A/N: Okay, just watched the Game of Thrones episode where Lord Stark got decapitated. Saddest thing ever! I don't own anything. This is a one-shot.
"Master Ilyn Payne, bring me his head!"
Had she heard right? Sansa felt the smile slip off her face. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she stared into the eyes of the man (no, he wasn't a man, he was a boy) who had promised her that he would spare her father's life. The boy she had begged on both of her knees. A small smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, those beautiful, ugly eyes, were cold and unforgiving.
This is no king. This is a monster.
The thought ran through Sansa's head unbidden. She wanted to rip those lying eyes out of his head. Sansa opened her mouth and screamed. The scream didn't sound like her. It was wild. It was unstoppable. It was anguish in its purest form. Sansa lurched forward, to do what she didn't know. Was she going to grab Joffrey? Was she going to fight Master Payne? Was she going to cut her father's bonds? Was she going to rip the flesh of her face?
It didn't matter what she thought she was going to do. A guard grabbed her arms, jerking her back against his armor. Sansa watched as Ilyne Payne removed her father's sword, Ice, from its sheath. He held it before the jeering audience. Payne was going to use her father's own blade to take his head. It wasn't right! It wasn't right! Sansa jerked against the knight, screaming that wild note again and again. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that she was saying words.
"No! Stop! You can't do this! You promised me! YOU PROMISED ME!"
Sansa stared into her father's eyes. Her father who had loved her since she was a tiny child. Her father who had rocked her to sleep. Her father who had assured her that there were no monsters. Her father who had held her while she cried. Her father. Her father. Her father.
Those eyes stared at her now. He opened his mouth as if he were going to speak. Instead of speaking, he closed his mouth again. Sansa watched a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Sansa recognized the smile. She had seen it a dozen times. She had seen it when Robb returned victorious from his first hunt. She had seen it when Arya had been born. She had seen it when Jon was teaching Bran how to shoot a perfect shot. It was the smile that told her stories. It was the smile that reassured her everything was going to be alright.
It'll be alright. Goodbye, my daughter. Goodbye, my darling.
Sansa fancied that was what the smile was saying. Then, her father turned his attention away from her. Sansa felt the tears streak down her face, felt her hands hook into claws. She continued to struggle against the guard, her screaming never ceasing. Sansa watched as her father cast a glance to the sky, his eyes tracking something. Sansa followed his gaze to find herself staring into a crystal blue sky. Then, her father bowed his head, bearing his neck to Ilyne Payne.
Sansa shrieked as the blade whistled through the air. She watched as the blade that had served her father so many times sliced through his own neck. She watched as blood gushed from the stump that served where his head had been. Sansa watched its shoulders jerk and its body dance as it (she refused to think that this dancing thing was her father) collapsed against the steps. She watched his head roll down the steps into the bloodthirsty crowd. She watched the blood spread in a widening red river down the steps.
Sansa heard a distinct ringing in her ears. Her heartbeat was suddenly absurdly loud. Her screams had reached a point of hysteria. The screams died as her vision tunneled. The sound of the mob ceased to exist. The world narrowed into a single point where her father's corpse awaited her at the end. Then, Sansa collapsed, her head smacking against the stone steps.
In her mind, Sansa continued to scream.