The Game of Cyvasse

A Dance with a Dragon

Sansa Stark

Broken. Lost. Hollow. Of heart shattered to dust. That was how Aegon looked to Sansa, as the corpse of Lord Connington left for the Great Sept of Baelor, escorted by a dozen of Silent Sisters. Sent, to await the outcome of the looming battle as they all must, then endure the war until the castle of Griffin's Roost returned to the King’s banner, for journey to south, to his ancestral home. Like her father's bones did, though by now the remains of Lord Eddard Stark might lie under the ruins of Winterfell, in the chill of the crypts. She had always feared them, yet, at this very moment she would give anything to just walk through the ancient corridors, among the ghosts of Stark kings. By the grace of the old gods, perhaps I still may.

Far away, war horns sounded. The dragon's own or the stag's, Sansa had no ear for matters of war. From the Rookery's tower at dawn, she strained her eyes to glimpse Stannis's horsemen across the river's mouth, but saw naught. Haldon assured her that the foe was hidden in the Kingswood by the Kingsroad, biding their time for their king's ships to land. The Halfmaester spoke his words with a queer glee, as if she would be vexed if the enemy was not there. Rumours said that skirmishes had already been fought in the woods, with Black Balaq's bowmen harrying the provisions coming from Storm's End. Darker voices claimed that Lord Tarly had already joined his strength with Ser Guyard Morrigen, forging a fearsome host of more than thirty thousand swords waiting beyond the river.

The cortege with the late Hand's remains was guarded by two scores of Golden Company knights and captains, led by Lymond Pease and the Peake brothers: Laswell, the grizzled man, yet still as kind as her father had been, and the much younger Pykewood, a comely knight Jeyne had a fancy for.

Aegon lingered in the yard, his milk-pale Targaryen face, lost its beauty, turning to a hollow shell of sorrow and injury. He looks almost ill, Sansa noted. The ladies of the court wept as the procession departed, but the king's eyes stayed dry, too careworn to shed a tear. Sansa knew he was not a stranger to emotion, but the last few days had drained him.

She followed him as he made his way back to the inner keep, avoiding the throng of the outer bailey. The castle was bristling with steel, with armored men at every turn, and a thousand more upon the walls, preparing for Stannis's assault. Upstream, the royal fleet was ready to bar Stannis, whether he came by sea or by the river. She entered the Great Hall behind Aegon and climbed the long spiral of the serpentine steps to the throne room. Two Kingsguard flanked the king: Rymen Rykker, a mere boy, younger than her, whom men now called 'Shieldless Rymen,' for he had cast away his shield in the trial, and fought with two swords, showing great skill; and Daemon Sand, a Dornishman who would sometimes give Sansa thinly veiled lustful glances. Both white brothers noticed her, but said naught, obediently following their liege.

Only Aegon entered the throne room; the Kingsguard remained outside, at the massive oaken door that was left ajar. They are leaving the way for me, she realized, hastening her pace. Ser Daemon gave her a nod as she passed through the door, and the loud thump of oak left Aegon and Sansa alone in the vast hall, half a world apart.

He turned his head when her soft steps emerged from a concealment of the noise the closing door made. Every step she made echoed in the dim walls of the great chamber as Aegon waited for her motionless, resembling a statue.

"I thought, perhaps, you needed me," she whispered gently. Her heart sank seeing his face up close, marred by bruised islands blemishing his fairness, connected by bridges of half-healed cuts. The silence that followed wounded her even more as he just stood there, soaked in heavy drops of unseen rain.

"I should have wed you," Aegon sighed, breaking free from the chains of his petsonal hell-dungeon. After the trial by combat, he had hardly taken off his armor, and now he must don it again to defend the city. But more than that, the shield before his heart was always raised.