The news of her brother and mother's death came as the biggest shock to Sansa. Every time she would hear word of Robb's march, it sounded so positive, that he was surely coming to rescue her and kill Joffrey. But the damned Freys betrayed them all, slaying her brother and his men, sickeningly replacing his head with that of his direwolf, Grey Wind. However, it was the thought of losing her lady mother that hurt Sansa the most. Though she loved her brother dearly, it was her mother who had shown her the most love. She hardly left her room for days and neither ate nor drank as she wept her soul into her pillow.

Two weeks passed and Sansa's visits to the Sept became scarce, the words exchanged even scarcer. She visited him to bring him news but that was all. At word of her brother's murder, he barely offered any consoling words, merely apologized awkwardly before becoming silent again. She feared his rage again and resented the fact that he had acted so harshly around her and could not console her in her time of need. It made her feel so worthless and ugly that he cared more for revenge than for her safety and well-being. But she was a child and had been fooled by kind words and promises of safety. I will not be fooled again.

The day before the wedding, Sansa paid one last trip to the Great Sept of Baelor, this time choosing to kneel in the hall before the Maiden to offer her prayers. The marble floor was cold through the fabric of her dress and hard but this was a comfort to the eldest Stark daughter. She prayed for her safety on the long journey ahead of her, for the strength to remain pious and pure when living in the wilderness alone with a man, and for Sandor's heart to calm and be at peace. When she felt this was sufficient, she sought out the tree in the garden where knight and maid were first reunited.

In the secret corner only they knew Sandor waited for her. His large fingers played with the frayed hem of his sleeves. She's late, he thought to himself, staring at the clouds obstructing the sun. Maybe… maybe that little shit got to her again. He shook his head, pushing the thought from his mind. He had been so stressed lately that he could barely hold a conversation with the girl and she seemed to grow more and more discomforted around him. It's about time she realized what I am. But I shouldn't have lost my damn head. He had a hard time swallowing his own pity. In the distance he spotted her fiery hair bobbing as she glided towards the tree.

"Silent Brother, might we pray together in this quiet wood? It would make my heart glad to have one of the faith send his prayers with mine." Sansa approached him, repeating the line coldly, the first thing she had said to him in the garden those months ago, a secret only they shared. As the two knelt together, he glanced around them before scratchily whispering to her.

"Do you have your things together, lass?" She nodded. "Good. The wedding feast will go well into the night. When everyone is good and drunk, you excuse yourself and head back to your room. Grab your bag and get to the stables. I'll meet you there."

"But how will you get there without detection?" Sansa whispered back.

"Don't you worry yourself about that. Just be there, girl." He stood up and slipped his hands into his sleeves. "And don't go near Stranger. He'll bite your ear off." Sandor clumsily turned on his heel and retreated inside the Sept, once again leaving Sansa Stark all alone. She picked herself up and quietly returned back to her palanquin and guards. A sickening feeling was taking root in her gut that she would never again know what it was like to feel at home somewhere. Winterfell would never be home again without her family.

Others take my fucking tongue, Sandor paced inside his room. He had swept the broken pieces of wood into the further corner where they served as a reminder of his damned temper. He mindlessly kicked at the mound, sending splinters scattering across the floor. He sighed and sunk into his bed. I have no idea how to get to the stable without killing every guard on the way. He wasn't opposed to the idea, but as soon as he killed someone, the entire guard would be alerted and it would impede their escape. He reached for his longsword that lay underneath him in a slit in the mattress. He felt it every night as a constant reminder of who he was and how far he had fallen. As he fingered the cold steel, the torchlight reflecting in the blade reminded him of the little bird with her Tully hair. I've been a goddamn fool to her. Roaring, he hurled the sword into the wood pile where it stuck straight up in a beam from the table, light bouncing off the steel.

The ride back to the Red Keep was bumpy, the bearers providing no courtesy to their load. Shae walked beside the palanquin, her hand placed atop the roof in protection. Neither of them trusted the guards Joffrey assigned to Lady Stark.

Outside of her tiny wooden cage, King's Landing was bustling with the sounds of life. Children ran alongside the litter chasing a small cat who hissed as it ran away with a rat in its jaws. Vendors were hawking their wares, fresh fruit and hot bread, jewelry of cheap metals and fake gems and sweet oils to perfume merchant's wives. The commoners were filthily clad in tattered rags but the smiles on their faces were genuine. As she peered out, a small girl no older uthan ten stopped and stared back at her. She had muddy brown hair cropped short and a long face, a fat pigeon grasped in her grimy claws. The girl reminded Sansa of Arya, her wild sister. She never though that she would miss the little sister who would tease her and pull her hair. Sansa cried the rest of the way back to the castle.

Stepping into the courtyard, Sansa realized just how many people had been brought in from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms and even from across the Narrow Sea to prepare for the royal wedding. Men with forked beards dyed blue, ladies dressed in sheer silks that made Sansa blush, and children running around that she assumed worked for Lord Varys.

Stone walls were being draped with green, gold, black, and crimson banners to mark the joining of Houses Tyrell and Baratheon-Lannister, as Joffrey claimed both Houses. The colors clashed horribly and hurt Sansa's eyes. As she made her way towards the Tower of the Hand, she caught sight of the Lord Baelish striding her way in his usual haughty manner.

"Lady Sansa, what a pleasure to see such beauty among this chaos." He chimed, kissing her hand with a little too much vigor, leaving a trail of saliva on her skin. She repressed the bile in her throat.

"I am very glad to see the King so happy to have found a lady befitting his station." She replied, motioning towards the King's banner that hung overhead. Petyr scoffed, disgusted by the combination of Baratheon and Lannister.

"My Lady, I was wondering if we could speak in private." He offered his arm and she reluctantly took it. She nodded and he led her out into the garden that stood just below the Tower of the Hand, a sight she took pleasure in every morning and evening from her window. They strolled in silence towards her favorite spot, an ornate marble bench that stood among bushes of winter roses. She favored their blue petals over those of the summer flowers that were found in abundance in the south, as had her late Aunt Lyanna. Baelish awkwardly placed himself up on the seat and patted next to him, inviting her to join him. She complied.

"I am very sorry for your loss, my lady." He said, but Sansa merely nodded in reply. She hated having to hear it again and again that her family was slowly dying off and leaving her to rot. "Have you decided what you are wearing to the wedding, my lady?" The small talk bored her, but she indulged him.

"A silver gown given to me by my lady mother in the fashion of the North. One must always remember where you come from."

"Truer words have never been spoken. I wonder if you might honor me by wearing something special I had made for you." He pulled a silver hairnet laced with deep purple amethysts out of a small pouch tied to his waist. It was beautiful but more than she could ever afford to pay back in her current situation.

"My lord, you honor me, but it is too extravagant. And now that I am no longer meant to be Queen, I cannot possibly pay you back." She flushed, her hand hovering over the gem encrusted accessory that lay in his hands. It was truly beautiful but she could not possibly hope to wear it.

"My dear, I do not ask that you pay me back. This is my gift to you. You have missed out on receiving wedding gifts, this is a way to praise you for being such a beautiful representation of House Stark." His words were acid in her ears yet she could not take her eyes off of the hairnet. Perhaps she could wear it as a favor to Lord Baelish in honor of the friendship he and her mother had once shared.

"I suppose it would be alright. You are too kind, my lord." She reached out for the hairnet but Baelish quickly pulled his hand back.

"I wouldn't handle it too roughly, my dear. It is very delicate and we wouldn't want it to break before the festivities, would we?" He chuckled to himself, dropping it back it back into the black velvet pouch he pulled it from and handed it to Sansa. She marveled at its heaviness in her hands. But there was a tiny voice in the back of her head screaming that he must have an ulterior motive. She hushed it by giving him a genuine smile.

The castle was filled with more people than Sansa had ever seen, ranging from Casterly Rock all the way to Dorne. The crown had spared no expense for what was touted as the most expensive wedding in living memory. Sansa shied away from all of them and preferred the solitude of her chambers. Around noon the parade of royals made their way to the Great Sept of Baelor, only 700 of the most important people invited inside its great walls while the rest of the party remained outside, cooking in the southron sun.

Sansa was perched with the Lannisters, still their hostage. Next to her was Tyrion Lannister who kept shifting from side to side, a permanent scowl etched on his face.

The ceremony was surprisingly beautiful, the room reflecting the prisms created by the High Septon's crown, spun gold with crystals woven into it sitting high on his head. The royal couple stood between the Father and the Mother, befitting their new station as the parents of the realm. Joffrey looked oddly regal in a rose colored doublet and crimson cloak with gold and black etchings of the lion and stag, the gold crown on his head blending into his golden hair. But it was Margaery who took her breath away. A dress of ivory silk and Myrish lace fit the girl like a glove, her skirt flowing out like the petals of a rose embroidered with seed pearls and her maiden cloak in Tyrell colors, golden roses on a green field draped over her shoulders.

After seven vows, seven blessings, seven promises and exchange of cloaks, it was time to file out. The courtyard outside the doors was packed with commoners and visitors from all over Westeros. It required a pathway lined with Goldcloaks from the City Watch making a pathway large enough to avoid the groping hands of those below them. The royal couple left first, Joffrey smiling in what looked like true happiness and Margaery content in her new found position. After followed the parents of the couple and finally Sansa, accompanied by Tyrion who was still scowling, complaining about the ceremony being too long and boring. Sansa found it surprisingly beautiful.

The sun was shining brighter than expected and the reflection off of the soldier's armor was blinding. She stopped to admire the common folk who found enough coin to purchase flags with the sigil of King Joffrey, a Baratheon stag meeting a Lannister lion, and were waving them wildly about. Even a few carrying the Tyrell rose could be found among the throng.

Sansa found a quiet spot at the foot of Baelor the Blessed and stood, watching the guests of the Iron Throne make their way to their litters and head back to the Red Keep to start the wedding festivities. Behind her, tucked into a dark corner of the numerous doors leading into the Sept stood Sandor Clegane peering at her. He tugged his robes and cowl further over his face instinctively, muttering the first silent prayer in his life to the Warrior to make their getaway smooth and undetected tonight before slinking back down to his chambers. The girl could feel eyes boring into her back and looked behind her into the shadows, but he had already

Inside the dark and dampened hallways, Sandor silently cursed himself for going out exposed in front of the crowd, but the temptation of viewing the Stark girl one more time before they left was too much to bear. Gods, she's perfect, he sighed, leaning against the broken door that stood propped against its frame. He quickly threw the few belongings he owned into a sack and placed his sword on his bed. He had left his armor behind in the Red Keep, thrown into his room to save on space and detection. He would need to buy more or steal it. Maybe they left mine alone in my chamber and I can just go grab it. The thought was enticing, though it almost ensured he would be discovered. But if he hoped to get far with the Stark girl, there was no doubt that they would face trouble eventually and he would need good armor if he ever hoped to protect her. He resigned himself to spending the rest of the evening dozing on the bed for what might be the last peaceful sleep he'd have in a long time.

The ride back to the Red Keep took twice as long as they made their way through the throngs of people that lined the roads cheering for their new Queen. Those once could have been for me, she thought pensively, bringing her knees to her chest and curling up inside the palanquin. She wasn't sad to lose the title of Queen or Joffrey's wife, but it hurt a little to lose the admiration of so many people who would've loved her in Joffrey's stead. Perhaps one day the people of the North would love her just the same as the people of the South loved Lad- Queen Margaery.

Her gown was changed with ease as she slipped into her purple velvet lined gown, the last remaining gift she held from her lady mother. She sat straight-backed in her chair as Shae and another maid pulled her flowing hair back into an elegant plait and delicately placed the hairnet around it. When the unnamed maid accidentally pulled her hair, Sansa slapped her hand out of frustration and nerves. The girl whimpered and Sansa felt horrible, but this would not be the first nor last time the girl would be hurt in response to her carelessness. She stared at herself in the mirror, turning her head this way and that to catch the glint and glimmer of the amethysts in her radiant red hair. It was beautiful and extravagant, more than she warranted. But she would wear it with pride and relish in the stares she would receive in her last night in King's Landing.

She spent the few hours before the festivities pacing her small chamber, her gut fluttering wildly as she fretted about tonight. What if we're caught? What will Joffrey do to us? Will he kill me or maim me? She could answer none of these questions but continued to pace, wearing out the soles of her silk slippers. Her riding boots were stowed away in her trunk for when she returned. Nothing would scream "runaway" quite like wearing worn out riding boots to a royal feast. Shae could hardly console her lady. The woman knew nothing of Sansa's plans but could sense that something was amiss but she dared not ask questions. The less she knew the better, for she would not have to feign ignorance if she was questioned. When the sun was finally making its descent in the sky, it was time for Sansa to head down to the Throne Room and pretend to be happy for the newly wedded King and Queen of Westeros.

The Iron Throne was the first anyone saw when walking into the room. It was draped in ribbons of the House colors belonging to both the Tyrells and to Joffrey's Houses Baratheon and Lannister, a mishmash of shades. The Throne Room was lined with banners of Joffrey's sigil and below the stained glass windows stood lines of servants with finger foods and drink: Dornish and Arbor wines, spiced cider with orange peels, platters lined with numerous types of cheeses, and of course lemon cakes. But the nerves of her upcoming escape had her stomach in knots and she felt nauseous.

At the ring of a bell, all guests were seated around the large tables that lined the hall, Sansa being placed far to the right of the couple beside Tyrion who downed a cup of wine before the entrance of the royal couple. A withered hand startled Sansa as Lady Olenna came up behind her and gave her a sweet peck on the cheek.

"You do look quite exquisite, child," she purred, her hands flitting to the amethyst hairnet. "The wind has been at your hair, though," she exclaimed as the old woman fiddled with Sansa's hair, tucking stray ends back into the accessory. Lady Olenna chuckled and moved down the rows of seats, exchanging pleasantries before claiming her spot to the left of her granddaughter's seat. Sansa watched her a while before indulging in some wine to calm her nerves.

The doors at the far end of the hall burst open, revealing two white chargers with the King and Queen perched on their backs striding towards the dais where those closest to the royal family sat. King Joffrey honored his Baratheon side by wearing a golden doublet with black sleeves and crimson pants slashed with black velvet, the gold threading catching the firelight from the sconces on the walls. Margaery had changed from her wedding gown to a gown of pale green that was quite revealing, baring her pale shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Even from a distance Sansa could see her chest rise and fall with each breath. But a new detail was added in the golden crown that sat on Margaery's brown, a thin gold ring that shone through her brown curls. A vision of beauty that Sansa could never hope to have been as Queen.

The feast was a seventy-seven course meal, more food than Sansa would ever have again in her life. She regretted not having the ability to sneak food out of the hall for her long journey. Instead she focused on the entertainment for the evening, a night filled with bawdy singers, dancing bears, Pentoshi tumblers, and fools on stilts. Sansa would take a bite of food from each dish set in front of her, trying to hold the food in her stomach. Lord Tyrion notices and gave her a concerned look.

"Sansa, is aught amiss?" He asked, quickly patting her hand. She had barely touched her food and had been lost in thought of how the evening would go after she had finally fled the city. She nodded and excused her behavior, blaming it on her attention to the fool who was stumbling around on stilts chasing a fat serving boy.

Past the middle of the courses, Joffrey called for his jousters to enter. Sansa looked around worriedly, knowing there was no space for jousting. However, two dwarves atop a dog and pig. She could sense Tyrion stiffening next to her at the insult, but the hall erupted into laughter, Joffrey's being the loudest of them all.

When the dwarves had jousted and a champion was found among them, Joffrey stood on the table, staring straight at his Uncle, crying for him to join them to see who would be the true champion. Tyrion bristled and stood on the table to combat his nephew, yelling back that if he had to joust, so did Joffrey. The boy king did not understand the mockery, and when he asked why, Tyrion replied, "Because you are the only person I could defeat!"

The insult was not taken lightly. Both stood down from the table and regained their seats, but the peace was held for a brief moment. Joffrey stumbled his way down the table with the large seven-sided wedding chalice in his hands and dumped its contents all over his uncle. Sansa sat in shock, her jaw hanging agape. Queen Margaery rushed to her husband's side and gently ushered him back to his seat, feigning a toast to be given or a song to be heard. She was more fit to be his wife than any lady in the realm.

By the time the sun had finally sunken behind the hills and darkness enveloped the Red Keep, the pigeon pie was brought out, with hushed whispers and excited giggles echoing in the hall. The King and Queen slowly made their way to the center of the room where the pie had been wheeled, its diameter taking up the space between both rows of tables. Joffrey called for Ser Ilyn's sword to be used to cut the pie's crust open to release the live doves baked inside. But when the executioner made unsheathed the six-foot blade from his back, the smokey steel caught Sansa's eyes.

"What blade is that?" She whispered to no one in particular, but Lord Tyrion heard her and he winced, knowing the pain the answer would bring. The hilt was encrusted with dragonglass and rubies, looking more decorative than practical. But the grey color of the blade gave Sansa her answer.

"What have they done to my father's sword?" She hissed, her eyes never leaving her father's Valyrian greatsword, Ice. When she was far younger the blade intrigued her, not knowing the significance of Valyrian steel. But after years of seeing the blade that never left her father's side, it was unmistakable that it was indeed Ice. No executioner would possess a blade so fine as that. Her fists tightened in her lap at the mockery of her family sword.

Joffrey returned to insult his uncle after the pie cutting, grabbing handfuls of Tyrion's own slice of pigeon pie and stuffing them into his mouth, talking as he chewed and taking sips of wine in between bites. After the second bite he began coughing, first slowly but by his seventh sip of wine it only got worse until the coughs stopped and only a wheezing could be heard.

Sansa quickly stood, her chair toppling behind her. Joffrey was red in the face and choking, his clammy hands clawing at his throat, leaving bloody trails exposing the muscle taut in his neck. Cersei was cradling her son, screaming for a Maester while Margaery was in hysterics crying next to her new husband. Sansa paled. How am I going to get out of here without someone spotting me and blaming me for his death? She started to panic, her lungs not filling with air and she feared she was choking as well. But the chaos that ensued with people rushing from the room and servants running in to aid their king provided the perfect cover and she regained her breath. She ducked out of the room and ran as fast as her legs could carry her to her chamber. As she left the Throne Room, Cersei's anguished scream could be heard echoing down every chamber and into every room in the Red Keep. Sansa ran faster, reaching her room and barring the door behind her. Shae was already inside, pulling her sack from the trundle at the foot of her bed.

"You must get going. Now!" She hissed, shoving the pack at the girl.

"But how-how do you know?" Sansa stumbled over her words, the image of Joffrey's bloody fingernails at his throat in the forefront of her mind.

"Nevermind that. Put your boots on. I'll get you out of here." Sansa did as she was instructed, deftly sliding out of her slippers and pulling on the sturdy leather boots she wore from Winterfell to Kings Landing a year ago. She threw the pack over her shoulder and grabbed the fur lined cloak from her wardrobe before following the Lorathi woman out of the chamber and down the far staircase leading out to the middle bailey. Across the way were the kennels which connected to the stables.

Behind her, Shae gave the girl a shove before turning back. "But what about you?" Sansa cried. Should anyone see Shae helping her, her head would be on a spike by morning.

"I'll be fine. Now go, my lady. You mustn't keep him waiting." She winked and faded into the dark night back into the tower while Sansa ran alongside the walls toward the stables.

Sandor kept his cowl pulled tightly across his face and his hood nearly covered his eyes. His right hand was tucked into the left sleeve where a small dagger sat as he clutched the handle. His longsword was strapped to his back under the robes, away from prying eyes, his sack tied to his back above the robes to disguise any suspicious lumps. Should anyone stop him, it was his "vow" to remain silent and he would make sure they took the same vow as well should they try and stop him. When he reached the walls of the Red Keep, there were double the amount of guards and they were on edge. Shit, what the fuck happened? He thought, scanning the wall for an alternate form of entrance. While he stood in contemplation, a young guard, a greenboy by the looks of him, came running up to Sandor.

"You're a Silent Brother, aren't you? Perhaps you can help the King. Please brother, he's just inside. You must hurry!" The boy cried, nearly pulling Sandor past the gates and into the courtyard. Sandor looked questioningly at the guard and the pair who stood by the gate, but none seemed to recognize him. On the contrary, they seemed to think he was there for the king. Something had gone wrong. I hope that little shit finally got what he deserved. Sandor chuckled at his own dark thoughts before rushing in the direction of the Throne Room, turning abruptly the opposite way once he was out of view of the guard tower.

Eventually the darkness overtook him and he was able to feel his way around until he could hear the dogs whining in their kennels and the horses stamping their feet. Something's wrong. Rushing towards the stables he found Sansa huddled in the stall of a chestnut mare who was silently grazing on the hay next to her feet. In the next stall Stranger was stamping his hooves and snorting.

"You tried to touch him, didn't you?" Sandor rasped, startling the girl. She quickly stood, brushing hay off of her dress. She said nothing in response but ran to him and threw her arms around his hulking figure.

"Joffrey's dead. We have to leave." She whimpered. They didn't exchange another word as he quickly saddled the warhorse who seemed much calmer at seeing his master. The warrior was sweet with the horse, a gentility that Sansa had never seen him exhibit save for the comfort of her own chambers when he would care for her. Once saddled, he grabbed both their sacks and tucked them into the saddle bags, lifting her onto the horse before throwing himself on behind her. The feel of him pressed behind her made her blush. His heat radiated off of him like fire and his thighs pressed themselves against hers. It was most inappropriate but she could think on that later.

"We'll grab provisions on the way out. I know a place." He whispered in her ear. I had hoped to grab my armor before leaving, he thought solemnly. This would mean more coin spent just to fit him with rudimentary armor when the coin could go towards food and shelter and maybe a passage to Essos.

The warhorse was sure in its path and barreled its way towards the gate Sandor had entered in, the greenboy stupidly facing outwards toward the city, never hearing the horse until they were upon him. Stranger's hooves made short work of the boy's back, the other guards absent from their post. Seems that the boy king is finally dead.

Stranger rode fast and true through the city as they made their way towards the south, towards the Kingswood. However, the guards lacking in the Red Keep found themselves a new home at the gates of Kings Landing, barring anyone from leaving the city as they searched for the King's killer. Sandor tightened his grip on the reins, rearing the horse to speed past those waiting to leave and over the guards. Swords and spears barely had time to be drawn as the pair raced past the gates, the sound of arrows raining down around them but the darkness quickly hid their path.

The ride was long and hard, never stopping until after many hours and the rays of the first sun shone on Sansa's face did they see the line of trees ahead of them.

"We're hiding in the Kingswood? This will be the first place they look for us!" Sansa panicked. Sandor placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

"Easy, girl. We're not staying here, merely using it for protection. We're heading further south than this. Rainwood is where we're heading."

"Rainwood?"

"Aye. Davos Seaworth was granted those lands by Stannis and both are in Dragonstone. Safter place for us until we can find a ship."

"Where is this ship taking us? Eastwatch-by-the-sea?" She questioned, fearing the long journey on the choppy ocean. Her stomach could barely handle the thought.

"No, little bird. I'm taking you to the Free Cities. Only place where I can keep you safe." The softness in his voice was comforting and she sighed, leaning against his chest. It was a long ride ahead of them.