Westeros - The dark side of a kingdom

[LaLia]

1.07. - Beg for mercy

Dawn broke over King's Landing, but the city was already in turmoil. Sansa Stark was jolted awake. Two guards stood in her chamber, their faces hard as stone. "Lady Sansa, you are under arrest," the older one said harshly, while the younger regarded her with cold eyes. Sansa blinked in confusion, her heart pounding. "What... what have I done?" Her voice trembled, but the guards made no reply. She was ordered not to leave her room, and the heavy door slammed shut with a dull thud. There was no sign of Septa Mordane, Jeyne Poole, or any familiar face. Sansa sat on her bed, her hands clasped together, trying to fight down the panic. What had happened? Why this sudden cold, this isolation? Her mind raced but found no answers. The hours crawled by each minute a viscous drop of uncertainty as she paced the cold stone floor.

It wasn't until around midday that the door opened again. King Joffrey, in a magnificent red tunic, entered, a smile on his lips that made Sansa shiver. "Lady Sansa, how lovely to see you," he said in a sweet voice, but his eyes glittered with scorn. "Your father, the honorable Lord Eddard Stark, has been arrested for treason." Sansa caught her breath. Treason? Her father, the man who had always raised her with pride and honor, a traitor? She didn't understand, couldn't believe it. "This... this must be a mistake," she stammered, but Joffrey's smile broadened. "Oh, no mistake, my dear. He was conspiring against the crown. But don't worry, I am generous. You may visit him—if you wish." His words sounded like an offer, but Sansa sensed the threat behind them. She had no idea of the Lannister’s' dark secrets, but a chill ran down her spine as she met Joffrey's gaze. She nodded silently, her throat too tight to speak.

With a pounding heart, Sansa was soon led through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, down into the depths of the palace, where the prison lay. The smell of damp stone greeted her, and the torchlight cast long shadows on the walls. A guard, his face marked by scars, stood before a heavy iron door. He regarded her with a gaze that made her blood run cold. "Ah, the traitor's daughter," he said, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Before I let you see him, I must ensure you have no weapons or forbidden items." Sansa swallowed hard, her hands shaking. "King Joffrey has allowed me to visit him," she said, her voice a wavering mixture of anger and despair. The guard stepped closer, his grin widening. "Certainly, my lady, but I have my instructions. Everyone will be thoroughly searched. So, remove your dress—or leave."

Sansa stared at him in disbelief. Her heart pounded and her cheeks burned with shame. Humiliation was nothing new in King's Landing—Joffrey's taunts, Cersei's cold stares—but this was a new level of humiliation. She took a deep breath, her breath shaky, and then slowly let her dress slide to the floor. The cold stone beneath her feet bit into her skin as she tried to cover her nakedness with her hands. But then she let her hands hang at her sides when the guard ordered her to.

Hidden Content

This board requires you to be registered and logged-in to view hidden content.

The guard let his gaze wander over her body, over her firm breasts, her flat stomach, her most intimate area. Sansa kept her head bowing, her cheeks burning, as he commanded her to turn slowly. She obeyed her movements mechanically, feeling his gaze like pinpricks. "Now bend over," he said as she turned her back to him. Sansa trembled all over as she placed her hands on the cold wall and bent over, sticking out her bottom. She felt him squat down, felt his gaze boring into her. Suddenly, his rough, cold hands closed on her inner thighs, forcing her legs further apart. Her breath caught as his fingers moved closer. "Truly a pretty cunt," he said, laughing. "The king wasn't lying." Before Sansa could react, his fingers entered her, a brief, brutal penetration that made her squeal. Her body twitched, tears welled in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip to keep from screaming. It lasted only seconds, but the humiliation was even more intense. Then he withdrew his fingers, slapping his palm against her bottom so hard that the sound echoed through the cell. "Good, you may dress," he said, as if nothing had happened. With trembling hands, Sansa reached for her gown, hastily pulling it on, and fought back the tears that filled her eyes. It took her a moment to composed herself before the door opened and she was finally admitted to her father.

The cell was small, damp, and dark, with only a flickering torch providing dim light. Eddard Stark sat on a narrow cot, his hands chained, his face gaunt and tired, but his eyes glittering with the same unwavering determination Sansa had always admired. "Father," she whispered, her voice breaking as she rushed toward him. He raised his hands as far as the chains allowed and placed them gently on her shoulders. "Sansa, my child," he said softly, his voice full of warmth but also pain. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

"Father, what happened?" Sansa asked, her voice trembling with fear and confusion. "Joffrey says you're a traitor. That can't be true!" Eddard sighed heavily, his gaze wandering into the distance, as if seeing something far beyond the cell walls. "Listen to me, Sansa," he began, his voice calm but firm. "Joffrey is not a legitimate king. He is not a son of Robert Baratheon, but a bastard, born of the sin between Cersei and her brother, Jaime." Sansa gasped, her eyes widening. "This... this can't be," she whispered, but Eddard continued. "I've found evidence, ancient writings, witnesses... I wanted to put Renly Baratheon on the throne. Robert had no legitimate heirs, and Renly, his younger brother, would have been a just king. Stannis is too harsh, too unyielding, but Renly... he would have united the realm. But I was betrayed. By those I trusted. Cersei learned of my plans, and now I'm here, accused of treason."

Sansa shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Treason... Father, that means death!" Her voice was a desperate plea. "Please, Father, you must beg Cersei and Joffrey for mercy! Swear your loyalty to the crown and to Joffrey, tell them you were wrong!" But Eddard straightened, his eyes flashing with pride. "Never, Sansa," he said firmly. "I will not bend the knee to murderers and liars. The Lannister’s are poison to this realm. I swore to protect the truth, and I will hold on to it, even if it costs me my life." Sansa sobbed, her hands grasping him, but the chains clanging coldly between them. "Father, please..." she whispered, but she saw in his eyes that he would not give in.

As she left the cell, the guard's grinning gaze followed her. His eyes seemed to mock her, and the memory of his touch was still present in Sansa's mind. Sansa held her head high, forcing herself not to cry, but inside her a storm of fear, shame, and despair raged. Back in her room, she threw herself onto her bed, the covers pulled tightly around her, but sleep eluded her. Her mind revolved around her father's words, the truth about Joffrey, the humiliation she had suffered. She could not allow her father to die. Not for his pride, not for his honor. Resolutely, she wiped her tears away. She would go to Joffrey. She would beg him, beg for mercy, no matter what it cost her.

The next morning dawned gray and heavy over King's Landing, the air filled with a fine mist that veiled the towers of the Red Keep. Sansa Stark stood before the heavy wooden door to Joffrey's chambers, her hands trembling as she gripped the cold brass handle. Her heart pounded wildly, and inwardly she prayed to the old and new gods that Joffrey would show mercy. "Please, spare my father," she whispered silently, her lips barely moving as she opened the door. The room beyond was filled with a heavy aroma of wine and perfume, tinged with the sweet scent of candle wax. Golden tapestries with lion motifs adorned the walls, and the large four-poster bed dominated the room, its red curtains half-drawn.

Sansa entered, and her eyes immediately fell on two naked women positioned before the bed, their bodies glistening with sweat. The older one, with ample breasts and long, braided pigtails, stood near the edge of the bed, while the younger one, more delicate and with short, dark curls, knelt before her, her tongue gliding in slow, rhythmic motions over the older woman's lap. A soft moan filled the room, mingled with the sharp crack of a riding crop, which the older one repeatedly struck on the younger woman's back or bottom whenever Joffrey signaled. Sansa felt her face heat up, her eyes flickering nervously between the bed and the floor. Joffrey sat on a cushioned chair off to one side, his green eyes sparkling with pleasure as he noticed Sansa. "The traitor's daughter," he said with a sneer, his voice dripping with scorn. Sansa lowered her gaze, her hands clenching the folds of her silk gown. "My King, Your Grace," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "I beg you for my father's life. Spare him, let him return to the North, and I... I am yours forever."

Joffrey laughed, a cold, sharp sound that made Sansa flinch. "You stupid little bitch, so you come here to beg me? Then why are you still standing?" His words struck her like a whip. Without thinking, Sansa sank to her knees, the cold stone floor making her shiver. "Forgive me," she murmured, her voice trembling with fear and shame. "I beg you again, spare my father, and I will do as you wish." Joffrey laughed again, his eyes glittering wickedly. "You do that anyway," he said, turning back to the women. The crack of the crop, the soft cries of the younger women, and the pleasurable moans of the older women merged into a disturbing sound that filled the room. Sansa noticed out of the corner of her eye that Joffrey had unzipped his trousers, his hard cock in his hand. Her gaze darted between the women and the king, her stomach clenching. "Do you see these two good sluts, Sansa?" Joffrey asked, his voice both sweet and threatening. He stroked her head with his free hand, his fingers digging into her reddish hair. Sansa nodded silently, her throat tight. "I could order them to suck my cock now," he continued, "or you could prove to me that you're just as good and obedient."

Sansa immediately understood what he demanded. Her heart pounded as Joffrey spread his legs wider, offering her space between them. His hard cock was inches from her face, his hand heavy on her head. With trembling fingers, Sansa reached for it, her right hand hesitantly wrapping around it, and she began to jerk him slowly, her movements uncertain and mechanical. Joffrey's gaze grew sterner. "This isn't enough, Sansa," he growled, his voice sharp as a dagger. "You know what I want." Sansa closed her eyes, tears burning behind her lids, as she leaned forward. Her lips touched the tip of his cock, warm and salty, and she forced herself to take it into her mouth. She moved her head slowly, her tongue gliding hesitantly over it, trying to block out the sounds of the women in the background—the slap of the crop, the moans, Joffrey's laughter. He leaned back, a satisfied groan escaping his throat as he watched the older prostitute strike the younger with the crop, their movements becoming faster and more urgent. Sansa felt his grip on her hair, guiding her, controlling her movements. She fought the gag reflex, her tears now flowing freely as she took him deeper into her mouth, her lips tightly wrapped around him. Joffrey's moans grew louder, his hips jerking slightly as he held her head tighter. "Good girl," he murmured, but his voice was full of scorn.

Suddenly he pulled her head back, his eyes glittering with lust. "Enough," he said. "Take off your clothes, sit on me. Ride me." Sansa froze, her breath coming in gasps. She knew resistance was useless. Her legs trembling, she rose, removed her dress, and sat backward on his lap, her hands on his knees. She felt his hard cock press against her entrance, and with a soft gasp, she let him slide inside her. The pain was palpable as he pressed deep inside her, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. Joffrey's hands slid over her body, finding her breasts and kneading them roughly before he pulled her head back harshly repeatedly, his fingers wrapping around her throat, choking her. "Traitor," he hissed, his breath hot in her ear. "Whore. Do you think you can fool me with your pleading?" Sansa wept silently, her tears dripping onto her chest as she forced herself to move her hips, to ride him as he demanded. Each thrust drove him deeper into her, and she gasped in pain and shame, her body trembling beneath his touch. In the background, she heard the older prostitute moan, her cries of pleasure growing louder as the younger one brought her to climax. Joffrey's hands grew rougher, his grip on her throat tightened, and with a final, animalistic groan, he came deep inside her, his body convulsing beneath her. Sansa felt the warmth within her, and a shudder of revulsion ran through her. He pushed her roughly from his lap, and Sansa fell to her knees, her legs shaking too much to stand. She thought he was going to force her to suck him again, but instead, she suddenly felt a warm, stinging spray on her face. She gasped as his urine hit her skin, spurted into her open mouth, and dripped down her chin.

Hidden Content

This board requires you to be registered and logged-in to view hidden content.

The stench was overpowering, and she spat in disgust, her hands shaking as she tried to wipe her face. The humiliation burned like fire, deeper than anything she had experienced before. Joffrey laughed, a cold, triumphant laugh. "Perhaps I'll consider sparing your father," he said finally, zipping up his trousers. "Perhaps I'll send him to the Wall. That would be generous, wouldn't it?"

Sansa forced herself to nod, her voice barely audible. "That would be so generous, my king," she whispered. "And when we are wed, the North will be yours as well." The words tasted like poison on her tongue. Once she had dreamed of becoming queen, of ruling at Joffrey's side, but that dream had become a nightmare, wrapping itself tighter around her with every second. What would he do to her when they were wed? Would he ever treat her better? Or was this her fate—an endless chain of humiliations? She didn't know, and the uncertainty ate away at her.

Back in her room, Sansa had a bath prepared. The water was hot, almost painful, as she sank into it, turning her skin red. She scrubbed her body until it was raw, trying to wash away the smell of Joffrey, the feel of his semen, the stench of his urine. But the shame remained, clinging to her like a shadow that wouldn't wash away. She stared into the steaming water, her thoughts a swirl of fear, anger, and despair. Father, I tried, she thought, as tears dripped into the bathwater. I will not give up. I will save you. But deep down, she wondered if there was any hope at all—or if she was trapped in King's Landing forever, a little wolf in a cage of lions.

[Interception]

Another very good chapter

[Lucius]

I can see Joff being into golden showers. That Lannister fixation with yellow stuff ...