They were standing on the battlements; Sansa, Joffrey, Sandor Clegane, and Ser Meryn Trant. Joffrey had brought her here to force her to look on her father's head.
He is only doing this to hurt me, Sansa realized. He is a monster.
How had she ever thought she was in love with him? He was vile and horrid, like some creature from a tale. The sort the hero always slew. She glanced at Clegane and Ser Meryn. There were no heroes here.
So who will kill this monster? Who will avenge my father?
"Are you listening to me you stupid girl? Shall I have Ser Meryn give you another lesson?" Joffrey was standing right in front of her, his lips pulled tight.
"I beg pardon your grace. What was it you were saying?"
To her left was the parapet where the heads had been mounted. To her right was nothing but empty space and a drop of seventy feet or so to a stone courtyard. An odd calmness filled her. Perhaps it was an understanding that this torment would never end, that she would never be allowed to escape. Perhaps it was the Stark blood calling out to her. Or perhaps it was no more than a madness brought on by despair.
In any case she was not afraid.
"I said I am going to raise a mighty host and kill your traitor brother myself. That will be my gift to you, I will give you your traitor brother's head."
"No," Sansa said with complete calmness. "I will give him yours."
She pushed him. With both hands she shoved his chest, knocking him back and off balance. His hands flailed about as he stumbled over the walkway's edge. Sansa saw the look of terror on his face just as he went over. For that one flicker of time he seemed ordinary to her. Not a king, not a monster, but just a boy who was afraid.
As he fell he gave a wordless cry, a shriek that sounded like a girl's. When he landed there was a crunch, and Sansa thought she heard a sob. Blood began to pool around him and from below there were screams and shouts from others. Men in gold cloaks and folk in ordinary livery ran to the spot where Joffrey had landed. Sansa simply stood there and watched. There was no point in trying to escape. She just looked down at what she had wrought.
She felt Sandor grab her arm and wrench her about. "What have you done little bird?" He hissed at her.
"I've avenged my father." She felt neither joy nor fear, she was an empty vessel.
"No," Sandor told her. "All you've done is killed yourself."
Meryn pulled out his sword. "We should execute her right now."
"You want to explain to the Queen why you were the one to do it instead of her?" Sandor growled. "Knowing her she won't thank you for it." Still gripping her tight he began dragging her past Ser Meryn. "Come along, you've killed yourself so let's get it over and done with."
She made no effort to resist.
No time at all was wasted in gathering the court. There were genuine looks of shock and horror on many of the faces. These people had not truly known Joffrey. To just about all of them he had been the handsome and charming son of King Robert. They were not completely certain what Ned Stark had been guilty of, if he had been trying to take the throne for himself or been complicit in some plot with Stannis or Renly. Most believed he had been guilty of something. For them Joffrey was the rightful King and trying to prevent his taking his father's place was treason.
Now their golden prince had been murdered, and by the traitor's daughter, his betrothed. All agreed that it was a black crime and awful tragedy. The deaths and heads on pikes could be forgiven, treason had to be put down. Even the execution of Ned Stark on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor could be seen in the light of a warning to others possible traitors. If it was a bit harsh it could be understood given the circumstances.
Joffrey would be remembered as the 'King for a Day.' There would be songs and stories mourning his loss and cruel end. In death he would be a greater king than ever he would have been in life.
Cersei was seated on the Iron Throne in a gown of black, her face marred with tears. Sitting on the dais were the members of her Small Council; Varys, Littlefinger, Pycelle, and Slynt. Standing at the foot of the throne was Ser Ilyn Payne.
All alone before them was Sansa Stark. Her hands were bound in rope and she wore nothing but a plain brown shift. On the queen's orders her hair had been cut. Despite this there was still something appealing about her, a fragile beauty that remained despite her circumstances.
Oddly, Petyr Baelish had never thought her more beautiful, or more like her mother.
"You are guilty of murder and regicide." Cersei declared, her voice trembling. There would be no trial. This wretched strumpet would pay for what she had done. "You killed not only your king but your betrothed. Do you deny it?"
"No," Sansa's voice echoed through the hall. "He killed my father and I am glad I killed him."
Murmurs ran through those assembled.
"Your father was a traitor and you are a traitor. I brought you into my home and permitted you to remain betrothed to my son despite your father's crimes. This is how you repay my kindness?"
"He cut off my father's head and made me look at it. What sort of kindness was that?"
Uncomfortable looks passed silently among the audience. The crime was vile, but it was hard to deny the girl had, had reason.
Cersei neither noticed nor cared. "I will not waste any more mercy on you. You are guilty and your life forfeit. Ser Ilyn, carry out the sentence."
"Your grace," Littlefinger spoke in his soft rasp. "While her guilt is undeniable perhaps it would be wise to at least delay the sentence."
Varys nodded in rare agreement. "Rob Stark holds your brother prisoner. There is no telling what might happen if he hears his sister has been executed as well as his father. In such a case prudence is perhaps called for."
Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his long grey beard. "Your grace should not be too hasty in your sorrow. I could send a raven to your father…"
"I do not need my father!" She snapped at the old man. "I am Queen and I will see justice done! Now!"
"But your brother…" Varys began.
"The next person to question me will lose their head." Cersei glanced about, daring anyone to challenge her. Varys quickly lowered his head in submission. The others remained silent.
Cersei gave a satisfied nod. "Ser Ilyn, carry out my command."
The King's Justice bowed his head and drew his blade.
Sansa knelt down and bowed her head without being instructed to do so. She met her end with the stoic dignity one would expect of a Stark.
Sandor watched the execution in silence. He made no ridiculous attempt to rescue her or try and speak up in her defense. The fool child had been dead the moment she'd given Joffrey that push. He regretted the girl's death, but she was far from the first or last innocent to ever come to a sad end.
He would be leaving King's Landing tonight. For the moment the bitch queen seemed satisfied with Sansa's head. That wouldn't last though. He had been the boy's sworn shield and had been there when the arrogant cunt had died. The boy had never learned that sometimes you could push too far. That was the truth, but he knew it wasn't anything Cersei would want to hear. Before too long she would need someone else to blame for what had happened. He intended to be long gone by then. He'd made quite a bit of gold in service to the Lannisters and the royal family.
Fuck the queen, fuck the Lannisters, and fuck the kingdom. He was getting out while he could.