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Darkness Follows	By : Nocturne Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 23341 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All characters belong to George R. R. Martin. I do not own the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire fandom, nor do I make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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It was a devious thing, attraction. Sansa had never experienced anything like it. It was hot and cold. It had highs and lows. It made her feel safe and dangerous. It was everything she imagined and bewildering all at the same time. She didn’t know whether to keep her eyes closed or grant them with a vision of the unassumingly handsome Jon Snow. All she could do to keep herself from overheating in the northernmost region of Westeros was make a conscious effort to breathe in and out.
Slow and steady.
“Neither do I,” he replied, resting a finger under her chin as he tilted his head to match the placement of hers.
Sansa took in a gust of frosty air, feeling her inhibitions evaporate as the oxygen left her body. Suddenly she froze over – and it wasn’t from the cold.
He had kissed her.
Her senses detonated as he brushed her lips with his own, gentle yet firm. They were surprisingly soft, softer than she had ever imagined, and soon she found the strength to reciprocate. His hands traveled from her cheeks to her hair, to the back of her neck where he pulled her in closer. She could barely believe he lacked the same experience. It felt absurdly good.
“What is the meaning of this?”
*
He had never felt so angry in all his years. There was something about the look in Sansa’s eyes that made him burn with stone cold envy. He had never seen her so at ease and so receptive to the advances of a man. The Sansa he knew shied away from any form of physical contact, but there she was, in the arms of another with her chest rising and falling to match each beat of their kiss – the kiss that was stolen from him, from King Joffrey of King’s Landing.
He hated Jon Snow.
He would do anything to watch that bastard burn in the fiery pits of all seven hells.
He was a liar. He was a cheat. He was a man of dishonor and he would pay for his mistakes, as would Sansa.
Joffrey instinctively grasped the handle to his sword as Snow hoisted both his and Sansa’s bodies from the snow-covered ground. Both their cheeks were flushed. It made the king sick to his stomach.
He knew, quite close to the surface, that his treatment of Sansa Stark wasn’t very kingly at all, but until then he had never questioned her affection towards him. It was difficult to believe in that moment, but there once was a time when her eyes lit up the way they did for Snow, for him. Although Joffrey would never admit it, he missed those days, the days before his coronation.
The Sansa he knew then would never have broken his trust the way she did now.
“Seize him,” the young man said sharply, standing perfectly still as his men wrapped their monstrous arms around Jon Snow and forcefully removed him from the scene. The bastard didn’t resist. Instead he turned to face Sansa with a look of mingled desperation and guilt. She, on the other hand, chased after him and clawed at the guards until Joffrey himself peeled her from the tails of their uniforms. “Come with me,” he said firmly, watching as her expression went from fearful to fearless. It was an expression he knew well. It was an expression that haunted the young king’s dreams since the beheading of Eddard Stark. Like father, like daughter.
“Don’t touch me,” she said bravely, yanking her arm from his grip and taking a few steps back. “If you hurt him…I…I…”
“You’ll what?” asked Joffrey. “Have my head on a spike? Surely you know that rat deserves whatever punishment comes his way.”
Sansa narrowed her eyes with sheer loathing. It made him disintegrate inside, but he kept a solid look. She pointed her finger at him. “You may be King of the Seven Kingdoms, but you aren’t half the man he is, nor was your father or the man before him.”
“You dare insult an ally of your wretched father?”
“I wasn’t speaking of Robert Baratheon,” she spat.
The young woman needn’t say anything else. Joffrey felt a stab in his gut from the realization. She was referring to Jamie Lannister, his true father, also known as the Kingslayer. “Before I have my men beat you senseless, tell me one thing…” He glanced at the horizon for a moment, trying to string together at least one line of coherent speech, before cocking his head to the side and staring at her with as much contempt as he could conjure. “What changed?”
Sansa maintained her frenzied hatred, faltering for only a second as the king spoke. “What do you mean?”
“You used to love me,” he said, solid in tone despite the slight softening of his features as he uttered the last couple words. “What changed?”
She stared at him blankly. “I did,” answered the to-be Queen – and she was right. This was not the same giggling girl he met at Winterfell some odd months ago. So much had happened since then. “I was blinded by your status,” she continued. “But I no longer see the appeal in being your wife.”
The words stung, piercing him through the heart like a sweltering blade. “You would rather sneak around with your disgusting rat of a brother?”
“He’s not my brother,” she corrected, sounding slightly routine, as though she had repeated this very line to herself time and time again.
Joffrey stepped towards her, restraining her until she succumbed to his will. “Close your eyes,” he ordered sharply. “Now.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Close your eyes,” repeated the king.
Sansa arched an eyebrow, flashing him a look filled with both alarm and amusement. This made him angry, but he resisted the urge to beat that smirk off her face. No. He had other plans for Sansa Stark. She waited a few soundless seconds before complying.
The next bit made his nerves ricochet with uncertainty. He put up a brave and cocky front, but in actuality Joffrey hadn’t the slightest idea how to behave in most situations. He was still learning. He had only gotten a grasp on the politics of his position during recent weeks, but there was still the matter of women. He was only fifteen, which limited his experience to nothing. But there was no time to be hesitant.
Without wasting anymore time, the young king pressed his nervous, trembling lips against Sansa’s. He could feel her body tense up and stay that way until he pulled away. This time her cheeks weren’t flushed and her chest wasn’t racing with the same desire. She looked cold, distant…indifferent to his efforts.
“I pity my king,” said the girl, staring deep into eyes with enough concentration to show him she meant every word. “For he will never understand the intricacies of romance.”
Joffrey blinked hard, releasing her and standing idly by as she left him atop the wall, alone and in a state of complete disbelief.
He was losing control.
*
The trip back to King’s Landing was nothing short of miserable. She couldn’t stare him in the eyes. She was too afraid to see the satisfaction in them subsequent to Jon Snow’s public thrashing. He was restrained in the middle of Castle Black and beaten senseless at the hands of Joffrey’s men. Usually an oathbreaker would suffer execution, but King Joffrey decided to take matters into his own hands and keep Snow as a prisoner.
Sansa could only imagine what treatment awaited her inside the castle walls. Cersei would be livid, no doubt, and Tyrion Lannister would have no means to save her this time around.
The young woman collapsed on her bed, grabbing at the sheets and gently sobbing into them the way she had so many times before. It didn’t matter how much or how often she cried. Life in King’s Landing would never get easier. That much she knew for certain.
“My Lady,” broke the voice of her handmaiden Shae. “Are you all right? What did he do?”
Sansa was surprised Shae hadn’t heard news of the happenings in Castle Black, but she suspected Joffrey would announce it shortly, humiliating her and her family for the umpteenth time. “I’m fine,” she lied, hastily wiping the tears from her eyes. “I…I’m just hungry.”
“You don’t look hungry,” deduced the handmaiden, taking a seat beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “You look scared and exhausted.”
Scared and exhausted was right. She feared whatever else Joffrey had in store for Jon. “I can’t do this anymore,” she finally said. “I can’t sit here and allow that tyrant to use the Iron Throne as a means of brutality.”
“Then you must do something,” suggested Shae. “You must call upon your inner strength and beat him at his own game.”
“What do you mean?”
The handmaiden looked at her with determination. “King Joffrey desires your affection.”
“You’re suggesting I succumb to his sadism?”
“I’m suggesting you gain his trust long enough to take matters into your own hands,” she explained. “I know men well, My Lady, and I know they are easy to sway, especially ignorant, obnoxious men like our king.”
Sansa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Shae was basically asking her to fake her way to the top. It was appalling. It was ludicrous. It was very un-Stark. But at the same time, playing the submissive, easily manipulated plaything hadn’t worked thus far. She had to try something new, something different, and perhaps gaining his trust was the only way.
The only problem was how.
Shae seemed to read her mind, because just then the handmaiden gathered Sansa’s hair into a soft, waterfall braid resting on her left shoulder. “He likes this style on you,” she said. “His eyes linger when you wear your hair like this.”
So that was it. She would use her feminine wiles to gain entrance into the inner workings of Joffrey’s twisted mind, thereby saving whatever was left of her loved ones and their legacy. Sansa turned her head to the side, peering into her mirror and seeing a new woman.
She was no longer afraid.
*
He drank more than his fair share of wine, ignoring his mother’s looks of concern from across the table. Joffrey hadn’t the time or patience for her incessant control over every aspect of his life. She might be Queen Cersei but he was King Joffrey, and he had the final word of any and every decision made within Westeros. The weight of it made him feel like a man, a true Lion among peasants.
But as he peered to the other end of the table, where Sansa sat, delicately chewing her food and taking careful, moderated sips of wine, he couldn’t help but lose all confidence. Since catching her in Castle Black, the young woman had the strangest impact over him. She showed strength he didn’t know she had. At the time he didn’t know whether or not he liked it, but right then he knew for a fact it made his insides churn with unmatched desire.
He wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips again, and if fate would allow it, have them kiss back. The thought of it alone drove him into a state of complete fantasy, so much so that it took him several moments to notice Cersei had spoken.
“Joffrey, dear, why don’t you catch up on some hunting with your brother whilst I have a word with Sansa?”
Ah. So his mother wanted to scold Sansa one-on-one. Usually he would jump at the opportunity to toss around his future Queen as a punching bag, but Joffrey felt a tug in his gut that told him he shouldn’t leave. “I don’t think Tommen enjoys hunting,” he answered. “Do you, brother?”
The youngest of their bunch shook his innocent head of blond hair. “Maybe we could go riding instead.”
“Later,” answered the king, watching his younger brother’s face fall with disappointment. “I already have plans with my future Queen.” He turned to Sansa and watched as her eyes widened the slightest bit. “Come, my love. I think it best we carry this conversation in the privacy of the gardens.”
She offered one look to the appalled Cersei before kindly accepting Joffrey’s hand and skirting past the servants. They hadn’t walked like this, side-by-side and willing, in countless months. Before long they made their way to a private balcony overlooking the gardens. There were a variety of flowers, most of which would wilt away before winter came.
“I trust you’re wondering what has happened to your precious Snow.”
Sansa glanced at him briefly, raising her shoulders as if to half-heartedly shrug. He knew that was an act, but found he didn’t care. “I’ve thought long and hard about it,” began the young woman. “And I know both Jon and I committed a grave sin for which we must suffer whatever consequences you see fit.”
Joffrey arched an eyebrow. “You finally understand my position.”
“Yes, and I’m ready for my punishment.”
“Are you?” he asked, having wondered himself what he should do to Sansa. It would be unlawful to let her go unharmed. “My mother suggested I burn the head of Eddard Stark in your fireplace.”
She stiffened. “Did she?”
“Yes,” answered the king. “But I was thinking of a punishment that would scar you in more of a physical sense.”
The girl’s lips formed an O. “I see.”
“What is it about Snow?” Joffrey asked suddenly. “What is it about him that you desire enough to break the rules?” And my heart, he thought fleetingly.
Sansa stared into the horizon, closing her eyes at the mention of the bastard and opening them only to speak. “He would do anything for the people he loves,” she said simply. “He’s a selfless, unpretentious man who was brought into this world with a label he has long since surpassed.”
Joffrey could tell just by look in her eyes that she thought the world of Snow. It made him jealous in a way he didn’t know possible. “And you think I am selfish and pretentious.”
She said nothing in response.
“Do you know why I kept him alive?” asked Joffrey.
Sansa shrugged her shoulders in a way that told him she had thought about this before, countless times. “So you can dangle him in front of me and use his life as a means of bargaining?”
The young king was slightly taken aback by her assumptions. “I did it for you,” he answered sharply. “I already beheaded your father. It would be cruel of me bestow the same treatment upon your precious Snow, even though he, too, it a traitor to the Iron Throne.”
“Jon doesn’t serve you,” Sansa said swiftly. “He serves the Night’s Watch.”
“Served,” corrected Joffrey.
She blanched. “Of course.”
“Do you love him?”
“I’ve always loved him.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Sansa paused a beat. “We didn’t have enough time together to test those waters.”
“Sorry for catching you whilst you pissed on our engagement,” snarled the king.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
She was at a loss. “It…I…It was good you caught us.”
“Was it?”
Sansa nodded. “I wasn’t raised to break any oaths,” she said softly. “You are my King and from this moment onwards I shall devote myself to you and your every desire.”
Joffrey didn’t know what to say.
“I beg forgiveness, Your Grace.”
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “You spat on my title back at Castle Black and avoided me the entire journey home, and now you devote yourself to me? I’m no fool, Sansa Stark. Reveal to me the details of your game.”
“This isn’t a game,” she countered, staring at him in the eyes for the first time in a long time. “You pardoned Jon Snow, which opened my eyes to your true nature. You’re no tyrant, King Joffrey. You’re a kind man, and I admire that.”
She can’t have been telling the truth. It was too difficult to believe. He remembered the look in her eyes back at the Wall. She looked at him with hatred, pure hatred. There was no mistaking it. But right then, on the balcony overlooking the gardens, her eyes spoke a different language.
“Prove it.”
*
The words echoed in her mind, bouncing from one end of her skull to the other. She could talk the talk but could she truly walk the walk? Sansa didn’t know. Suddenly Shae’s plan had reached an impasse. The young woman couldn’t bring herself to follow the King’s orders, but Jon’s life was relying on it.
She closed her eyes to gain some form of peace before moving closer to Joffrey. His breath hitched as she neared, probably out of shock but mostly amazement. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her during dinner, and although it made her sick to think he wanted her, his affections were exactly what she needed. Sansa numbly placed a hand on his cheek, momentarily frozen as he followed her example, and leaned in.
They kissed again. She bolted her eyes shut and tried to imagine Jon, but it was difficult. Jon was subtle and romantic, whereas Joffrey was desperate and…nervous.
Sansa carefully pulled him in closer and felt her heart jump as he wrapped both arms around her waist. She had never been so close to a man before, with their chests pressed together in a dance of flesh and ribs and the air between them transferred through kisses. It was very different from the softness she felt with Jon, but left something to be desired…no matter how minuscule.
This would be easy.
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Darkness Follows