LION TRAP, game of thrones

𝐕. meaningless

Sansorr struggled with others helping him getting dressed.

He missed the self-confidence with which he had once lived in his body. But the young Dornish woman who had been sent to his chambers was obviously struggling just as much. She was afraid, he could see that immediately.

"You don't have to be afraid. I can take care of myself..."

She shook her head and stepped towards him, helping him out of his dirty, stolen clothes.

His latest wound had already been bandaged and in the end he had been left alone in the nice, spacious room where he had been taken after being arrested in the gardens. He had lost track of time while waiting, could only see by the change of light that fell through the openings in the wall to him. He could only see into an inner courtyard below, but he enjoyed this freedom very much. He was used to worse.

He had been sitting at the window when the maid had entered a few moments ago. In her warm Dornish dialect, she had told him that she should wash and dress him. She had placed a pile of fresh clothes next to her.

They were now standing close together and Sansorr could see her face contort as she looked at his battered, naked body. He would like to say something, but his mind was blank.

"What's that?" she pointed to his leg and the splint he was wearing. Her head was slightly tilted and Sansorr was suddenly sure that she was probably younger than he had assumed. He thought of Lyanna, who would always be a girl. Always 16. He would never be allowed to see her as a grown woman. She had died in Dorne.

"My leg is broken. I can't walk properly without it."

"You can't walk properly with it that either, can you? You limp and walk crooked."

"You Dornish are real assholes, aren't you?"

"We're not as sensitive as you in the north," she replied sharply and cleaned his upper body with a damp cloth. She had to rinse the cloth in a bowl again and again.

The smell of flowers slowly spread through the room, which Sansorr enjoyed very much. His father would probably have sent him to the maesters immediately if Sansorr had even hinted at such a thing.

At some point, the maid left, but soon returned with fresh water and rinsed out his curls. When she reached for the razor, however, Sansorr shook his head.

"I like the beard."

She nodded obediently, then dried his hair and let him get up from the stool Sansorr had sat on when she had started washing his hair. She fetched the clean robes and Sansorr had to smile when he saw that she had brought him fabrics in different shades.

He opted for a dark, muted yellow and had to laugh when he saw her nod approvingly.

The robe was unusual, airy and at the same time tight, cut low so that much of his chest was exposed. The sleeves were decorated with shiny embroidery and she fastened a wide belt of soft fabric around his waist.

"I'm afraid I'm not made for Dornish fashion," Sansorr muttered, rubbing his pale chest.

The maid had already gone to the door and now gave him a disparaging look over her shoulder. "No. But the color suits you, Northman."

The door wasn't closed for too long after she disappeared. Guards soon came for him, in front of whom Sansorr did not feel particularly comfortable in his new outfit. They were not rough this time, leading him through the corridors of the palace complex.

The beauty of the Dornish buildings captivated Sansorr and he allowed himself to admire the ceilings and walls. They were decorated with mosaics that created countless different patterns. Intricate pillars adorned the corridors and colorful tiles on the floor created even more patterns. Winterfell suddenly seemed even drearier to him now.