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Joffrey was in a good mood that stuffy afternoon. As all in the King’s court knew, this was not a good sign, and Sansa Stark had more to fear than almost any other in the Red Keep.
“Ah, the Lady Sansa,” Joffrey said ebulliently as she appeared and bowed before him. The smell of blood lingered in the air around him. “How nice to have you join us. It is a hot summer day, is it not? Please, have a drink.”
“I thank you kindly, my king, I am not thirsty.”
“I insist,” Joffrey replied, a hint of steel entering his tone. “Qyburn, give her the goblet.”
The goblet smoked suspiciously, the liquid inside a strange blue. Sansa drank obediently, wincing at the horrid taste but not daring to resist the command.
“Do you know what you just drank, Lady Sansa?”
“No, my king.”
“I will allow you to discover for yourself: Tell me a lie, any lie.”
Sansa looked around as if searching for a hidden trap. Hesitantly she ventured: “My hair is -” she had meant to say ‘black’, but the moment her lips formed the first syllable, the lie flooded her mouth like bilgewater; she sputtered and choked, and finally fell silent panting, and red in the face.
Joffrey laughed uproariously at her discomfort and humiliation.
“Is not it wonderfully effective? It is a truth serum, developed by Qyburn himself. We have already found it to be most useful. Would you like to know what we discovered?”
A shudder went through Sansa. Behind the king, armor creaked as Sandor Clegane shifted slightly in place.
“What did you discover, my king?”
“While testing out the potion on Ser Dontos, imagine how shocked I was to discover that he was in Littlefinger's pay. Did you know that he had a little plan for you? With the help of Ser Dontos he was going to smuggle you away from here to the Eyrie and use you as he wished. Would you like to know what I have ordered done to Ser Dontos and Littlefinger?”
“Please, my king,” Sansa’s voice shook. “I swear, I did not know that Lord Baelish planned to spirit me away. Please do not punish me for his sins.”
Joffrey looked slightly disappointed. “If you say you did not know, you have nothing to fear. I have seen the efficacy of the truth serum myself.” He considered her for a moment, with the air of a venomous snake eyeing a juicy rabbit. “Your brother fights me north of here this very moment. Tell me, Lady Sansa, whom are you loyal to?”
“Whom- whom am I loyal to? The answer is simple, my king.” She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, buying a few precious seconds more to think. “I am loyal to the one whom my soul loves.”
“You love your brother,” Joffrey posited suspiciously.
“Yes, my king, despite everything I do love Robb. But when I speak of my soul’s beloved, I am speaking of a- a romantic love. My beloved is in King's Landing. He is the one who stands here before me, in this very room.”
Joffrey raised an eyebrow and looked around him hesitantly. Sandor Clegane stood behind him to the right, Ser Arys Oakhart to the left. “Ser Arys Oakhart is often considered handsome,” he mused.
“Not him!” Sansa cried. “Please, my king, believe me. My heart’s beloved is no Kingsguard; he has taken no vow to forsake lands or women as the Kingsguard do. He is the king of my heart. Please, my liege, I loved you with a young, innocent love from the moment I saw you. A love that persisted even through the death of Lady and the arrest of my father. Do not you remember?”
“And even now, after everything, your love persists?” Joffrey asked, leaning forward gleefully.
“There have been times,” Sansa confessed quietly, “That I thought my beloved to be cruel. But I have come to understand with time the wisdom that he was attempting to impart on me, to understand the goodness of the intentions behind what I saw as cruelties. My heart is built for loyalty, my king, it is not easily swayed away from loving. And though I fear that my love is unrequited, still I love - steadily, patiently, seeking no reward, but wishing only for the happiness of my beloved.”
“Stupid Sansa, of course your love is unrequited,” Joffrey said brusquely, enjoying the blush of humiliation that filled Sansa’s cheeks. “However, you have pleased me. You may go now. Dog, escort her back to her rooms. Qyburn, go and fetch Janos Slynt next.”
Sansa bowed, and backed out of the room, Sandor Clegane close behind. For as long as was necessary, she kept her countenance, back straight, gait graceful and light, but as Qyburn turned in a different direction and she and her silent shadow found themselves secluded in the hallway leading up to her rooms, the facade collapsed.
Violent shivers overtook her entire body as the reality of the horrible fate she had avoided by a hairsbreadth overcame her. Sandor took her up gently into his arms. “You did good, little bird,” he said quietly, adjusting an arm at her back and an arm under her knees and gathering her to his chest. “I’ll take you from here.”
Slowly, the warmth of his body seeped into hers and the shivers calmed. Exhausted, she allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder.
Neither said a word until they were back in Sansa’s room. Upon arriving, and with the greatest reluctance, he set her back down on her feet, but he did not step away, remaining so close that only the slightest breath of air could pass between them.
“You’re a very clever little bird,” he told her, with a hint of a smile pulling at his scars. She smiled back shakily.
Then he bent to her ear and with the barest of whispers, for he knew that in the Red Keep the walls had ears, he whispered: “You do not love Joffrey.”
“I do not,” she breathed back.
“And you do not love Ser Arys Oakheart.”
“No.”
“Or Qyburn.”
She had to suppress a chuckle as she shook her head.
He was silent, for a moment, but his hand came up and stroked her hair. “He was wrong, little bird,” Sandor finally said, “About it being unrequited.”
“Oh,” Sansa breathed, and a true smile overtook her lips for the first time in longer than she could remember, a smile that was soon chased off by something even sweeter – a hesitant kiss.
“Littlefinger and Dontos won’t get you out of here, little bird,” he said quietly after reluctantly pulling away, “And you’re better off not thinking about what’s become of them. But there is another- one who would take you away from here. Not to use you, as Baelish wished to, but to keep you safe and happy, as comfortable as a little bird in her nest with nothing to do but to sing and to love him. One who would not trample carelessly on your loyal heart but would keep it as a treasure. If you were but to give him the word.”
“There is one with whom I would go to the ends of the earth,” she replied, “If he were but to ask.”
“I ask.”
“And I accept.”