GOT : Chapter 59

Interlude part 1

( Kevan )

Kevan Lannister sat silently as he watched his elder brother anxiously pace around his solar, just like a lion trapped in a cage. Kevan winced at these words. A cage…that was exactly what they were in at the moment. A gilded cage called King's Landing.

They held the capital, that was all well and good. But along with it came half a million people, and half a million mouths to feed. 

The Roseroad was still blocked, and although the Goldroad was still open, the Westerlands alone wouldn't be able to feed both Westerlanders and Kingslanders. As for the fertile lands of the Riverlands, those around the Trident, well they were unusable. Tywin's scourging of the whole region had made sure of it.

As such, being given the position of Hand of the King in these troubled times was more of a curse than a blessing. Not to mention that he had to go against his own family!

Cersei had been enraged ever since Jaime had died and her son had been uncontrollable. 

Only when Tywin came back from his disastrous campaign in the Eastern Riverlands did things truly calm down, but by then, things had already gone far out of control already.

Kevan did manage to send Myrcella away, though. The poor girl wouldn't have lasted much longer in King's Landing, and the only place where she could send her without needing to worry about her health was Dorne. Ironic, perhaps, but necessary. 

He had been given every assurance possible that Myrcella would be treated as befitting of her station, and Prince Trystane seemed like a nice enough lad.

With Dorne having made overtures to Renly, they needed to be countered immediately, lest the three southernmost kingdoms turn against them. Thankfully, this did not happen, and negotiations between the two parties failed, allowing him to settle for an alliance, one which would tie down many Reacher and Stormlander troops. However, the Dornish position seemed to be quite unreadable…

Nonetheless, Tywin did eventually come back from his unsuccessful campaign in the Riverlands. At least they had managed to secure Harrenhal and keep the Goldroad open, but these were meager victories. 

The Riverlanders had kept half of their territory, if not more, and although their assault on the Golden Tooth was repulsed, Stafford's host was thoroughly defeated, ending all hope of opening the River road.

It was then that he traded his Handship over for a position of Master of Laws. Quite frankly, he hoped to be sent back to the Westerlands to organize the defense of the area, but news of Robb Stark marching back home had ended these plans. 

He now had to sit at the Small Council and listen to the words of Pycelle, Baelish, Rosby, Varys, and other nuisances that sat on the Small Council. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't trust any of them. 

The Spider knew more than he was willing to say, Rosby was an old fool, just like Pycelle, and the upjumped Valeman annoyed him to no end.

But still, he had obeyed like the dutiful little brother he was, and he would continue to do so, so that house Lannister may still stand a chance in this war.

"Has the girl been found, yet?" Tywin finally stopped pacing around and sent him a cold stare.

"Our men have been doing their utmost, but the Riverlands are vast and resistance has been strong. Arya Stark remains nowhere to be found, and if I may be honest, she might as well be dead."

Tywin muttered a curse under his breath but continued.

"And what happened to Lorch?"

"The Brotherhood captured him, and sold him to the Dornish, according to the Spider."

"The Dornish have turned their backs on us once again…"

"Not necessarily. Lorch, just like Clegane, would have been the price needed to be paid for their support, and you know it. These actions will haunt us for a long time, brother."

Tywin stayed silent for a moment. Feeling as if he needed to speak again, Kevan tried to reason him.

"Lorch was unimportant. He was a mad dog, just like Clegane. I do not know why you keep these two with you, as they just bring heaps of problems with them. And that since the days of the Rebellion, if not before."

"They have their uses."

Their uses? Kevan would slap his brother if he could. These two had brought them nothing but problems as they pillaged and raped half of the Riverlands and more. And what did that bring them? Nothing. 

Only hate and more fires to put down. If it were up to him, he'd have them both hanged a long time ago. Knights? Hah. Any scum from Flea Bottom would make better knights than these two. But once more, his brother wouldn't budge.

"We cannot build on empty promises. Dorne will want something for their alliance, and I doubt a seat on the Small Council will appease them."

"They are getting a marriage into the royal family…"

"Something they already had and more during the Rebellion, if you remember…"

"Careful, Kevan."

"What I mean is that alone won't be enough. They will require blood."

"Promise them some justice, then. They've already had Lorch. I won't hand them Clegane when I still have use of him."

Kevan sighed. There would be no convincing his brother anymore. Ever since the young wolf had defeated him in pitched battle, he felt that something inside of Tywin had broken. As if he could not admit that he had been defeated and he still negotiated in a position of power.

Nonetheless, he pressed on.

"What of the Tyrells?" Kevan asked.

"It seems that the Tyrells could still be an option."

Kevan raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't their Queen with child?"

"Newborns are such delicate things at birth."

Kevan's eyes started to widen.

"The Tyrells have approached us for an alliance. A marriage between Joffrey and Margaery. Once the Tyrell girl's child will have been disposed of, of course."

"Do you think they would give it up willingly?"

"Well, we shall still need it to claim dominion over the Stormlands, but once the union between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell has been celebrated, we shall have no use for it anymore. Better to have at Storm's End the blood of the lion rather than a bastard get."

"The Tyrells will hold much sway in this alliance, brother, do not forget it."

"We still have the entire wealth of the Westerlands at our disposal."

"Gold doesn't feed armies or the smallfolk. We cannot buy anything from the Free Cities due to the pirate's raids and the Riverlands are lost to us. We need that grain from the Reach, brother. You know it and they know it."

"But it is gold that will control the throne. The Reachmen would do well to remember that it is that which pays their men. As long as we have gold, we have the power. We may let them think they hold us on a leash, but as long as I am alive, I shall not let another house take precedent over ours."

"We should start by bringing the elements of our own house in line first."

"You mean my daughter?"

"Cersei and, by extension, the king. I cannot count the times where she asked to receive formal word of her being heir to Casterly Rock. And remember that she ordered the deaths of the few northern hostages we had and that poor Stark girl…"

"I know," Tywin said sternly. "Cersei's actions have been...unworthy. But at least she has been spared."

"Spared?" Kevan sighed. "I fear that if one day Robb Stark discovers what has befallen her, we will wish that we have died in battle long ago."

...

( Sansa )

Sansa Stark looked at the horizon, seeing the endless sea beyond King's Landing's harbor. Once, she would have thought it to be a wonderful sight, but now? She was a broken girl. A foolish, broken girl.

Every night, she cried herself to sleep, thinking about her father. Had she not done everything that was needed for him to live? And Arya? Little Arya, where had she gone? The Lannisters said nothing of her, and she hadn't seen her since the day of father's arrest. 

Was she dead? Was she held somewhere else?

She couldn't believe that her little sister would have just let the Lannisters take her without a fight. Yet if she indeed had fought, wouldn't the guards speak of her? For now, hope remained that she had made it out of the city, but it was a fickle one.

Hope.

What a trivial thing it was.

She once hoped that Robb would come to liberate her. But as the days went by, she had to face the terrible truth: Robb wouldn't come. So she prayed that Stannis or Renly would come to save her instead. 

Anyone would be better than the Lannisters. But these proved to be fickle hopes too. The Baratheons were dead, and she was now alone.

Alone to face the wrath of the Lannisters. Alone to face the Queen's wrath as she heard of her brother's death.

There were the jeers, the insults. Sansa had taken them. She could be strong. She would endure.

Then came the beatings. Every Kingsguard took turns in beating her in front of Joffrey, and in front of Cersei. She saw their grins as she cried in pain, but she stood strong every time. 

If she was lucky and either Ser Arys or Ser Balon were beating her, they would do their best not to hurt her too much, and even treated her wounds afterwards. But Ser Arys was gone, and Ser Balon was cast aside.

Only the Hound gave her some respite when he wasn't drunk. And even then, there weren't many occasions when it was the case.

After the beatings, though…well the Queen clearly hadn't had enough. After she had the Northmen executed after the Battle at Riverrun, there was only one person to turn to. Her.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was now a complete mess. Half of her face bore the scars of the two sword cuts Joffrey had made. 

Across her forehead were smaller scars, made by daggers and knives, while her lip was nearly split in two by another knife wound. Finally, under her scars, her skin had been burnt as the Queen, during one of her fits of rage, had plunged her face into a hearth, burning her left cheek and some of her hair.

The scars didn't hurt anymore. Nothing did.

Sansa got used to the pain. Now, when she was beaten. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. The Queen made threats to have her executed but she didn't care. Death was now an embrace that she would welcome with open arms if it promised to take her away from this place.

Only when Ser Kevan came to the capital did the public beatings stop, and even then, Joffrey or the Queen sent the Kingsguard to beat her in her chambers once in a while. At least, she had been freed from the betrothal to Joffrey, but what would happen now?

Would she be forced to marry Tommen? Would she be executed or raped? Her virtue had so far been left intact, but for how long?

Sansa made her way to a cupboard. There laid a small, well-decorated knife. Gifted to her by none other than Petyr Baelish, the master of coin, who was one of the only ones kind enough to her during her torture. 

The cutlery was innocent enough to think it was just a small comb or piece of jewelry, but not large enough to identify it as a knife. She kept it under one of the planks in the cupboard, where no one would ever look. 

This wouldn't be enough to make her escape, but just sharp enough to take her own life should Joffrey find that her virtue would now be fine for the taking.

She cleansed those thoughts away as she looked at herself in the mirror once more, trailing the scars of her whippings on her back, legs, and chest. Her face was sullied, far from the pretty face everyone was so fond of only a year ago.

She had never been in a battle, but it certainly felt like Sansa Stark was a veteran of a hundred campaigns.

Turning away from the mirror, she made her way to her bed. She thought of mother. Of Arya and Bran. Of Rickon and Jon. Of Jeyne and Maester Luwin. Of the simpler, happier life they had in Winterfell, and how she longed for it once more.

A lone tear fell down her burnt cheek.

And with these memories, she drifted off to sleep, hoping that one day, someone would rescue her from this nightmare, else she would try to rescue herself, one way or another…