Game of Thrones 1. Chapter 1

"Ser Loras Tyrell."

King Joffrey I Baratheon sat, no, slouched on the Iron Throne, a smug grin plastered onto his face. The weight of the crown rested on his golden hair, reflecting the light pouring through the great stained-glass windows behind him.

Sansa Stark glared at Lord Tywin astride his white destrier as he left the hall. In the darkest reaches of her mind, she hoped the the same fate would befall this new Hand as befell her father. When she'd first walked through the doors of the Great Hall, her heart had almost stopped in awe. The cavernous hall and towering, vaulted ceiling had taken her breath away. Ornate stone columns overshadowed large, metallic braziers filled with undying fire. But now, the atmosphere in the hall was suffocating, and the ribbons of jagged steel that made up the Iron Throne were, to Sansa, no longer a symbol of power, but reflective of the savage and twisted nature of the King lounging upon it.

_I wish his wormish lips would fall off. _Sansa thought as she looked upon the young monarch from the raised galley on either side of the room. She shivered as she remembered how his false smile used to make her heart soar. Now, even a glance made her skin crawl. He waved a hand as he called forth the Knight of Flowers, shifting in his seat.

"Your House has come to our aid. The whole realm is in your debt none more so than I." Joffrey praised Ser Loras as knelt at the foot of the throne, his gallant words making Sansa feel as though she'd swallowed a bat.

_Its all false! _she wanted to cry out. Surely the Tyrells were clever enough to see through the King's facade.

_You weren't. You weren't strong enough. _A voice in the back of her head taunted her._ You let him kiss you and shower you with gifts. And now its your fault your father is dead._

Sansa pushed the mocking words aside, refusing to dwell on the past. If a rose given to her at a tourney was anything to go by, Ser Loras wouldve made a wonderful husband. Maybe then she would be allowed to return to Winterfell.

"If your family would ask anything of me, ask it. And it shall be yours." Joff stared down at the older knight, his cat-eyes flashing with glee at the power he held.

"Your grace, my sister Margaery," the knight cleared his throat. "Her husband was taken from us before..." Ser Loras flushed a light shade of pink as he fought for words, but a glimmer of regret flickered across his face when he mentioned Lord Renly. "She remains innocent. I would ask you to find it in your heart to do us the great honour of joining our houses."

Joffrey leant forwards in his throne, regarding Margaery with interest. Her thick, dark hair was long and spilled down her back in soft curls, pulled away from her shoulders to expose the deep V in the neck of her dress. She gazed at the king from beneath her eyeslashes, feigning innocent adoration. The king, on the other hand, was far more indiscreet in his _affections._ His greedy eyes roamed up and down her body as his thin lips curled up into a satisfied smirk.

Sansa wanted to retch at the sight, but hope was slowly beginning to creep in her heart. If Joff liked what he saw, does that mean that she could be free? Sansa didn't know Lady Margaery, and was sure she didn't deserve a fate as bad as the king, but she was too eager to be free of him care. At least she thought she was.

"Is this what you want, Lady Margaery." he asked, drumming his fingers against the palm of his hand.

Sansa held her breath, her entire future hanging on this stranger's words. Lady Margaery stepped forward next to her brother and smiled radiantly.

"With all my heart your grace, I have come to love you from afar, tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears." she beamed, telling the king exactly what he wanted to hear.

Sansa rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. _Did she hear the tales of my father's beheading? Will she love the king just as much when he decides to have her stripped in front of the entire court?_

"And those tales have taken root _deep_ inside of me." Margaery continued, and it took all of Sansa's willpower not to physically cringe.

Could she be any more open in her flirtation? She glanced around the hall, and noticed only Petyr Baelish's sly smirk. _Still innocent? Seven hells if she's still innocent then I'm a whore. _Joffrey glanced at his mother, his ego evidently dangerously high. He turned his smouldering gaze back to the young woman._  
_

"I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace," The large braziers burning were reflected in the King's eyes. "But tales do not do you justice, my lady."

Margaery lowered her head and smiled slightly to herself, seduction written plainly all over her features. _Is no-one else finding this uncomfortable?_

"It would be an honour to return your love." the King continued.

_You can be very charming when it suits you, _Your Grace_. Was I not worthy of your love?_

Sansa wasn't sure whether to be overjoyed, or to be terrified. If Joff was to disregard their betrothal, what would that mean to her? She was at the mercy of the Queen and her court. The King's word would not be enough to protect her when he was indulging himself in Margaery's bed.

"But I am promised to another," Joffrey leant back in his chair of swords, looking like a petulent child being denied a toy. "A king must keep his word."

Sansa could not believe what she was hearing. Did he just deny this woman? Her heart sunk, turning to stone and falling to the bottom of the pit that was her sorrow. _Can I ever be free?_

"Your Grace," Cersei spoke up from her chair to the right of the king, hiding a smug smile. "In the judgement of your small council it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason. A girl who's brother is in open rebellion against the throne _as_ we speak."

_Beheaded for the King's enjoyment you mean. __Am I now to be seen as a traitor too?_ Her emotions her in turmoil. Why couldnt her situation be simple? It seemed that whichever way she turned was another door in her face, or another sword at her throat.

"For the good of the realm, your councellors beg you to set Sansa stark aside." Cersei finished, looking pointedly in her direction.

The members of the court began to mumur like a hive of bees. It was impossible to determine what the general mood was, but the Queen Regent for one seemed rather pleased. The King pursed his lips in thought, staring straight ahead of him. His expression was unreadable. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, holding up a hand for silence. As the court quietened down, Margaery stole a glance up at Sansa. _Let her stare. It is I who should be happy not you._

"I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people," the King stared imposingly down at his mother. "But I took a holy vow."

_If the Seven were good they would free me from you._

"Your grace, the Gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn, but your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the starks revealed their falseness." Maester Pycelle intervened, his voice shaking with age. Sansa's mouth opened slightly in shock. _My family was the only truthful House in the Seven Kingdoms._

"I have consulted with the high septon and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them, in the sight of the Gods." he trembled slightly as the King descended slowly down the steps, casting a long shadow over the maester.

_Our only crime is being innocent of the cunning and cruel ways of the Lannisters. Is revenge for my father's head really such a crime?_

Cersei gave her a sidelong glance, the smug smirk now fully visible, but noticed it seemed only by Sansa. Joffrey sighed, drawing himself taller to address the entire court.

"The Gods are good." he stated, his voice echoing through the hall, challenged only by the crackle of flames in the iron braziers. "However, a promise is a promise."

Sansa's eyes widened in disbelief. She'd seen the King at his worst, surely chivalry was not a factor here. Cersei appeared to be thinking the same, her head whipping around to gape at her son in horror. Even Joff himself seemed reluctant to let go of this oppurtunity.

"I am bound to a traitor's daughter by my own conscience." he announced, the court members murmuring amongst themselves again.

_What conscience? You foul bastard you have no conscience! Where was your conscience on the steps of The Great Sept of Baelor?_

Sansa's heart was beating too fast, her breathing barely contained. Lady Margaery looked thouroughly wounded, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, and her doe eyes downcast. Ser Loras remained knelt before the throne, a statue among the shifting court.

"Your Grace-" Cersei began but her son raised a hand to silence her.

"As an oathbreaker, does that not make me just as false-hearted as the traitor, Robb Stark?" Joffrey asked the court, and Sansa almost sobbed to hear some murmurs of agreement. "Eddard Stark broke his oath to my father when he threatened my claim to the throne. To break my oath, even to his daughter, would be a mockery of my father's name."

_Robert thought of my father as a brother! _Sansa could not believe her ears. Varys the eunuch looked mortified, whereas most of the court looked fairly amused.

"Your Grace," Cersei stammered, her sudden loss of power leaving her stunned. "I do believe-"

"Silence," he demanded, and his mother pressed her white lips together. "I _will_, out of duty, keep my promise to wed Sansa Stark, though it pains me deny the wishes of House Tyrell."

* * *

_**Whether good or bad, please review and tell me what you think. Depending on reviews, I might not continue it, but I dunno yet :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

Joffrey called upon Ser Loras again, and the court quietened. Many of the people near Sansa were studying her face, looking for any sign of emotion. _Stay your tears, be strong as ice. _"It deeply saddens me that I cannot wed your sweet sister."

Loras nodded slowly. _Surely an alliance with the Tyrells is more important than me. _Sansa shuddered to think about what the king may have planned for her.

"As am I, Your Grace." he replied, his voice full of duty.

"However," the King revelled in his new found power, despite the sorrowful mask over his impish face, whereas his mother was ashen. "If it is still in your family's interest to wed Lady Margaery into House Baratheon..."

He raised an eyebrow for an answer and Ser Loras nodded his beautiful head, his golden eyes hopeful.

"Of course, Your Grace, my House and my sister are at your service."

"If it pleases you, Lady Margaery," Joffrey's gaze again met the young woman's, or was he staring at her breasts? "I have a brother who has yet to be betrothed."

Margaery looked delighted, smiling splendidly.

"I have yet to be acquainted with the young Prince Tommen," she said, glancing at Cersei who by this point looked ready to faint. "But I am sure that he will age to be as strong and as handsome as Your Grace, and I will look forward to the day when we shall be wed."

Margaery dipped into a slight curtsey and stepped back into the lines of the court-goers. Joffrey waved a nonchalant hand and Ser Loras rose to his feet before the king.

"House Tyrell thanks you most profusely, Your Grace," his smile was as bright as his sister's. "A union between House Baratheon and House Tyrell will please my Father greatly."

"Rightly so, Ser Loras," Joffrey acknowledged him with a curt nod. "My brother will one day be a very lucky man."

The court fell into a loud applause as the King turned and ascended the steps, proceeding to lounge on his throne, a rare thoughtful expression on his face. _If you're jealous of your brother, why not fuck Margaery yourself? Why me?_

Sansa was so shocked that words escaped her. Should she take her leave before she fainted? Chivalry on Joffrey's tongue was about as much use as a feather in a fight against the Mountain. What did he really want with the daughter of a traitor? He had made it clear that she was his to torment, surely casting her aside and humiliating her infront of the entire court would've sufficed. _Lady Margaery is a supposedly innocent young woman, who showers him with praises and treats him like the king he believes he is. Who am I in comparison? _Did Joffrey think that with Margaery wedded to his plump young brother, he could bed her when he wished? It's not as though Tommen would notice. The Tyrells had made it clear that they served the King, no matter what. Would they not take his refusal as an insult?

Sprawled over the throne, Joffrey looked just like the King he thought he was. The swords fanned out between his long fingers, and his crown seemed to drink in the light of the sun. He held himself with an air of dignity, but it didn't fool Sansa. He appeared to be glaring at the floor infront of him, ignoring his mother as she desperately tried to get his attention. If it were anyone else, Sansa might have felt sorry for her.

For a moment, he looked up at her, his bright eyes meeting her cold, blue ones. His gaze seared through her like wildfire, green and unwavering. An evil smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and his message was clear: _you will always be mine.  
_The young Stark gritted her teeth and stared back levely, refusing to show weakness. She used to think of him as brave and strong, like the lion that adorned his sigil. But now Sansa saw the cunning behind those cat-like orbs. What was a wolf when compared to the Lion? He freed her from his stare, turning to embrace the approval of the court.

Margaery shot Sansa a confused, and mildly offended look as she turned slowly, her legs dead weights as she walked away. The crowd parted for her, bowing their heads, some offering praise or congratulations. Eyes stinging, the wanted to either laugh or cry, but she knew that if she did then she'd never stop. She was almost at the door, her head swimming, when a voice called her name. Spinning around, she found herself face to face with Littlefinger.

"My Lady." Petyr Baelish greeted her. "A believe congratulations are in order."

"But the Queen is right, isn't she?" Sansa's voice broke as she began to speak. "I'm not good enough for him."

"You shouldn't say that." he chastised her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You are good enough for many things."

Sansa smiled sweetly as his words, forcing herself to look happy.

"He'll still enjoy beating you. And... Now that you're a woman, he'll be able to enjoy you in other ways." Sansa's smile disappeared as Petyr continued.

She knew he was right. Just because Joffrey chose her hand over Margaery's, it didn't mean that he would be any kinder towards her. She knew that much all too well. Sansa took a deep breath and set her jaw.

"I promised to love him-"

"From this day until your last, yes," Petyr cut her off, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. "And I fear that Joffrey will hold you to that promise."

Sansa could feel her throat closing up again.

"You will be as much his subject as his Queen, my Lady." he continued. "You must obey him."

"But I don't want to!" Sansa complained, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek. "I want to marry a man who loves me, who will respect me. I just want to-"

"Go home?" Petyr asked, but shook his head sadly. "Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys."

"Why didn't he marry Lady Margaery?" her voice was barely above a whisper.

Petyr shrugged and sighed, taking her hands in his.

"Who can predict the mind of a king?"

_You. _Sansa thought. _You're one of the most powerful men in the realm, how did you not foresee this?_

"You have a tender heart," he sympathised. "Just like your mother. I can see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me."

Sansa was confused. Her mother had never mentioned Littlefinger, let alone as a friend or as a brother. What else had her mother not told her?

"For her sake, I'll help get you home."

_Home. _The word made her lifeless heart soar. But what was home to her now? Her family were fighting a war in the North, what was left there for her? Sansa remained expressionless, reluctant to speak the harsh truth.

"I am to be Queen." she told him. "King's Landing is my home now."

Petyr smiled and kissed her hand.

"You are a strong woman, Lady Sansa." his praises were the only thing that ever mattered to her now. "And I know you will make a good Queen."

"And a good wife?" she asked hopefully, looking over Petyr's shoulder at the dispersing crowd.

The slender man leant forwards to whisper quietly, as though exposing a dark secret.

"Praise him, accept him, shower him with affection." he shared. "Win the love of the people, and maybe he will learn to respect you."

Sansa laughed aloud at that, but it was a cold, humourless sound. Joffrey had yet to learn to respect his own mother, let alone her.

"Joffrey will never respect me." she stated bluntly, and Petyr smirked again. "And I can never love the man who killed my father."

"I am not asking you to love him. You are both young." he told her. "Just remember, my Lady, that a well concealed poison will always achieve more than a conspicuous sword."

"What do you mean by poison, m'lord?" Sansa's eyes widened in fear but Lord Baelish only laughed.

"Not in the way that you would mean it, my Lady." he assured her. "All you need to focus on is befriending the Tyrells. You wouldn't want them to think you plotted to steal the throne from their sweet Margaery."

"But I didn't!" Sansa protested. "I would never-"

"I know that, and I'm sure Margaery will too." Petyr lifted his hand to brush the tears from her cheek. "You will break your fast with her and her Grandmother, Lady Olenna, on the morrow."

* * *

Sansa slept fitfully that night, her dreams plagued by lions.

She was knelt beneath the Iron Throne, her hands bound in chains, a dark figure sat upon the throne. The people around her had no faces, but their bodies and clothes were somehow recognisable.. Each of them carried a severed head under their arm. Looking closely, Sansa's breath caught in her throat. The heads, unlike the people who carried them, had faces. And these faces were all too familiar.

Arya. Robb. Father. Mother. Bran. Rickon. Septa Mordane. Jon. Even Mycah. Everyone she'd ever known or loved. All innocent. The only thing different about them was their eyes. One by one, they began to open, and to Sansa's horror, they were all green. Some eyes were mismatched, different shades of venom on the same face.

Tears of blood rolled down their faces as their dead eyes seemed to stare through her. Sobbing so violently she began to retch, Sansa turned and fled up the steps to the throne. However, with every step they seemed to grow and grow in size until they were as tall her. The throne ascended out of reach and Sansa was left at the foot of the towering steps.

She jumped and tried to pull herself up, but suddenly the steps became slick with oil and she fell back down. The only light was the glowing of the eyes inside the dead heads. In the eerie phosphorescence, she saw to her dismay that the oil was not oil, but thick, black blood that continued to run and run down the steps behind her, pooling around her feet. Sansa tried to run forwards, to push past the mass of faceless bodies and glowing heads, but her legs refused to move, paralyzed and inches deep in blood.

Suddenly, out of the shadows slunk great, animalistic shapes. Their feline faces were lit up by the green-gold of their eyes, and their teeth flashed crimson as blood ran from their jaws. The lions closed in, prowling through the crowd towards Sansa. Pacing. Skulking. Hunting.

She fell to her knees screaming, clawing gouges in her own face as she tried to fight the fear, chains rattling loudly. Then she heard his voice.

_**"**Everyone is mine to torment." _he hissed, and she could feel the tip of an arrowhead pressed into her back.

His breath on her neck was as sharp and cold as the winter winds.

_"Please! Just let me go!" _Sansa shrieked, though she could hear the crank of the crossbow being turned.

Cruel, sadistic laughter ricocheted through the Throne room.

_"You really are stupid, aren't you, little dove?" _

Sansa woke with a jolt, her face stained with tears. Breathing heavily, she sat up, clutching the white linen to her chest. _It was only a dream. He can't hurt you now. _The morning sunlight streamed in through the translucent drapes surrounding her bed. All she wanted was to fall back onto the pillows and never wake, but every time she closed her eyes, a pair of green orbs stared back at her in the darkness. Sansa yawned and stood up, closing the drapes behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

"Margaery is far more beautiful than Sansa, I'm sure the Tyrells wouldn't mind if-"

"No!"

Joffrey had been sat through this conversation for what seemed like hours, and it was beginning to bore him terribly. He couldn't stand his mother's persistent mewling.

Sansa Stark belonged to him, and that was the end of it. Why should he cast her aside for some doe-eyed Tyrell girl? Admittedly, she was beautiful. Extremely beautiful. But he couldn't let Sansa escape his grasp. What would she think of him then? He'd be a fool to let her go. When Sansa was his wife, he could have whatever woman he wanted - including Margaery Tyrell. So why was mother so fucking tenacious?

Cersei Lannister took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to control her temper. Her back was rigid and her lips pursed as she tried to hold her tongue.

It was not yet midday and the King had already had enough of his mother's company. One leg crossed over the other, he lounged in his chair feigning indifference.

"Your council _begs_ you, your grace-" she tried but the King cut her off – yet again.

"Yes, yes I heard what you said in the Throne Room." He snapped, swirling the red-wine in his glass with one hand.

In truth, he had no intentions of drinking it, but it made him feel older. More mature. Like a King. He couldn't let his mother treat him like a child any longer.

"An alliance with the Tyrells would make us stronger than you could imagine." Cersei pleaded, but her son held up a hand to stop her continuing.

"You shall get your alliance, _mother_," he sneered. "Through Tommen."

"Joffrey, Tommen is a boy of eight!" Cersei tried to reason with him. "Margaery is more than twice his age!"

The Queen Regent's power over the realm was slowly falling apart around her, and now, it seemed, was the power she held over her eldest son.

"Then, maybe Margaery can teach him how to be man." Joffrey countered, a smug smirk on his face.

Tommen had always been a useless little brat. He'd always been too weak, crying and hiding behind his mother's skirts whenever Joffrey had made an unkind comment. It was about time he was taught a lesson…

Cersei was shaking with concealed rage, a thin vein in her brow pulsing. Obviously the thought of losing her last child to the Tyrell girl wasn't entirely satisfactory.

"Tommen is not you, Joff." His mother reminded him. "Tommen is not a king. And a king has duties."

"It is my duty to marry Sansa Stark."

"It is your duty to-"

"Do not presume to tell me what my are duties are and are not!" the wine threatened to break free from the glass as the young king's hand shook, a fleck of crimson spilling onto the chartreuse cushion.

Cersei flattened her skirts and averted her gaze. Joffrey smirked into his wine-glass; he was glad she was angry. Her anger made her hot-headed, and it amused him to see her stammer.

"I beseech you, your grace," her voice was cool but cutting, like a blade left buried in the snow for too long. "The Tyrells may take this as an insult. If we lose their trust-"

"Piss on their trust." The King hissed, setting his wine on the table and standing up, striding over to the window. "I've given them my most _beloved _little brother. They could have Myrcella too if my Uncle hadn't-"

"Do not bring Myrcella into this." Cersei interrupted, and Joffrey frowned, tilting his head in a silent questioning of her authority.

How _dare_ she interrupt? She would learn to hold her tongue – or else he would teach her. A woman should know her place.

"I shall do whatever I want with my sister," he chose his words slowly and deliberately. "Is that understood?"

The two lions stared each other down, but wildfire cannot be quenched so easily.

"Is Margaery not good enough for you, Joff?" the Queen changed the subject quickly, her intelligence outweighing her anger.

The King held his glare a while longer, before turning back towards the window, gazing out at the three hills of King's Landing, and the stinking city that sprawled across them.

"She is…" he paused, fighting for words. "She's a woman, the same as Sansa. They're both pretty, why should I care more for Margaery?"

"It would be more adequate if-

"Seven hells, I don't give a shit about what is 'more adequate'!" Joffrey barked, his anger flaring once again.

Did she not understand that he couldn't care less what anyone else thought?

"We already have the Tyrell's fealty, do we not?" Joffrey questioned, but he already knew the answer. "Now ask yourself, what house is it that rebels against us in the North?"

"Exactly!" Cersei rose to her feet, striding with a renewed confidence towards him and resting a bejewelled hand on his arm. "My dear boy-"

"I'm not your _boy_," Joffrey spat, but made no move to brush away her hand. "I am a King."

"And a wise King listens to his councillors and does not marry the daughter of a traitor." Cersei smiled, but Joffrey looked away, not wanting to be swayed by motherly love.

"Margaery married a traitor." he countered, and his mother's smile wavered.

Why was she so adamant that he should marry the Tyrell woman? Did she not think he could handle Sansa?

"Why is it that you want to marry Sansa Stark?" Cersei asked bluntly, resting her golden head on her son's shoulder.

Joffrey scoffed loudly, but it didn't stop the question from catching him off guard. It was his duty to marry her. His father had decreed that Sansa belonged to him, so why did everyone want to take her away?

"I don't _want_ to marry her-" he started, but once again his mother cut him off.

"Do you love her?"

"Of course I don't love her!" the King seethed, pushing his mother away from him.

She had gone too far now. Love was out of the question! On the contrary, he _hated_ Sansa Stark. He hated her with a bone deep passion. He hated her because… Why did it matter why he didn't like her? She was his and he wouldn't let anyone take her away from him.

_Anyone who isn't us is an enemy._

"Then why-"

"I've had quite enough of this conversation, mother." Joffrey cleared his throat, downing his cup of wine. "You're boring me half to death."

Cersei looked thoroughly defeated, once again pressing her lips together and holding her peace.

"Why don't you go," he waved his hand nonchalantly "and, um, do whatever women do at this time in the morning. I want to use my new crossbow."

* * *

_**It's been too long since I last updated, but exams are seriously stressful. It's not as long or as eventful as the other chapters, but I hope it'll suffice :)  
**_

_**Please R&amp;R ~ ApolloNico24601  
**_


	4. Chapter 4

There was a knock on the door and Sansa whirled around, hastily wiping hot tears from her cheeks. Thankfully, it was only Shae who slunk quietly into the room, greeting Sansa with a warm smile. Her dark hair was ruffled slightly, as though she'd just got out of bed, and her lilac dress was crumpled.

"I'm sorry to wake you." Sansa apologised, trying to fix her tangled hair.

"Wake me?" Shae questioned, wandering over to the wardrobe in a swirl of silk. "You didn't wake me, my lady."

"Oh," Sansa sat on the end of the bed plucking at the sheets. "I just thought… Never mind."

"Nightmares again?" the foreign woman asked, as if she could read her thoughts.

Sansa looked down at her hands, clasping them together in front of her, ashamed at her weakness. Shae lay a pale blue – almost grey – dress across her dressing table, the thick fabric folding gently on itself. The neckline was modest and embroidered with small, virtuous pearls - the only other detail was a fringe of ivory lace on the long sleeves.

The young maid turned her nose up slightly at first sight. It was so… Plain. Where was the elegant, convoluted needlework and the flowing summer skirts? What about the extravagant gems and delicate headwear? These dresses were nothing like Lady Margaery's.

Surely if Sansa was to impress the king she'd have to wear something better than this. She needed him to notice her – in a good way. What would people think of her if she dressed like a northern kitchen-girl?

Shae raised an eyebrow, sensing Sansa's discomfort.

"Is this not to your liking, _my lady_?" she teased, rolling her eyes.

"Its… Fine." Sansa decided, not wanting Shae to think she was ungrateful.

"What is it now?" Shae let the dress droop to the floor and strode across the room to Sansa, resting her hands comfortingly on her shoulders.

"I'm doomed to be with Joffrey for the rest of my life, what is there to be happy about?" Sansa retorted, her voice sounding harsher than she meant it to.

"You are to be Queen, lady Sansa," Shae smiled slightly, but her eyes betrayed the pity that she felt for the young maid. "Ask any girl in King's Landing, and they would kill to be in your position."

Sansa almost let a sad laugh escape her lips; people wanting to kill her only added to her worries.

"I don't _care_ about other people," she muttered. "They can be Queen if they want, I'd be happy if they relieved me of that burden."

The Lorathi woman's reassuring smile disappeared, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"So you would rather be a lowly handmaid like me?" she questioned, obviously offended by Sansa's bitterness. "Or a beggar? I know the King is not like your storybooks, my lady, but it does not mean that you would enjoy the life of the common people any better.'

Sansa looked at her feet, ashamed, but didn't say anything. Deep down, the stark girl knew she was right, but pride kept her from admitting it - from admitting that maybe she should be thankful for what she had.

"I guess it'll do." she mumbled, and Shae smiled knowingly.

The handmaid has just finished lacing up Sansa's dress, when there was a knock at the door. Shae rolled her eyes and brushed a stray hair from the stark girl's face.

"There, the Tyrells would be fools not to love you." she assured her, and Sansa half-heartedly returned the smile.

"Come in." she called, but the person who walked in the door wasn't who she was expecting.

A guard, the gold Lannister lion sewn onto his tunic, strode in. Sansa held her breath.

"The King commands your presence immediately, my lady." he informed her with a low bow.

Sansa gritted her teeth. Littlefinger had said she would break her fast with the Tyrells! Had he lied? Sansa wished someone could've made things work in her favour for once, but she knew in her heart that everyone had to follow the King's orders. But where on earth was the King's Hand? Surely he could've quelled his grandson's madness?

"The Lady Sansa was invited to eat with Olenna Tyrell." Shae glared levelly at the man.

The guard visibly paled at the Tyrell lady's name, but he swallowed his fear.

"I'm sorry, but those are the King's orders."

Sansa silently prayed that Shae would stand up for her again, but inside she knew that she couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"I suppose you will be escorting me then." she snapped, hoping she sounded more determined than she felt.

Maybe the Tyrells would wait for her; surely they'd invite her for lunch now that breakfast had been cancelled? But Sansa wouldn't count on it. The guard nodded and held open the door.

"My lady." he offered, but it was quite obviously more of a demand than an invitation.

With one last worried glance at her handmaid, Sansa followed the guard out of the door, and down the maze of corridors.

Sansa heard the King before she saw him - his nasal laughter ricocheting off of the stone. The tell-tale whistle and thud of a crossbow bolt came afterwards, and Sansa's blood turned to ice. She'd had one close escape from the King's cruel ways once before, but she couldn't count on anything - or anyone - to save her today. Sansa's heart pounded and her breathing became rapid. If the guard noticed anything, he didn't show it.

As they rounded the corner, Sansa screwed her face up in disgust at one of the King's favourite pastimes.

On the side of the balcony was a collection of wooden cages, containing a variation of trapped creatures; rabbits, squirrels, small cats and a couple of ferrets. The King was stood dangerously close to the edge, peering down at something on the ground below. In his hand was a goblet (probably filled with wine) and at his feet lay the crossbow, a silent symbol of Sansa's imprisonment. The guards surrounding him looked either sick or expressionless.

"That was a fine shot!" Joffrey cried, grinning broadly and waving the cup around with one hand, spilling wine onto the stone floor.

A chorus of "Yes, your grace." came from the guards, and they all clapped enthusiastically. Joffrey, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, turned to a man by the cages and waved a hand a him.

"Another." he demanded.

The man unlatched one of the cages, and pulled out a rabbit by the scruff of its neck. The poor creature's eyes were wide with fear as it swung precariously over the edge of the balcony, its tiny paws scrambling for a foothold but finding only empty air. Joffrey picked up the crossbow and loaded it, fumbling with the arrow. Sansa then became horribly aware of the 'game' Joffrey was playing and she felt bile rise in her throat.

As the man got ready to throw the tiny creature into the air, the guard next to her cleared his throat.

Joffrey whirled around angrily, and Sansa jumped slightly as the loaded crossbow was trained on her. Suddenly, the King noticed her for the first time, and set the crossbow down on his chair. He smirked evilly and pointed at the mass of small, broken bodies on the ground below.

"Do you like my little game?" he asked, barely able to contain his glee. "It is very good for target practice."

"I'm sure it is, Your Grace." Sansa replied monotonously, wanting to throw him off the balcony instead of the rabbits.

This was the first time she'd seen him since he refused Margaery, and Sansa wasn't sure what mood he'd be in, so she remained on her guard at all times. Joffrey nodded happily and strode towards her, taking her hand and kissed it clumsily. Sansa's instincts screamed at her to run, but she only flinched slightly, before forcing a tiny smile.

"Have some wine." he gestured to a wide table, laden with fine foods that made Sansa's mouth water.

"No thank-you." Sansa refused politely, but as the King's expression darkened she quickly added. "I do not take drink well, and would not want to ruin your day by being ill in your company."

Joffrey seemed satisfied with her reply. He started to walk slowly down the steps leading into the gardens.

"Walk with me." he ordered her, gesturing for Sansa to follow as though she were a dog.

The man on the balcony hurriedly put the frightened rabbit back in its hutch.

"Better to be imprisoned than dead." Sansa thought bitterly.

* * *

_**I am so so sorry as this is a short and badly written chapter, but I felt like I had to give you something before I focus on my English Lit stuff. So I guess this is it for now, but thank you for all the faves and follows and reviews :) I may continue this in the future, but it's unlikely.**_

_**~ luckyflyingfish24601**_


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Game of Thrones, Fantasy, Tragedy