Game of Thrones: Fanfic: Grace under pressure

[m_findlow]

Title: Grace under pressure
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Sansa, Joffrey, Margaery
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 881 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for gehayi's prompt "A Game of Thrones, Sansa Stark, one little shove was enough to kill His Grace King Joffrey" at fic_promptly
Summary: Sansa is so close to putting an end to all the suffering

Sansa was walking back from the gardens when she heard the one voice behind her that she dreaded above all others.

'Sansa! Sansa, come here!' She closed her eyes and pulled in adept breath before turning to face them.

'Yes, Your Grace?' she said, turning to face Joffrey who was stood there arm in arm with Lady Margaery.

'I was just giving Margaery a tour of the castle. Would you care to join us?'

She couldn't think of anything she'd like less.

'Please,' Margaery said, grabbing her by the arm and putting on one of those gracious smiles she always carried around with her. 'We'd be ever so delighted to have your company. Joffrey has been telling me such wondrous stories about the history of King's Landing and that Red Keep. You must have a few stories of your own, I'm sure.'

She tried hard not to look disappointed, forcing a painful smile onto her face. 'Of course. That sounds lovely.'

'Wonderful,' Margaery said, grabbing her harder. 'His Grace was just telling me all about Aegon Targaryen...'

Sansa suffered to follow behind them as Joffrey rambled on about battles fought against the Targaryens, of dragons and wildfire, knights and a dozen other things that Sansa no longer cared for. How could she have ever thought that such things were exciting and wonderful? Now all she saw was the horror of a family that had done despicable things to her own.

'It's all just so fascinating!' Margaery exclaimed, in raptures over every little thing he said. Sansa was practically invisible, forced to trail in their wake. 'Isn't it just fascinating, Sansa?'

'And here,' Joffrey said, pointing upwards, is where we mount the heads of all the traitors in the kingdom. 'See those spikes up there?'

'You really mount their heads?' Margaery asked, sounding not at all horrified, but rather enthralled by the concept. 'I can't imagine anything like that in Highgarden.'

'Oh, yes,' Joffrey, said. 'They coat the heads in tar to make them last longer, so that they don't rot and have the ravens eat their flesh. Just up there, that third spike from the left; that's where we put Ned Stark's head.' He turned to face Sansa just a few feet behind. 'Isn't that right, Sansa sweet?'

She cast her eyes down, trying hard not to picture it there right now. 'Yes, Your Grace,' she replied softly.

'Your father was a traitor, wasn't he, Sansa? But you're not. You're a loyal servant to your King, aren't you?'

'Yes, Your Grace.'

'I can only imagine how awful it must have been for you,' Margaery sympathised, putting a hand on her arm.

Sansa kept her eyes down, noticing the phenomenally long drop as they stood there, perched on the long stone bridge that arched over to the castle ramparts.

One little shove. That's all it would take, she thought. This time there was no Hound to stop her. Only her and Margaery and not a guard in sight. She could kill Joffrey right here and now. Would Margaery try to stop her? She seemed so enraptured with Joffrey that perhaps she might scream for the guards to come and take off her head. Or maybe she'd shove Sansa over the edge the way she had shoved Joffrey. Either way, she'd probably end up dead.

It would be worth it, she decided. She'd never understood her sister Arya and her need for revenge, but she understood it now. Her death wouldn't be in vain. It would be a release, and a repentance for having believed the Lannisters would let her father live if he confessed. She could bring vengeance for her brother Robb as well. A Stark would end the reign of Joffrey Baratheon who had brought their house so much pain and suffering.

Just as she was about to reach out and end it, Margaery grabbed her. She nearly squealed out the word "no!".

'I just remembered!' Margaery cried. 'I'm meant to be having tea with my grandmother in the rose gardens. Your Grace, you must forgive me my forgetfulness. I should love nothing more than to spend the rest of the afternoon touring the grounds with you, but my grandmother is a fickle woman, I fear. And not one to suffer being stood up, even by a king.'

'Then I shan't keep you, my lady,' Joffrey replied, bowing gracefully. 'Family are everything.'

'Sansa, dear, you simply must come with me,' Margaery begged. 'My grandmother has not stopped talking about wanting to meet you. I expect there will be almond tarts and lemon cakes as well, if you fancy them.'

Sansa felt horrified to know she had come so close to avenging her family and failed. 'That sounds lovely,' she replied. It had become her default response for almost everything these days.

Margaery curtsied low. 'Your Grace,' she said. Sansa followed suit, but in silence.

'Yes, yes,' he waved her off, but Sansa could tell that he was annoyed at no longer having Sansa to torture.

'Come,' Margaery said, grabbing her hand and dragging her away. 'I want to ask you all about dress styles in the North.'

Sansa let herself be lead away. Whether Margaery had knowingly stopped her was uncertain, but she suspected that she was about to find out.