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Deep within Maegor's Holdfast, in a high tower room, Sansa surrendered herself completely to the darkness.
She drew the bed curtains and slept a heavy, dreamless sleep, waking only to weep, and sleeping again when she was too tired to cry. When she could not sleep, she huddled beneath the blankets, trembling with grief. Servants came and went, bringing her meals three times a day, but the sight of food made her ill. Plates of untouched food piled up on the table by the window until they turned sour and began to smell, and the servants took them away.
Sometimes her sleep was heavy as lead, dreamless through the night, and she would wake exhausted, more tired than when she had closed her eyes. That was the best of it, for when she dreamed, she dreamed of her father. Waking or sleeping, she saw only the sight of him being held down by the Gold Cloaks, Ser Ilyn striding toward him, drawing Ice from the sheath on his back, and then... and then... she had wanted to turn her head away, she had wanted so badly to turn her head away, but her legs had turned to water and she had fallen to her knees. And somehow, she simply could not turn her head away. The people around her were shouting, hadn't her White Horse Prince just smiled at her? He had smiled, she thought everything was fine, but it was only for a moment, and then he said that word. Her father's feet... she only remembered his feet twitching violently... when Ser Ilyn... when his sword...
I might as well die, she told herself, and found the thought not at all frightening. If she threw herself from the window, she could end all her suffering, and in years to come, the bards would sing of her sorrow. She would lie broken on the stones below the tower, pure and innocent, shaming all who had betrayed her. Several times Sansa crossed the bedroom and opened the window... but her courage failed her then, and she could only run back to her bed, weeping.
When the serving women brought her food, they tried to speak to her, but she ignored them all. Once, Grand Maester Pycelle came with a box of vials and asked if she was ill. He felt her forehead and ordered her to undress, having the serving women hold her hands and feet while he felt all over her body. When he left, he gave her a potion made of honey and herbs, telling her to drink a small amount each night. She did as she was told and fell back asleep.
She dreamed of footsteps on the tower stairs, an ominous sound of leather scraping on stone. Someone was slowly approaching her bedroom, step by step. All she could do was huddle behind the door, trembling uncontrollably, listening to him come closer. She knew it must be Ser Ilyn Payne with Ice in his hand, coming to take her head. But she had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and she could not bolt the door. Finally, the footsteps stopped, and she knew he was standing outside the door, silent, with his long pockmarked face and dead eyes. It was then she realized she was naked and quickly lay on the floor, covering herself with her hands. The door slowly opened, creaking, and the tip of a greatsword pierced through...
She woke up, still muttering, "Please, please, I'm good, I'll be obedient, please don't kill me." But no one paid attention to her.
When they actually came for her, Sansa did not hear the footsteps. It was not Ser Ilyn who opened the door, but her former White Horse Prince, Joffrey. She was in bed, curled up, and with the curtains drawn, she could not tell if it was noon or midnight. The first thing she heard was the door slamming open, followed by the curtains being violently pulled back. She quickly raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden light and saw them standing tall by the bed.
"You will attend court with me this afternoon," Joffrey said. "Go bathe, change your clothes, and make yourself look like my fiancée." Sandor Clegane stood beside him, wearing a simple brown tunic and a green cloak, his burned face looking even more hideous in the morning light. Behind them stood two Kingsguard, their long white brocade cloaks draped over their shoulders.
Sansa pulled the blanket up to her chin, covering herself. "No," she pleaded. "Please... please leave me alone."
"If you don't get up and change your clothes quickly, I'll have my dog change them for you," Joffrey said.
"Please, my prince..."
"I am the King. Dog, drag her out."
Sandor Clegane grabbed her wrist and lifted her from the feather bed, letting her struggle weakly. The blanket slid to the floor, and she was wearing only a thin nightgown. "Child, do as he says," Clegane said. "Put on your clothes quickly." He pushed her toward the wardrobe, his movement surprisingly gentle.
Sansa pushed them away. "I did what the Queen asked. I wrote the letter, and I wrote what she told me to. You promised you would be merciful. Please, let me go home. I won't betray you, I'll be good and obedient, I swear. There's no traitor's blood in me, truly there isn't. I just want to go home." Remembering to be polite, she lowered her head. "If it pleases you," she said weakly.
"It doesn't please me at all," Joffrey said. "Mother says I still have to marry you, so you have to stay here and be obedient."
"I don't want to marry you," Sansa sobbed. "You cut off my father's head!"
"He was a traitor. I never promised to spare his life, only to be merciful, and I was merciful. If he hadn't been your father, I would have dismembered and skinned him, but I let him die quickly."
Sansa stared at him, seeing him clearly for the first time. He wore a padded scarlet tunic embroidered with lions and a gold-threaded cloak, the high collar framing his face. She wondered how she could have ever thought him handsome? His lips were red and soft, like worms turned up in the earth after rain, and his eyes were empty and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.
King Joffrey's face hardened. "Mother says a king should not strike his wife. Ser Meryn."
Before she could react, the knight pulled away her hand that was trying to cover her face and struck her a heavy blow. Sansa did not remember falling, but when she came to her senses, she was on one knee on the mat, dizzy. Ser Meryn Trant stood over her, bloodstains on the knuckles of his white silk gloves.
"Will you be obedient, or do you want me to have him teach you another lesson?"
Sansa's ear was numb. She reached up and touched it, her fingertips wet with blood. "I... I am at your command, my lord."
"'Your Majesty'," Joffrey corrected her. "I'll see you at court later." With that, he turned and left.
Ser Meryn and Ser Arys followed him out, but Sandor Clegane roughly pulled her up. "Little bird, for your own good, do as he wants."
"What... what does he want? Please, tell me."
"He wants to see you smiling and smelling sweet, being his beautiful fiancée," the Hound hissed. "He wants to hear you recite those pretty words, just like the Septa taught you. He wants you to love him... and fear him."
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