Chapter Text
Everything hurts. The material she was shrouded under was not thick enough to keep away the damp chill in the deep recess of her black cell. She was curled in on herself as she attempted to stave off the cold—wound tight, shivering uncontrollably, the pain from her throbbing wounds and aching bones was magnified.
Sansa had been in her cell too long, days. No one had came back, and she was starved. She had resorted to drinking handfuls of a putrid pail of water in the corner of her cell. It was near finished. She knew without water, without food, without proper care for her wounds...she would die.
Cersei wouldn’t just leave her here, she wouldn’t.
There was a continuous scratching sound in the cell next to her; it had been driving her mad. Sansa couldn’t be sure what the noise was, but she thought she had heard a voice whispering, every once in a while. She admitted to herself, that it frightened her. She wouldn’t dare speak up, scared the voice was in her mind, and she really was going mad.
The scratching continued…
“Please…please stop!” Sansa tried to cover her ears as she cried out, her voice rough from disuse. Her body convulsed as she coughed violently. After the fit ended, she realized that the noise had stopped. Sansa held in her breath; her head picked up for any other sound.
The scratching started again…
She let out a whimper as she curled in on herself again.
“It is too quiet in this cell, next to these bones; they refuse to talk back. The noise is my only companion.” A feminine voice spoke melodically.
Sansa unfurls slowly, her wounds and shaken bones protesting violently. She sucks in a ragged breath and crawls towards the wall separating her from the voice.
“Who is there?” Sansa’s head lolls against the cold stone. She shivers violently again, her teeth chattering painfully. No one responds, but she’s certain now that the voice wasn’t in her head. “Please, speak to me.” She lays a hand against the wall, tears trickling from her eyes. She licks at them before they slip from her face, letting them wet her cracked lips.
“I haven’t anything useful to say, sweet wolf.” The voice is defeated, a Dornish lilt bleeding through. Sansa doesn’t recognize it.
“You know who I am?”
“I heard the squid call you by your name when you arrived. You may know of me too.”
“You are Dornish. We’ve met before?” Sansa tries to remember her time in King’s Landing.
The woman gasps a laugh, “Not formally, but you might’ve observed me, from afar. I know I’ve seen you. Cersei’s bastard son’s wedding, to the Tyrell girl.”
“What is your name, my lady?”
There is a pause, before the defeat speaks again, “Ellaria Sand.” Sansa’s mind stutters to a stop, the name familiar.
She remembers suddenly, “Prince Oberyn’s paramour. You pledged Dorne to Queen Daenerys; you were captured. Everyone thought you dead.”
“No, unfortunately.” She whispers.
Sansa grimaces, “This is good news, my lady.” Sansa tries for comfort.
A bitter laugh, “My ears hear you Lady Stark, what sanity is left in my mind, disagrees.”
Sansa speaks determinedly, “Your daughter, Elia, is Princess Elia of Dorne now. She will be elated to have you home, after the war is over.” Sansa listens to silence until wretched sobs of the woman in the cell next to her ring out. “Princess Elia upholds your pledge to Queen Daenerys. She could help her win this war. You will return home, my lady.”
Ellaria quiets suddenly, speaking evenly, “We have already lost. We will die here, Sansa Stark.”
Sansa shakes her head in the blackness, despite her pain. “Moons have passed, yet you still live, my lady.”
“I do not live of my own volition, girl. I’ve watched my daughter die, bloated and decaying before my eyes. Her stench is burned in my nostrils. She is not but bones now. Forcing me to live is my torture, my punishment. I’ve tried to refuse water, food. The Mountain comes right before death takes me—forces food and water down my throat. I haven’t the will to deny him anymore. I would’ve impaled myself on these bones, if I did not treasure them so. The thought of breaking what is left of my darling girl—” Ellaria let out a strangled wail, and Sansa closes her eyes despairingly.
“You may wish for death my lady, but I do not. I won’t let Cersei win. I cannot.” Sansa feels an anger course through her, “Are you not angry, furious, that she has resorted you to this?!”
“Not anymore, now I’m just tired, Lady Stark. I’ve lost Oberyn, his daughters and mine. I’m tired.”
“If you do not avenge them, then they’ve died for nothing.”
“Fuck you, Sansa Stark. Do not presume to tell me what they have died for!” Ellaria speaks viciously.
Sansa smirks, her split lip pulling. “So there is still some anger in you then?”
It is quiet only for a moment before Sansa hears a genuine laugh from the cell next to hers...
***
“Varys? You’re sure?” Arya speaks between gritted teeth.
“Bran saw it.” Jon hovers the missive over a lit candle, silent, as he watches it burn.
He had called on Arya as soon as he had finished reading the raven the first time. She was preparing to leave with Tormund, but he couldn’t let her go without letting her know of Varys’ betrayal.
“Where is he?” Arya speaks evenly.
Jon smothers the last bit of parchment under his boot and sighs, “On a boat, headed for King’s Landing.”
“What?!” Arya looks at him wildly.
“Dany has released Tyrion and Varys of their service. They won’t be counseling her anymore. After the parlay, she couldn’t trust them.”
“Then why would she just let them leave Jon?!”
“What was she meant to do?!”
“Imprison them—keep them on Dragonstone!”
“On what grounds would she have them imprisoned Arya?! They claimed the parlay would work. It didn’t, but they have shown no obvious collusion or betrayal, just terrible decision making.” Jon paces, “Her reign is unstable at best. Imprisoning counsel members on suspicion would give our enemies the opportunity to claim madness. Her father is Aerys Targaryen; I know you haven’t forgotten that. No one has.”
Arya sighs, “Is Varys alone?”
Jon shakes his head, “It was the same boat Ser Brienne left on. We can only hope that she will have found him out.”
“Is there anything he can tell Cersei that could jeopardize us?”
“He is only aware of Princess Elia and Queen Yara’s forces. And Dany never even called on them. I did it for her. He doesn’t know of the Riverlands or the Stormlands.”
Jon sees the acceptance in Arya’s eyes, “What will you do?”
“We continue our march to King’s Landing. None of this will matter once our forces get there. We are on equal footing now.”
“Okay, but what will be done about Varys?”
Jon grunts, “I will side with Dany, whatever she chooses. Bran said he has sent her a raven as well. She will not take this news lightly—”
“—and she shouldn’t.” Arya interrupts.
“Good. You agree.” Jon sighs, “We have to win this Arya; Varys will be dealt with after this war is over. Daenerys will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I won’t accept less.”
Arya smirks, “You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Arya huffs a laugh, and Jon speaks up gently, “She is pregnant, Arya.”
Arya’s eyes widen, “Seriously? Was this on purpose?”
He eyes her drolly, “No, but this isn’t the worst thing to have ever happened, right?”
Arya blinks, “I thought you never wanted children.”
Jon frowns at his sister, “The Seven Kingdoms may still see me as a bastard, but we know it is in name only. Besides, I am Warden of the North. I was a king and a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Things are different. She makes me want more. Do you judge me?”
She smiles kindly, moving towards him, “I would never, Jon. That wasn’t what I meant, and you know that.” He closes his eyes as Arya brushes a hand over his face. “She is an amazing woman. She is what you deserve.”
He grimaces, “I’m not sure I believe that.”
“I do.” Arya shrugs before her expression changes to something serious. She opens her mouth to speak; she closes it instead. She does it again.
“What is it?” Jon moves his hands to her shoulders. She looks at him before scrunching her face in deliberation, and he laughs, “What, Arya?”
Jon listens to her huff before speaking to him quickly, “Iamtoo.”
“You are too, what?” Arya waits silently before her words register. “You’re pregnant Arya?!” She nods jerkily. “And you were going to travel alone to King’s Landing?!”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you—I am still going!” She tries to pull away.
He closes his eyes, tucking his sister into him tightly, “Seven hells Arya.” They are quiet as they embrace each other.
Eventually Arya speaks, squeezing him closer, “I am happy for you Jon, and the queen too.”
He sighs, “And I you, Arya. You’re going to be a mum.” She groans miserably into his chest, and he laughs loudly. He sobers and hugs her tighter, “I cannot tell you not to go. Especially when Dany is still fighting. Just, be safe. Get Sansa out of there.”
She nods against him. Her voice clear, “The pack survives.”
***
Brienne watched suspiciously as Varys tried to walk away from their group as they pulled their boat to hide behind a crag.
It was Tyrion who spoke, “Varys, where do you think you are going?”
The man turned and raised a haughty brow, “Away.”
“Away where?” Podrick huffed, arms crossed against his chest.
“Forgive me, but what do you expect me to do?” Varys watched all of them blandly.
Brienne was sure Varys was intentionally avoiding the question. She places a hand against her sword and follows to stand beside Podrick. She knows that the eunuch notices the action. He purses his lips at her.
“This wasn’t just a free ride, my lord. We have a duty to save Lady Stark. It’s the fault of you and Tyrion that Cersei has her.” Brienne stood taller, a frisson of tension radiating down her spine as she spoke.
“I beg to differ, Ser Brienne. It was Tyrion who convinced the queen. I was merely an observer of the exchange.”
“An accomplice—you defended my choice to the queen.” Tyrion spoke bitingly.
“We have a responsibility to rescue the Lady of Winterfell. That is why the queen let us come here. Both you and Tyrion wanted passage on our boat, so that means that you must help us too. We will need every advantage. Your knowledge of the Red Keep, for instance.” Brienne spoke over Tyrion.
“She allowed the four of you—” He gesticulated with a passive hand to her, Podrick, Jaime and The Hound. “but she forced Tyrion and I off Dragonstone. Besides, you have more than enough men here who know the keep as well as I do.”
“We must remain in Queen Daenerys’ good graces. Saving Lady Stark is a right step in that direction.” Tyrion spoke forcefully.
“All of you are fools if you think I’m going to willingly place myself in a position that could have me caught by Cersei Lannister. I betrayed her when I saved Tyrion. I betrayed her by siding with Daenerys Targaryen and convincing Ellaria Sand and Olenna Tyrell to side with the Dragon Queen. Cersei will kill me. I serve no one, any longer. I have no more obligations to the realm.”
“And you are a fool, if you think that we are oblivious of your machinations Varys.” Jaime spoke arrogantly.
“You’ve spent too long serving the realm; you won’t give it up that easy. Don’t forget, I know where you come from; I know your story.” Brienne watched Varys’ impassivity give way to…something. His eyes fiery, as Tyrion spoke the last few words. It was the most emotion she had ever seen from the man, despite his lax stance.
“This is a waste of fucking time. The fucker isn’t going to helps us. If you cunts are that worried about him, let me slit his throat and be done with it.” Brienne places a hand over The Hound’s chest as he tries to pass toward Varys.
The eunuch huffs, “My birds have flown their nest since we’ve left Dragonstone. Fishmonger’s Square will be a good place to find some old friends—listen for their songs. I suggest you wait until nightfall. Lest you be found out before you have the chance to save Lady Stark.”
“I will go with you.” Tyrion walked closer.
“Absolutely not. You are as discreet as one of the queen’s dragons flying overhead.” Varys pulled the cowl of his long robes, over his face, and started away.
Brienne watched the man leave, refusing to look elsewhere. Once he had gone, she turned to her former squire. “Podrick.” Brienne only had to speak his name. He nodded before moving to follow Varys. “Do not let him see you.” She called out quietly. He turned to acknowledge her and kept moving.
“Do you think that is the best idea?” Jaime asked her bluntly.
“I do not trust him.”
“No one should trust Varys, but I don’t think we should let Podrick follow him. We could use the extra hand—” Jaime didn’t realize his own words, and it was The Hound who snorted; Tyrion grinned conspiratorially. Brienne rolled her eyes, sighing at them all.
The Hound started away from them next.
“Where are you going now?!” She shouted as she moved to block his way.
“I’m not waiting for that cunt to come back. That cockless fucker would sooner stab us in the back. I’m going to find my brother, and I’m going to kill him. I’ll find you after—if you lot aren’t found out. If you are, well then, I’ll get the little bird myself.”
Brienne growled, “We cannot just barge into the keep and start killing people!”
She was immovable as The Hound crowded her space, “I’m not killing people, I’m killing one fucking man. Now move out of my way.”
“You and I both know who will win this fight. I am not letting you go barging into the keep until we have a plan.” Brienne stared The Hound down until he growled, turning away and pushing himself against a rock.
Brienne turned to the Lannister brothers who were whispering to one another heatedly, “Tyrion, how did Varys help you escape the keep?”
She watched as he turned to smile at her humorously…
***
It must have been her third glass of wine, having forgone her food for the red dram in front of her. Her appetite hadn’t existed for days now. She felt eyes boring through her as she poured a fourth glass…
“What are you staring at?!” She speaks impatiently; the sole sound of scraping utensils against plates, ceases. She is sat at the head of the table, and she eyeballs the man sat beside her. He has the audacity to curl his lip as he continues to watch her silently. Suspiciously.
“Are you feeling well, my love?” It rolls off her lover’s tongue easily, but his tone is insincere.
“Why would I not be?” Cersei speaks viciously, sparing a glance at the other man seated at their table. Captain Harry Strickland of the Golden Company—a clueless, incapable, dolt of a man, she was loathed to realize. She sees a wariness in his expression as he watches the two of them interact. Cersei turns back to Euron…
“I’m told a woman in your condition who gets too far into their cups while carrying, could harm their babe. I realize that you’ve been preoccupied with trying to find any information about our enemies since Qyburn got a spear in the gut. It seems it is taking its toll.” Euron stares pointedly at her glass.
“Are you with child? The two of you are unmarried, your grace.” Strickland speaks, awestruck.
She tightens a fist around her glass as she ignores him, a feeling of shame burns through her. The shame isn’t her drinking habit or the words Strickland spoke.
Instead, she is shamed at having to share her table, a queen’s table, with either man. Weak. Worthless. Spineless.
She is angry, vengeful.
Cersei swallows her hatred, “You are right, my love. I am tired. Perhaps I should return to my rooms and rest.” She puts on an heir of demureness. Old habits.
“You will eat first.” Euron speaks abruptly.
“Excuse me?” Cersei speaks disbelievingly. Euron forcefully pushes her plate towards her.
“You are with child. You need to eat.” He speaks between his teeth. She realizes that he is challenging her.
“How dare you?! I’ve carried four children in my womb—I know what is right for my child—”
“Four dead children now.” She hears the laughter in his voice. Her eyes widen. His face turns angry, “Eat the fucking food.”
Cersei works her jaw as she looks between Euron and her plate.
It is poison—
She feels The Mountain step in closer from his place behind her. Her heart beats faster as she stares at the plate. He wants to kill me. She startles from her thoughts as Euron laughs—his temperament changing again. She looks up to see him watching The Mountain—he was laughing at her guard, not her.
Euron’s gaze lands on her again, “If I wanted to poison you darling, I would have put it in your wine.” He speaks her thoughts aloud, and she swallows tightly. He reaches over, and she flinches. Her face reddens as he smiles viciously and grabs food from her plate. They watch each other as he gnaws the tough meat—his stare, unblinking.
He swallows the food, kicking out a leg and draping an arm over the chair beside him. “Besides, I would much rather see the red flowing as I cut you open; it wouldn’t be as fun watching it being swallowed down your pretty throat.”
His laughter echoes in the empty hall.