LION TRAP, game of thrones

𝐗𝐈. lost

"Get dressed."

The guards had left, but Sansorr suspected they were now simply standing on the other side of the locked door. Tywin Lannister leaned against the wall, nodding towards the pile of folded clothes one of the guards had left behind.

Sansorr hesitated briefly, but then he dropped the sheet and stood up. Under the watchful gaze of the Lannister, he unfolded the clothes, then turned his back to him and unfolded a simple shirt, without lacing and with crooked seams, like the clothes of a prisoner. But clean, at least that. Then he pulled on his pants, too, in a similarly unflattering cut.

"Sit down."

"I want to see my nieces. Arya and Sansa- where are they?" Sansorr replied firmly and stood still. Tywin Lannister was taller than Jaime and so Sansorr had to look up at him slightly.

"Not within your reach," Tywin replied and Sansorr immediately felt anger welling up inside him.

"They are Starks. They belong to Winterfell. I'll take them back there," he said firmly, in what must have been a desperate attempt to sound like Ned or even his father. "That's not a bloody request," he slipped out, and then he was back to being the stupid disappointment he'd always been. He was no great lord, no gifted fighter, and even at the forge he was only average. But damn it, he would get Sansa and Arya back, in his own way. As long as it worked.

"Winterfell is no longer the home of your House. And you are no longer a Stark, Sansorr. It is common knowledge that you have been exiled."

"But Arya and Sansa are, and I still serve my house, no one can take that away from me. And Winterfell will always be the seat of the Starks."

"There is nothing left of you to claim that seat. Winterfell now belongs to House Bolton."

"Robb is King of the North, and if the cursed Boltons were foolish enough to put on airs like that, Robb will make them pay and feed their filthy skins to his direwolf."

"The King of the North is dead."

A stabbing pain of realization. Sansorr understood him, and he still asks because he doesn't want to understand.

"What?" His voice is hoarse.

"Robb Stark is dead, as is Catelyn Stark and his wife and their unborn child. Executed at Edmure Tully's wedding."

"Robb was a child..." Sansorr choked out, trying to swallow the pain, but it had caught as a leaden lump in his throat and threatened to choke him.

"Nineteen," Tywin Lannister reminded him calmly, and Sansorr let out a choked sound. Did the Starks carry tragedy in their blood? As a fate that was simply predestined for them?

His father, Brandon, Lyanna, his mother, Ned and now Robb.

He remembered holding Robb shortly after he was born. A tiny, chubby little creature with red hair.

"Take me to my nieces. Let me... go away from here with them," Sansorr muttered hollowly and harshly.

"Where? Where could an outcast take them, what safe place could you grant two girls in Westeros?"

"I'm a Stark!" Sansorr's voice was loud and harsh in the small, stuffy room, "Sansa and Arya are fucking Starks, we all are, even without Winterfell! Without Robb, my banishment is worth fucking nothing!"

"No. Without him, your banishment is set in stone. The only chance to redeem yourself has been taken from you."

"Shut the fuck up!" Sansorr took a jerky step towards the king's hand, and suddenly pain exploded in his face. He froze for a moment.