LION TRAP, game of thrones

𝐈. watcher

Sansorr didn't know how long it had been since he had last eaten. Of course, he had never gotten much lately anyway, but by now he was starving. Tywin hadn't come back and even if Sansorr had no sense of time in this miserable darkness, several days must have passed.

Sansorr tried to sleep to escape the hunger, but during his last, short rest, he was sure that someone had come into his chamber, standing next to the bunk. But when he had woken up, feeling that he was being watched, and had reached into the darkness in panic, all he had heard was the closing of the door. Since then, he had tried to keep himself awake.

At first, simply sitting on the bunk had been enough, but by now he was so tired that he would have fallen asleep in every position. So now he stood leaning against the wall. At least that way he was always wide awake when he fell off to the side.

But he was so miserably hungry, incredibly and gnawingly hungry. When he touched his sides, he immediately felt that his ribs were right under his skin. He was gradually losing all softness.

And again his stomach growled. Frustration and despair welled up inside him. If he was going to give up after such a short time, how were his nieces doing? If they were still alive at all. He forcibly suppressed the thought and pressed a hand to his rebelling stomach.

He was a spoiled fool. Countless people all over Westeros were starving, he shouldn't put on airs. But he was so hungry, so, so hungry...

His stomach growled again and Sansorr pressed his forearm to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the dirty skin until he felt blood. Greed sprouted in him briefly, then he lowered his arm again in horror and spat out in disgust. Barely a moment passed and Sansorr regretted it. He was so hungry, he really would eat anything.

Perhaps this meant that he really was a wolf. If it took so little to lose his humanity.

He slumped down and reached blindly for the bowl of water, hoping to find one last drop to fill his stomach. He licked his fingers, but they were dry and tasted of dirt.

"Get me out of here," he whispered into the darkness, "Please... someone..."

His body longed to give up and fall asleep.

He pulled himself back up against the wall, forcing himself to take a few steps. He rubbed his shoulder along the stone for four laps before sinking to the carpet because his legs just wouldn't carry him anymore. It was so dark and Sansorr was so tired, so incredibly, terribly tired...

The door to his chamber was pushed open and bright daylight blinded Sansorr. Panting, he crawled away until his back hit the bunk. Breathing heavily, he fought for his eyes to adjust to the day. At least that had woken him up, bloody hell. All tiredness was gone from him and his muscles trembled with tension.

Against the light stood the most beautiful woman in the world and Sansorr could have cried out. Cersei Lannister.

There was contempt in her beautiful face. Sansorr faced it, gathered the last of his dignity and lifted his chin, returning her gaze. "Let me out of here. You have no right to treat me like this," he demanded hoarsely, his mouth so dry it sounded weak, almost as weak as he felt.

"You're an exile," Cersei smiled at him, no, she smiled at him, "You think you'd be better off somewhere else?"

"F-f-fuck you," Sansorr managed to say.

Cersei laughed; not a loud, artificial laugh. A soft snort, the amusement of a noblewoman speaking to a commoner. As if they were not on the same level.

Anger overcame him and he leapt to his feet in an attempt to attack her. Strangely, no guards stood between them. Presumably the queen had known that Sansorr was no danger in his current state. In fact, dizziness overcame him and he collapsed, trembling and panting.