LION TRAP, game of thrones

𝐈𝐗. pit

Sansorr whimpered in pain as Qyburn wrapped a tight bandage around his torso to support his broken ribs. The maester only gave him a quick glance and Sansorr bared his teeth. He hated maesters, those damned quacks. He couldn't remember any maester who had ever really helped him. Maesters meant pain, which they foolishly called healing.

"It will heal now," the older man said, and Sansorr slipped into his shirt, which someone had washed roughly so that it barely stank. Barely.

A guard approached him from the door and pulled him to his feet. "Not so rough," Sansorr groaned in protest and shook the man off, fixing him with his gaze. An ugly fellow, with brown teeth and greasy hair. "Don't stare like that, pillow-biter," the man growled and shoved Sansorr forward into the corridor. Pain shot through his side, cutting off his air. Panting, he stumbled on and was finally taken into another room. Brienne and Jaime sat there across from Roose Bolton, now seemingly torn from their conversation.

The guard pushed him into the vacant chair and for a brief moment the only sound was Sansorr's breathless gasping for air. Then the door was thrown shut and the guard was gone.

In front of Jaime was a plate of grayish meat and an indefinable vegetable. At that moment, it seemed like the greatest feast in the world to Sansorr. His stomach growled hungrily, still not weaned from the portions he was used to in Winterfell. Brienne caught his gaze and pulled Jaime's plate away, pushing it in front of Sansorr.

"Thank you," Sansorr grinned and briefly met Jaime's gaze. The blond looked as if he wanted to protest for a moment, but then his gaze changed and he hastily turned away. Sansorr stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth and rolled his eyes. Damned scaredy-cat, should get a dam grip. Sansorr licked the taste of the meat from his lips and took one of the squishy pieces of vegetable.

"Sansorr Stark," Roose Bolton had turned to him and Sansorr licked his fingers, leaning back with his arms crossed. He fixed Bolton. Actually, he hardly looked like a lord. His face was ordinary, at least until you looked him in the eye. Two deep lakes of milky white, like sparkling moons. "You will be traveling to Kings Landing. Unfortunately, I cannot accompany you, I am invited to a wedding."

"No," Sansorr grimaced, "No ten horses will take me back to that godforsaken shithole town. The plan was to drop me off at a brothel, when did we give that up?"

"Your nieces are there," Brienne suddenly reminded him and Sansorr remembered what the knight's mission was. To bring Sansa and Aria home. And he remembered what his big brother had asked him to do. The girls were just children, they needed him. So he bowed his head compliantly, pushing the plate slightly away from him.

So back to this hell of a city. He thought of Arya and Sansa, how he used to play with Arya with weapons made of sticks and make food out of mud, much to Catelyn's displeasure. Sansa had never liked him, like a little twin of her mother, always giving his behavior punishing looks. She probably saw the same good-for-nothing in him as her mother. Maybe he was a good-for-nothing, but he could change. Maybe he could finally change into a true Stark, into a honourable nobleman. Someone to be proud of.

Their horses were saddled, but they had to travel on without Brienne. Sansorr would miss her, he realized only after they had said their goodbyes. Jaime promised her that he would bring the Stark girls back. Sansorr's gaze lingered briefly on the Lannister and he realized that his perception of the man had changed since they had kissed. He could not have imagined that knowing what someone tasted like could change so much. And he longed for the feeling of those very special, soft lips on his. Because damn, this potty mouth was a good kisser.

Jaime noticed his gaze and frowned briefly. Sansorr resisted the urge to turn away in embarrassment and only gave the Lannister a mocking grin, winking at him suggestively. As expected, it was Jaime who now turned away.