( Sansa POV )
The bells rang as Sansa ran, turning her back away from the feast and even skipping steps of the castle garden stairs.
She wasn't afraid of slipping or falling. She would just get back up. What was a scar or a bruise added to the others?
Her heart beat faster with each toll of the bell. She rushed the steps, giving glances over her shoulder once in a while. She had tears running down her cheeks, but she felt nothing. Joffrey was dead, and she felt nothing. Well, nothing except joy, and a part of relief. She had wished to see him die, but she needed to run.
Instead, she turned her back to the scene and fled into the gardens, small tears flowing freely. Tears of joy.
Her heart kept beating faster, until she finally found what she was looking for: in the shade of an oak tree, in a small ditch, were her clothes. She had put them there the previous evening, after another trip to the godswood.
Quickly, she dressed up. Her movements were erratic, sometimes clumsy, and she wished she had handmaidens to help her with it.
Another glance around, but there was no one. She was still alone.
She struggled with her hairnet, pulling it once, twice, without it budging. With a groan, she finally broke it entirely, letting her long auburn hair fall beyond her shoulders.
She pulled the hairnet towards her face, glancing at it. The black stone in the middle was no longer there. Only remained a dark spot.
She frowned.
Had she lost it on the way? Did someone find it and was now trying to trace her steps? Surely it just had gotten loose at the wedding. And a black amethyst from Asshai? No one would find it if it ever dropped on the ground in that confusion. Or perhaps someone would find it and keep it for himself.
She kept trying to spin reassuring thoughts in her head.
No one is following me.
But she still tried her best to hurry the pace. Quickly, she put the rest of her clothes on, then suddenly heard a sound in the leaves.
Her heart nearly stopped.
"Who's there?" she asked.
The gardens were getting dark, the sun was setting on the horizon, leaving a blood-red sky. Death.
"Me." A voice came out of a bush. "It's me, your Florian. My Jonquil, we must go."
Instinctively, Sansa pulled away from Ser Dontos' touch.
"You. You told me I had to wear the hairnet." She frowned. "The one with the black amethyst from Asshai. You lied to me, what stones were they really?"
"No lie, my lady. Black amethysts from Asshai were all they were."
"Don't lie to me!" she almost cried out. "Speak the truth."
"Black amethysts from Asshai." Ser Dontos repeated. "They had magic inside of them."
"They had murder inside of them!" Sansa protested.
"No murder." Ser Dontos almost giggled. "The king choked on his wine. Dornish wine is hard to swallow."
"You…you poisoned him." Sansa gasped. "You took the stones and you…"
"I did nothing." Ser Dontos raised his hands. "That, I promise. You must stay silent, my lady, else you will be the death of us both. Now hurry, we must get away."
Sansa followed the man down the alleys leading down, a hundred thoughts passing through her head. Who? She asked herself. Who did this?
She kept up the pace.
"Hurry." Ser Dontos urged. "Pull your hood up, no one must know."
Sansa nodded and did as told. She wasn't sure where they were going, but the sea was getting closer and closer. The sound of the bells, on the other hand, was now getting dimmer with each step she took.
She spared a look at him, noticing that he had worn a surcoat with the sigil of his house on it. The one he was forbidden to bear. She wanted to protest, but then remembered Joffrey had forced such dishonor on him, and nothing Joffrey said would matter now.
Dontos led her along a wall, then into a few rooms and finally to a large oaken door. Dontos pushed the door open, which itself led over a cliff.
"We must climb down now." Ser Dontos said. "A ship is waiting."
"I'll fall." Sansa panicked, not wanting the same fate to befall her as had Bran.
"No." Ser Dontos shook his head. "There are steps, a sort of ladder, carved into the stone."
He made a show of stepping down first, showing her exactly where to grab onto. Indeed, there were steps carved into the cliff, which led to a small beach underneath the castle.
Sansa breathed in heavily. She spared one look at the castle and shook her head.
It was too far to turn back. Too far to say no. Too far to be afraid.
Sansa grasped the stone firmly, coming after the knight, who was acting as her scout, showing her the way. She eased downwards, her legs sometimes hanging in the empty before finding a spot to rest them again.
The descent was short, but it felt like an eternity. In the distance, the bells rang, but Sansa could only hear the sound of the waves. Her body was tired, and she fell downwards, her head spinning.
Ser Dontos collected her before she could hit the ground, straightening her up as she felt the soft sand under her shoes.
"Thank you, ser." She nodded. "You saved me."
"It was the least I could do to repay you." Ser Dontos smiled. "You saved me all these days ago. It's…"
Suddenly, a sharp sound came through the air, and Sansa felt a huge weight in her arms. Ser Dontos was still looking at her, eyes empty, with a pool of blood forming in his mouth.
She trailed her eyes downwards and saw an arrow sticking out of the man's throat, piercing him from side to side.
Sansa stayed silent, horror dawning on her.
They had found her. It was over. In a few moments, she'd be back at the castle, tried for Joffrey's murder, and executed. She was sure of it. Every single hope she had was dashed, crushed to dust once more.
She tried to scream but the words just could not escape her throat. Suddenly, five or six men were around her, one of them kicking the corpse, then cutting poor Ser Dontos' throat. What good would it do for her to scream, to cry? No, she just felt empty.
Sansa stood there, dumbfounded, expecting to see the crimson red Lannister cloaks come for her, or even the green cloaks of the Tyrells. And the man that now stood in front of her certainly looked like a Lannister. His hair was blonde and his eyes, although blue, had a greenish tint. However, his attire was much looser than what a Lannister would wear.
Suddenly, it dawned on her. This man wasn't a Lannister nor a Tyrell, she had seen him with the Dornish!
She never expected them to make a move. She had heard rumors that their younger prince had slaughtered Amory Lorch in quite a horrible fashion, and it was no secret that prince Oberyn despised the Lannisters for what happened to Queen Elia.
But it all made sense now. Prince Quentyn was particularly close to Queen Margaery. Would he have killed Joffrey to earn her favor? Or perhaps the Dornish were trying to curry favor with the Lannisters and Tyrells? She knew Willas Tyrell was betrothed to Arianne Martell, and the Dornish were now part of the fold.
Clearly selling her back to her captors would do them a lot of good. Or perhaps both at once? Pin her for Joffrey's murder, reap the rewards and let their prince have Queen Margaery?
Tears started flowing down her cheeks. Those she knew were tears of sadness and despair. Hands came to grasp her as the man wiped the tears off her burnt face and looked her in the eyes.
Out of his mouth came four small words, spoken in the calmest manner she had heard anyone speak. But these four words lit another fire in her. Hope:
"Princess, we must go."
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