LION TRAP, game of thrones

𝐕𝐈. nobles

The trotting of the horse shook the bound Sansorr. He couldn't hold on and was so focused on keeping his balance on the back of the shaggy horse. The fact that the Kingslayer, who was tied to the sturdy coldblood in front of him, kept sliding backwards and against his lap didn't help him much.

"Bloody hell," growled Sansorr as the Kingslayer moved away from him once more, "Are you going to rub yourself against me all day like a cheap whore?"

"Shut your mouth," the Kingslayer spat back and rammed his elbow into Sansorr's stomach.

Sansorr gasped and kicked at one of the legs of the man in front of him. The horse snorted uneasily and quickened its pace, causing the Kingslayer to land on Sansorr's chest again.

"Be quiet," Brienne shouted at them, who was also tied to a horse. Someone had tied Pyke to her saddle with a rope around his neck and the bastard was forced to shuffle along behind Brienne. Sansorr honestly felt sorry for him. Still, he would have liked to swap places with him. He would have liked as much distance from the Kingslayer as possible.

"Ah, Lady Brienne," the very same began, as if he had forgotten she was there.

"God help me, he's talking again," Pyke muttered and Sansorr laughed softly.

"The men will rape you tonight as soon as they make camp," the Kingslayer continued impassively and Sansorr stopped laughing. Fucking asshole. But he was probably right. "Just think of Renley," the Kingslayer continued to tease

"Aye, my lady. I'll look after you," Pyke intervened.

"Then you'll both die. You have no relevance to the Boltons. They only captured us because of me and will probably kill you at the slightest incentive." The Kingslayer turned to Sansorr. "Maybe not you. But even if they don't, your nephew probably will take that task."

"I will fight," Brienne looked stubborn, Sansorr saw no fear in her eyes. He could well imagine that she would emerge victorious. Still... He didn't like to imagine how she might feel.

"Yes, I would fight too, if I were you," the Kingslayer tossed a blond, slightly dirty strand of hair from his forehead.

The Bolton men sang a song that Sansorr didn't knew, and he wished he could just lean against the back of the man in front of him and get some sleep. But he'd rather die than expose himself like that. Or make the damn asshole feel like Sansorr was attracted to him. Because he wasn't attracted to the wretched man he knew had killed Jory Cassel and seriously injured his brother.

An oathbreaker and Kingslayer.

Never.

So he finally just sat upright with difficulty while the trotting of the horse shook his body. The darker it got and the longer they rode, the worse the tension in his back became.

It seemed like half an eternity until they finally stopped. Sansorr and the Kingslayer both slipped awkwardly from the horse's back. Sansorr would have fallen to the ground had the Kingslayer not supported him with his body.

"Fuck off," Sansorr snorted, but not quite as fervently as he usually said it. Damn, he was tired.

Pyke was the only one who was still awake and even amused, even when the four of them were pushed to the ground.

"Can we get something to eat?" the bastard muttered as the Bolton men gathered around a fire. They were roasting small forest animals on a stick and Sansorr's stomach growled loudly, as if to signal that he had the same desire as Pyke.

"Not really," Sansorr muttered and sighed deeply, pushing the Kingslayer aside with his shoulder so that he could lean against the tree as well.

"I hate the Riverlands," Pyke grumbled, but soon just lay down and seemed to drift off into a light sleep. He seemed to be coping better with the situation and Sansorr wondered if he was a spoiled cunt. A mama's boy? Certainly not, he had never been close to his mother. But he hadn't been particularly close to his father either, even though he had loved both his parents.