizing this moment. The dark pit in her stomach, the heat behind her eyes, and how unforgiving Joffrey was. She looked past her father, recognizing other heads placed upon the wall. Septa Mordane, whom had given her life to protect Sansa, was amongst them.
Thinking he had won, Joffrey surveyed his bride. “As long as it pleases me.” It would be the refrain of what was left of their relationship. If it pleased the king, so it would be. “Do you want to see the rest?”
It was a test, and she adapted quickly. “If it pleases your grace.”
“That’s your Septa, there,” he pointed her out needlessly. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give you a present. After I raise my armies, and kill your traitor brother, I’m going to give you HIS head, as well.” A pathetic threat. He needed to be respected to command armies, and he was far from it. He was weak and temperamental and those who had seen him on the Sept knew it. He would never be able to defeat her brother in combat. Never. And she knew that.
“Or maybe he’ll give me yours.” She kept her eyes straight ahead on her father. She heard Joffrey take a step back toward her, and at last she tore her eyes from the ghastly sight, to look at the boy king. She had no care for what came next.
“My mother tells me a king should never strike his lady,” Joffrey said, turning to face her. “Ser Merryn?”
The man who held her stepped back, turning her to face him. As fast as he could in his suit of armor, he drew his hand back, slapping her first across one cheek, then the other. Her head snapped to either side, tears springing to her eyes again. There would be a bruise tomorrow, her lip already bloodied. Traunt stepped back, and she looked at Joffrey once more, then, down. The walkway on which they stood had no sides and stood easily over thirty feet up. It would take another step, and she could shove him, send the boy falling to his death. She would jump after, or he would take her with him, it did not matter. They would both die, and this would end. Tommen could be king, and he was only but a babe. Anything would be better than remaining at Joffrey’s side.
She took one step, then another out across the walkway.
She was almost to Joffrey when another hand reached out. The Hound, his face terrible. “Girl,” he said, reaching out with a handkerchief to dab at the blood on her lip. He kept his hand upon her shoulder, steadying her. The gesture was enough for now, a small act of kindness in a world so terrible.
“Will you obey now?” Joffrey asked, “or do you need another lesson?” He would have liked to see her receive another lesson, and he would have her receive more in the days and months that came. When she did not respond, he pushed past her. “I’ll see you in court.” Traunt moved to follow him, but the Hound, his faithful dog, waited.
“Save yourself some pain, girl,” he told her, “give him what he wants.” It was solid advice from a man that had seen Joffrey’s cruelty before. But why was he giving it to her, when he knew just as well as she did how much he frightened her. She offered to give him the handkerchief back, but he refused. “You’ll be needing that again.”
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[She pauses to pet the impatient bunny.]
And I did tell him so.
Oh, no, Inesa, sweetling, it's not your fault. I thought he was smarter than that. [She heaves a heavy sigh.]
Men and their cocks! I have never been more happy for Theon's shortcomings than I am now.
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[Inesa's head tilts curiously to the side.] I'm not sure I know that word. Unless we're speaking about chickens. Those are cocks, yes? [Except that she's sure that neither Robb nor any other men she knows have chickens.]
Or are you speaking about sex?
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Yes- if that's what you mean by what's between their legs.
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[Inesa blushes slightly.]
Yes. I'm sorry. I had never heard of it referred to as that before.
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Of course, the thing itself looks absolutely ridiculous.
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[Inesa smiles and has to stop herself from giggling.]
I don't know about that. [Her face reddens and she tries to hide behind one of the pillows she'd dragged onto the couch.] I rather enjoy Jon...
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Inesa! No- I'm absolutely sure you do! He's quite handsome. But I mean the actual bit. You know. [She demonstrates, her pointer finger slowly rising up to indicate erection.]
Seven hells- no, no, forget I've said anything!
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I know. It's okay. But we can talk about something else.
[She takes Sansa's hand and gently moves her so that she can brush her friends hair.] I've met a lot of your family. Those who have arrived here. I'm happy that they're here with you.