LION TRAP, game of thrones

𝐗. trap

Sweat ran down Sansorr's cheeks and trickled down his back between his shoulder blades. That was all it took and Sansorr knew they were in Kings Landing before they even saw the city. "Miserable fucking shit weather," he groaned, stroking his hair before loosening his shirt so that at least a little air could reach his upper body. Jaime was still dressed in his multiple layers of rags and Sansorr was thankful that he wasn't riding too close to him. Perhaps this smell would finally rid him of the stupid feelings he was carrying around like an ugly secret.

He eyed the dirty man on the horse next to him. "You smell like shit, Stark," Jaime mocked and Sansorr pursed his lips. Maybe that was just his thing. Torturing himself for the way he felt. As if in confirmation, he felt sweat prickling the scars on his back.

Kings Landing was getting bigger and bigger and Sansorr could smell the city even better with every step.

His heart seemed to cry out for the north. For the cold of his home, for the castle and for Winter at the gates of Winterfell. For his homeland. He didn't belong here, no Stark belonged in this city, it only brought them misfortune. Aria and Sansa stole back into his thoughts. He prayed to the gods that the city had been merciful to them. And this was immediately followed by a slightly more selfish thought. If he took them home, Robb would have no choice but to take him back. The thought almost made him smile. Robb would just have to take him back and then he'd be a real Stark again.

He expelled the air he had been unconsciously holding. Immediately that wretched stench filled his senses again. But it would all be worth it. Sansorr smiled as they crossed the gates of the capital. The next time he rode through these gates, it would be as a free, rehabilitated man.

They tied up the horses and Sansorr slid down awkwardly, holding his aching side, stumbling against Jaime. He had to hold on to him to keep from falling.

"Go somewhere else, damn pillow-biter!" A man with a cart pushed past them and Jaime shoved Sansorr off him. Sansorr groaned under his breath, too breathless to hurl an insult at the Lannister.

"Enough now," Brienne admonished them and Sansorr felt remembered of his mother, in another moment that would have been funny, but the pain continued to choke him. What a pathetic group they were. A one-handed man, an outcast... and now, Lady Brienne. The noblest they had to offer. "Just a moment," he groaned and leaned against an uncomfortably warm house wall, taking a few shaky breaths before he was able to get moving and follow his fellow travelers towards the red keep.

Now their decrepit state was an advantage; no one recognized them. Qyburn and Brienne walked ahead, while Sansorr limped laboriously behind them. Suddenly Jaime dropped back to him.

"Not a word about... not a word to her," the blond spoke in an insistent, hushed tone.

"Huh? You speak in riddles, blondie."

"Cersei, she will question you. And if you say one word about... what we did, I will cut out your tongue myself."

"With what hand?" Sansorr laughed harshly, "Bite it out for me. I'd be up for it."

"I'm not like you."

"Of course you're not. No one is like me... But there are always quite a few who want to fuck me." Sansorr pursed his lips, he had had such conversations more than once. "Do you want to fuck me, Jaime?" he asked innocently.

"Shut your mouth, traitor," Jaime managed to say, but Sansorr could see that he had at least made the blond think.

"Kiss my ass, Kingslayer."

"Kiss my ass, Kingslayer," Jaime mimicked him, awkwardly imitating Sansorr's northern way of speaking, "You talk like a idiot. Tell Cersei what you want, she doesn't understand you anyway."