Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web.

Please bear with me, everyone. I will try my best to make up for the delays before the end of the month. Thank you.

After he left, Sansa immediately collapsed back onto the straw mat, staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought, until two handmaidens timidly entered the room. "I need a bath. Please prepare hot water for me," she told them. "And perfume, and face powder, to cover up the bruises." The entire right side of her face was swollen and throbbing, but she knew Joffrey wanted her to look pretty.

The hot water reminded her of Winterfell, making her a little stronger. She hadn't bathed since her father's death, and she was surprised to find how dirty the water became. The maids washed the blood from her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back, and combed her freshly washed hair into thick auburn curls. Sansa didn't speak to them except to give orders: they were servants of House Lannister, not her own people, and she didn't trust them. When dressing, she deliberately chose the green silk gown, the very one she had worn on the day of the tournament. She remembered how attentive Joffrey had been to her that evening, and perhaps if she wore this dress, it might remind him to be gentle with her.

After dressing, she sat down to wait, drinking a cup of buttermilk and nibbling on a few sweet biscuits to temporarily quell the churning in her stomach. It was midday when Ser Meryn came to find her. He was wearing a full suit of pure white armor: white scales of finely wrought gold thread, a high-crested golden sunburst helm, and shining iron gauntlets, greaves, gorget, and boots, along with a heavy wool cloak fastened with golden lion clasps. His helm was without its visor, revealing his grim face; two large eye bags, a wide, cruel mouth, and rust-colored hair streaked with grey. "My lady," he bowed, as if he didn't remember beating her bloody three hours ago. "His Grace commands me to escort you to court."

"If I refuse, does he command you to beat me again?"

"My lady, are you refusing?" His gaze was emotionless, unmoved by the bruises he had inflicted earlier.

Sansa suddenly understood that he didn't hate her, nor did he love her; he felt nothing for her at all. To him, she was just… a thing. "No," she said, rising to her feet, feeling a sudden urge to rage and beat him as he had beaten her. She wanted to warn him that when she was queen, if he ever dared to lay a finger on her again, she would banish him forever… but she still remembered the Hound's words, so she only said, "I shall obey His Grace's command."

"As shall I," he replied.

"Indeed… but you are not a true knight, Ser Meryn."

Sansa knew that Sandor Clegane would have roared with laughter if he had heard that. Anyone else might have cursed her, or warned her to be silent, or even begged her forgiveness, but Ser Meryn Trant did nothing, because he simply didn't care.

Apart from Sansa, the gallery was empty. She kept her head bowed, fighting back tears, watching Joffrey below as he sat on the Iron Throne, dispensing justice with an air of self-importance. He found nine out of ten cases boring and handed them all over to the Small Council, shifting restlessly on the throne. Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Queen Cersei were kept busy, but when the king occasionally decided to intervene personally, even his own mother couldn't sway him.

A thief was dragged before him, and he ordered Ser Ilyn to chop off his hand on the spot in the throne room. Two knights were in dispute over a piece of land, and came to court for his judgment, and he decreed that they should settle it by combat on the morrow, adding, "To the death.". A woman knelt and begged for the head of a man who had been beheaded for treason, saying that she loved him and wanted to give him a proper burial. "You love a traitor, which makes you a traitor too," Joffrey said, and two gold cloaks dragged her off to the dungeons.

Lord Slynt, with his frog-like face, sat at the end of the council table, wearing a black velvet doublet and a shimmering gold-threaded cloak, nodding in approval at each of the king's judgments. Sansa stared intently at his ugly face, remembering how he had held her father down while Ser Ilyn had beheaded him before the crowd, and she longed to take revenge on him, wishing that some hero would hold 'him' down and behead him before the crowd as well. But in her heart, a voice whispered: there are no heroes anymore. She recalled what Lord Petyr had once told her in this very hall, "Life is not a song, sweetling," he had told her, "Sooner or later, you may be disappointed.". It seemed that in real life, monsters often won, she told herself, and then she heard the Hound's cold hiss, like metal grinding on stone: "Little bird, for your own sake, do as he tells you."

The last case was that of a fat inn singer, who was accused of composing a song mocking the late King Robert. Joffrey had his wooden harp brought in and ordered him to perform it for everyone present. The singer wept and swore he would never sing the song again, but the king insisted. The lyrics were actually quite amusing, mostly describing Robert fighting a pig. Sansa knew that the pig was the boar that had killed the king, but certain lines in the song seemed to allude to the Queen Mother. After the performance, Joffrey announced that he would be lenient; the singer could choose to keep either his fingers or his tongue, and he had one day to decide. Janos Slynt nodded approvingly.

The afternoon's court session finally came to an end, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, but her ordeal was not over. As the herald announced the adjournment, she hurried to escape the gallery, only to find Joffrey waiting for her at the bottom of the winding staircase, with the Hound and Ser Meryn by his side. The young king looked her up and down, scrutinizing her carefully. "You look much prettier than before."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa said. Though it was insincere, he nodded and smiled.

"Walk with me," Joffrey commanded, extending his hand. She had no choice but to take his arm. In the past, touching his hand would have made her tremble, but now it gave her goosebumps all over. "My name day is coming soon," Joffrey said as they left the throne room, "We shall have a grand feast, and many people will give me gifts. What will you give me?"

"I… I haven't decided what to give you yet, Your Grace."

"Your Majesty," he said sharply, "You are a stupid girl, aren't you? Mother told me so."

"She said that?" After all that had happened these days, she thought that his words had lost their power to hurt her, but she was wrong. The Queen had always been kind to her.

"Oh, of course she did. She even worried that our children might be as stupid as you, but I told her not to worry." The king gestured, and Ser Meryn opened the door for them.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she murmured. The Hound was right, she thought, I am a little bird, only repeating what others have taught me. The sun had already set behind the western walls, and the stones of the Red Keep were as dark as blood in the twilight.

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