Please bear with me, I will try to catch up by the end of the month. Thank you.
After he left, Sansa immediately slumped back onto the straw mat, staring blankly at the wall until two handmaidens timidly entered the room. "I need a bath, please prepare hot water," she told them. "And perfume, and powder to cover the bruises." The entire right side of her face was swollen and throbbing, but she knew Joffrey wanted her to look pretty.
The hot water reminded her of Winterfell and made her feel a little stronger. She hadn't bathed since her father died and was surprised to see how dirty the water became. The maids washed the blood from her face, brushed the dust from her back, and combed her starched hair into thick auburn curls. Sansa didn't speak to them except to give orders: they were Lannister servants, not her own people, and she didn't trust them. When dressing, she specifically chose the green silk gown she had worn on the day of the Tourney. She remembered how attentive Joffrey had been to her at the feast that night, and perhaps if she wore this dress, it would remind him and make him gentler towards her.
After getting dressed, she sat and waited, drinking a cup of buttermilk and nibbling on a few sweet biscuits to temporarily calm the churning in her stomach. By the time Ser Meryn came for her, it was already midday. He was in full White Armor: finely crafted White Scale Armor with gold thread, a high-crested Golden Sun Helmet, and gleaming iron armor for his Knee Guards, Throat Guard, Hand Guards, and Long Boots, along with a heavy Wool Cloak fastened with a Golden Lion Clasp. His helmet was unvisored, revealing a grim face; two large eye bags, a wide and sullen mouth, and some grey streaks in his rust-colored hair. "My lady," he bowed, as if he didn't remember having beaten her face bloody three hours earlier. "Your Majesty has ordered me to escort you to court."
"If I refuse, has he ordered you to beat me?"
"My lady, are you refusing?" He looked at her with no emotion, unmoved by the bruises he had inflicted earlier.
Sansa suddenly understood that he didn't hate her, nor did he love her; he felt nothing for her at all. To him, she was just a... thing. "No," she said and stood up, her heart aching with a desire to explode in anger, to hit him hard, just as he had hit her. She wanted to warn him that when she became Queen, if he dared to touch a single hair on her head again, she would banish him forever... But she still remembered the Hound's words, so she only said, "I will obey Your Majesty's command."
"As will I," he replied.
"Is that so... But, Ser Meryn, you are not a true Knight."
Sansa knew that Sandor Clegane would have laughed heartily if he had heard this. Someone else might have cursed her, or warned her to be silent, or even begged for her forgiveness, but Ser Meryn Trant did nothing because he simply didn't care.
Besides Sansa, the viewing gallery was empty. She kept her head down, fighting back tears, watching Joffrey below, seated on the Iron Throne, dispensing what he considered justice. Of the ten cases, he found nine boring and handed them all over to the Small Council Meeting, while he fidgeted restlessly on the Throne. Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Queen Mother Cersei were busy, but when the King occasionally decided to take matters into his own hands, even his own mother could not control the situation.
A thief was dragged forward, and he ordered Ser Ilyn to chop off his hand right there in the Throne Room. Two Knights were disputing a piece of land and came to court for him to decide. He decreed that they should settle it with a duel the next day, adding, "To the death." A woman knelt and begged for the head of a man who had been beheaded for treason, saying she loved him dearly and wanted to bury him whole. "You love a traitor, which means you are also a traitor," Joffrey said, and two Gold Cloaks dragged her into the Dungeon.
Lord Slynt, with a frog-like face, sat at the end of the council table, wearing a black Velvet Cloak over a shining Gold Cloak, nodding in agreement with every judgment the King made. Sansa watched his ugly face carefully, remembering how he had held her father down so Ser Ilyn could behead him in public, and she wished for fierce revenge, hoping some Hero would hold him down and behead him in public too. But deep down, a voice whispered: There are no heroes left in the world. She recalled what Lord Petyr had told her in this very hall, "Life is not a song, my little one," he had told her. "One day, you may be greatly disappointed." It seemed that in real life, the monsters often won, she told herself, and then she heard the Hound's cold hiss, like metal and stone Friction, echoing in her ears: "Little Sister, for your own good, do as he wishes."
The last case involved a fat tavern singer accused of writing a song mocking the late King Robert. Joffrey had his Wooden Harp brought and ordered him to perform it for everyone on the spot. The singer wept, swearing he would never sing the song again, but the King insisted. The lyrics were actually quite funny, mostly describing Robert fighting a boar. Sansa knew the boar was the one that killed the King, but some verses seemed to allude to the Queen Regent. After he finished singing, Joffrey announced he would be merciful, and the singer could choose to keep either his fingers or his tongue, and he had one day to decide. Janos Slynt nodded approvingly.
The afternoon court finally concluded, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, but her suffering was not over. After the Master of Ceremonies announced the recess, she hurried from the viewing gallery, only to find Joffrey waiting for her at the bottom of the winding stairs, with the Hound and Ser Meryn beside him. The young King examined her from head to toe. "You look much prettier than before."
"Thank you for the compliment, Your Majesty," Sansa said. Although she didn't mean it, he nodded and smiled when he heard it.
"Walk with me," Joffrey commanded, extending his hand, and she had no choice but to take his arm. In the past, touching his hand would have thrilled her, but now she felt goosebumps all over. "My Naming Day is coming soon," Joffrey said as they left the back of the Throne Room. "We will have a grand Feast, and many people will bring me gifts. What will you give me?"
"I... I haven't decided what to give yet, my lord."
"Your Majesty," he said sharply. "You are a stupid girl, aren't you? Mother told me so long ago."
"She really said that?" After all she had been through these past days, she thought his words had lost their power to hurt her, but they hadn't. The Queen had always been kind to her.
"Oh, it's true, of course. She was also worried that our children would be as stupid as you, but I told her not to worry." The King made a gesture, and Ser Meryn opened the door for them.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she murmured. The Hound was right, she thought, I am a Little Bird, only repeating what others teach me. The sun had already set behind the western City Walls, and the stones of the Red Keep were dark as blood in the twilight.
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