Ineffable → Sansa Stark

Henrik V

~*~

Nobody was doing anything. Henrik looked around and saw that most people's gaze was fixed on the King, wide-eyed glints of anticipation shining visibly, instead of Lady Sansa. Others tensed and looked towards the ground. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? How could they all just stand there?

"Get her up!" yelled the King impatiently.

An old man next to Henrik flinched but otherwise remained silent. The Hound pulled her to her feet. Henrik's chest burned as he glared at the King, who wasn't paying attention to him.

"Someone has to stop this," he muttered to Rubin. "Lady Sansa shouldn't be subjected to this. No one should, it's cruel. Why are the Knights not doing anything?" he demanded, catching a few interested glances from those close by who heard him.

Rubin gripped his arm tight, dissuading him from leaving. "Lower your voice. Don't you even think about it, Master Henrik," he hissed, narrowing his eyes. "I know you. Do not be foolish — it's not up to us to question his Grace's actions. The girl is a traitor after all, or have you forgotten that tiny fact?"

"That doesn't mean she should be made a mockery of in front of the whole court," he snapped back, furious that Rubin wouldn't see his way. "What kind of men are they? Treating a highborn lady like this. It's despicable."

He motioned towards the White Cloaks, jutting his chin out. Rubin clenched his jaw but refused to answer. Henrik scoffed and watched with bated breath as Ser Lancel Lannister stepped forwards on command of the King.

"Ser Lancel," King Joffrey spat, glaring daggers at Sansa, "tell her of this outrage."

There was neither pity nor kindness in the look Lancel Lannister gave Sansa. Henrik felt baffled. What had she done that was so terrible to invoke the anger of the King and be treated as if she were a straw dummy in the practice yard by his Knights?

"Using some vile sorcery, your brother descended with an army of wargs, not three days' ride from Lannisport. Thousands of good men were butchered as they slept, without the chance to lift swords. After the slaughter, the northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."

Lord and ladies alike gasped and raised their hands to their mouths, some fanning themselves. It looked as if most people believed it. Rubin made the sign of the seven-crossed star on his chest and whispered a silent prayer under his breath. Henrik was less impressed.

"Wargs and wild tales. Is he making some sort of jest?" said Henrik, shaking his head, feeling incredulous beyond words. It was as if he were watching this happen like a terrible dream. "That's beyond the realms of what men are capable of, even northmen. Don't tell me you believe that horseshit?"

"Mind your tongue, Master Henrik. And might I remind you that those men include House Farman's bannermen, your father's men," Rubin pointed out, tightening his grip against Henrik's arm. "Brave men, aiding him, who gave their lives to defend his Grace's Kingdom against a usurper. I would show a little more offence to that if I were you. The King has his reasons, you must see that. She could be aiding her brother without us knowing." Rubin tossed a suspicious look at Sansa.

"Forgive me," said Henrik, tilting his head, "I didn't realise that Lady Sansa was skilful enough to travel miles of land and slaughter our men by her own hands and travel back without anyone noticing." He raised an eyebrow. "Are you honestly hearing yourself? You sound like a raving lunatic."

"This isn't a joke, Henrik!" said a frustrated Rubin, yanking him closer. Rubin's voice lowered as people threw eager, inquisitive looks at the pair. "For your own sake, let this play out. Don't defend a traitor's daughter. Think of what your father would say."