Chapter Text
The room was hot. That was no news for the journalists of the King's Landing Daily , who had to endure the overwhelming heat of the claustrophobic room that had, for the last two weeks, a broken air conditioner. Cersei promised to fix the problem, but she had to give a fuck about her workers to actually do something about it.
Sansa could feel herself melting on her chair, her long auburn hair in a tight knot on her head, being held by a pen. Like everyone else, her jacket was hanging on her chair and her shoes rested under her table, a pair of flip flops replacing them on Sansa's feet. She knew Cersei would throw a fit if she saw her – and the rest of them too – in such a state, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
It was even harder to concentrate under such heat and Sansa found herself getting distracted by the tiny TV located on the front of the room and usually tuned to the news channel. In that moment, the image of King's Landing's latest superhero took the screen, some beautiful shot of them running through the skies with a child in their arms. It seemed they had just saved the kid from a building in flames.
Their alias was Stormborn and people said they were a man, but Sansa didn't like to assume. They wore a red and black uniform with a helmet that covered their entire face in the same colors. They starred as the city's new vigilante around two months prior and Sansa was obsessed with them ever since. Call her a romantic or whatever, but there was something really noble about risking your life to help people expecting nothing in return. No money, no status, no recognition. Just helping people because you can, because it's the right thing to do.
You have to be really special to choose this life.
“Comfortable?”
Sansa almost fell off the chair, startled, by Cersei Lannister's sudden appearance. Her boss seemed to take great pleasure in her reaction.
Sansa finally sat straight and looked at her boss.
“Do you need something, mrs Baratheon?”
“I have a new agenda for you.”
Sansa groaned internally. Not because she didn't want to work, but because she had been receiving the worst agendas since she broke up with Cersei's son Joffrey.
“Yes?”
“I want you to write a piece on Daenerys Targaryen's rumored relationship with Margaery Tyrell.”
Here we go, she thought to herself.
“So… gossip?”
“I wouldn't call it that.”
“What would you call it, then?”
Cersei's face darkened and Sansa knew she was pushing her luck, but it was stronger than her.
“I call it ‘our readers like it, so it will be done’. Is that good enough for you?”
Sansa swallowed down her pride.
“Of course, ma'am.”
“Good. I got a press pass for her next fundraising gala on Saturday so you can get in and find something. Dress nicely, Daenerys Targaryen likes pretty girls.”
And she left, achieving the feature of making Sansa feel even more miserable than she was before.
With a sigh, she sent a text to Jeyne Poole, her best friend:
“Hey, girl. Do you think you can lend me that black dress again? Work emergency.”
That would be a long night…
Sansa took a look at herself in the mirror of her shitty apartment and, although she didn't look as stunning as she used to back in her early 20s, at least she was adequate. Jeyne's long black dress with shoulder straps fit way too perfectly; if she was an inch taller it would end up being short. She hoped no one would look too closely at her well worn black heels and her hair was tied up in a firm knot, knowing her auburn curls always attracted too much attention and that definitely wasn't her intention that day. Her makeup was also discreet, just some nude lipstick and eyeshadow in shades of gray.
Cersei called her a “pretty girl”, but she didn't feel like that anymore. Of course she had her times of glory when she was still in her 20s, when people would mistake her for a supermodel or a movie star, but she was 35 now and she worked too much, ate too little and had a diet that mostly consisted of coffee and antidepressants. Some wrinkles started to appear and she had to dye her hair in a similar color to her natural shade to hide some gray that would stubbornly grow among her red curls since the previous years.
She still had some beauty in her, of course; but too much happened since she was a young woman, naive and full of dreams. The things she went through since then were the kind that change people.
She grabbed her keys, her cellphone and her pass and shoved everything into her tiny purse, leaving her small apartment to her shitty car and driving to the nice part of town where the fundraising gala was going to happen. She had to park five blocks ahead of the place because of how impossible it was to park near it, and walked the rest of the way, cursing her heels the whole time.
She stopped in front of the building, a lavishing place with the words “Aerys Targaryen Museum of Art” hanging in front of it. Aerys Targaryen was Daenerys’ late father who was also King’s Landing’s mayor for eight years. During his time in the position, he became known for his fascist views and for taking away several rights from the working class and other minorities. The fact that it was Daenerys herself that built the place to honor that man only made Sansa’s dislike for her grow exponentially.
Putting her feelings aside, she entered the place and took a look around her. She could recognize several people, from celebrities to politicians, all of them stuffing their faces with champagne as if it was the last chance they would have at tasting it. She hated them, all of them, although there was a part of her that also envied them. She couldn’t help to remember the times she would also be in one of these events’ guest lists, drowning herself in champagne with not a care in the world. That was not time to think about it, though, and she went back to search for her target.
It wasn’t hard to find her, as surrounded by people as she was. Daenerys Targaryen looked like a starlet from the golden ages wearing a sparkling red dress with a low cut and a thigh slit, matching red heels and her beautiful white hair cascading in waves down her right shoulder, framing the side of her delicate face. Even among her equals, Daenerys stood out. She was the type of woman who would never be ignored, who would always be the center of attention. Sansa used to be like that, too.
Hanging from Daenerys’ arm was the other subject of the gossip – I’m sorry, investigation – Sansa was after. Margaery also looked dashing in a green short dress with a long tail behind it and with her curly brown hair stylishly tied. The two of them were laughing at whatever one of the guys near them were saying and Margaery was decidedly inebriated.
Sansa grabbed her phone and took some pictures of the two of them as discreetly as she could, shoving it inside her purse just as quickly. When the part of her brain that still had some morality remaining warned her that what she did was paparazzi work and therefore not what she wasted years of her life studying for, she reminded herself that those people were decidedly evil, just a bunch of rich assholes who lived at the expense of exhausted and explored workers much like herself, and she wouldn’t sacrifice her rent, bills and food money over their so precious privacy.
Daenerys was the only remaining heir of the Targaryen dynasty, a powerful family that reigned over King’s Landing, Dragonstone and, honestly, the whole Westeros for centuries. Because of a series of unfortunate events, all of them ended up dead, with the exception of small Daenerys who was just a baby at the time. She was raised by tutors outside of the country and returned when she was 25 as the sole heir of an immense fortune and the power her family always possessed. Now, at 36, she still seemed to have the young woman’s mentality she displayed when she once arrived, spending her mountains of money on parties, alcohol and yachts, with the occasional charity work to keep her reputation in check.
Margaery wasn’t so different herself; a nepo baby actress who was mostly known as Olenna Tyrell’s granddaughter, the brilliant star who held the world of 50s cinema in her hands. Both of them, Daenerys and Margaery, haven’t done a minute of hard work in their entire lives and showed to be as alienated from the real problems of common people as anyone with their background would be.
By the time of Daenerys’ speech, she was completely drunk, giggling with her friends and needing to be subtly supported by one of her bodyguards while she thanked everyone so, so much for their presence and their willingness to help – by then she had to pause and ask someone near her who their were helping – the children of Africa.
It was embarrassing. The applause was a little hesitant, as if people were wondering if even clapping for that wouldn’t be in poor taste, but then it was over and some of the guests were chuckling over how funny and cute she was, as if Daenerys was some teenage girl doing shenanigans and not a 36 year old stumbling drunk on her own fundraising event. That was, however, a good opportunity to approach the woman, who was vulnerable enough to someone with good manipulation skills like Sansa. She took advantage of a moment Daenerys stepped aside from her friends to grab one more glass of champagne to get close to the woman and put her own glass – untouched, she took that one especially for this moment – on her hand. Sansa smiled when the other woman looked at her, surprised.
“It looked like you were after one of these.”
“I was…”, she answered, a little dumbfounded. “You’re not a waiter.”
“Nope”, Sansa replied. “Just an admirer.”
Daenerys smiled, pleased, like Sansa knew she would.
“Well, does this admirer have a name?”
“Alayne”, she gave her her usual fake name. “I was trying to approach you the whole night, but you’re always surrounded by people, so…”
Daenerys laughed at that, maybe a little too loud, but understandable for someone so drunk.
“Yes, I’m usually surrounded by people. We can go somewhere more… private, if you want it, though.”
Daenerys was significantly closer to Sansa now, her purple eyes burning into Sansa’s blue ones. It was, admittedly, hard to look away.
“Yeah, I’d really like that”, she smiled, her eyes straying for a moment in Margaery’s direction, who looked at both of them with curiosity. “But I don’t wanna have problems with your girlfriend.”
The blonde woman was whispering against her ear now, and Sansa couldn’t help shiver with the proximity. For a moment, she could only process the other’s expensive perfume and how shorter than Sansa she was, even in heels.
“You didn’t seem that worried about it when you started to hit on me”, her voice was considerably raspier now. “I could call her, you know? I guess Marge would like it too, you’re so pretty.”
“Three is a party, uh? I wouldn’t be against that.”
“Yeah… there’s just one problem.”, her lips were touching Sansa’s neck at this point.
“A problem?”, she asked, almost feeling inebriated as well.
“I don’t fuck with journalists”, and she took some steps back, with malicious smile who could almost distract Sansa from her own press pass in Daenerys’ hand.
Fuck.
“Wait–”, she tried to grab for the pass, but Daenerys dodged her with surprising reflexes for someone so drunk. She took a look for the pass.
“Sansa Stark. King’s Landing Daily… Stark… I know that name.”
Sansa took advantage of Daenerys’ distraction to grab the pass back.
“No, you don’t. How would you, no one from my family ever kissed your ass and this is the only type of people you bother to remember.”
Daenerys laughed, not seeming bothered by Sansa’s accusation.
“You sound so dignified for someone who was just trying to seduce me for information.”
“Wow, you know what ‘dignified’ means. I’m impressed.”
Although her eyes were fixed in Daenerys, Sansa could feel everyone’s attention on the two of them. That was the opposite of what she needed right now and she knew anything she said at the moment would fall on Cersei’s ears.
“You know”, Daenerys’ voice brought Sansa’s attention back to her. “I think I know where I remember your surname from. The Starks were the ones who all died from, like, very stupid reasons, right? Didn’t know there were still some of you around.”
Sansa felt her face heat at the mention of her family. At how Daenerys addressed her main source of trauma and grief with an amused smile on her face. With years and wisdom, Sansa learned to look apathetic against every offense and humiliation. She learned not to talk back, to be smart. Her family, however, was the only thing she couldn’t bite her tongue about.
“Yeah, that’s my family. The ones who died for stupid reasons. But at least when my father died, people were genuinely heartbroken and grieving. Yours, on the other hand? People were celebrating that fascist, incestuous monster finally kicked the bucket. Because my father was out there fighting for his people while yours was too busy fucking his own sister and wishing all gay people were dead.”
Done was the amused smile and the pretentious expression on the other woman’s face. Sansa knew it was time to stop, but she just wanted to finish burying that despicable woman on her own poison.
“And by the way, you’re right, there’s not many of us around. But there is just enough to do this.” Sansa said while grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter near her and throwing on Daenerys’ face.
She didn’t stop to see other people’s reactions, just turned around and left while the screams of surprise echoed around her.
The streets were way colder than when she arrived, and Sansa scolded herself for not bringing anything to warm her. She tried not to think about the consequences of her actions; she would be fired for sure, since no one wanted a reactive reporter around, much less one who would throw a glass of champagne in the face of the richest individual in King’s Landing. Finding another job would be nearly impossible as well. She probably just threw her entire career in the trash.
Distracted as she was by her own misery, Sansa wasn’t able to notice the car stopping right by her side until it was too late. A man opened the door and grabbed her forcefully, pulling her inside. She tried to scream, but a hand was pressed against her mouth and she couldn’t emit any sound. As panicked as she was, she could recognize some of the people at the car as Daenerys’ friends, and she vaguely thought, yes, of course she would do that while she tried to fight against the man who was restraining her.
The guy behind the wheel smiled maliciously at her.
“Did you really think you could treat Dany like that and not suffer the consequences?”
Dany. As if she was a sweet young girl instead of someone who would order her friends to kidnap people. The girl on the passenger seat turned to look at her too, and she seemed to be having a lot of fun with the situation.
“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna kill you, or anything. Just give you a little lesson on how to treat people.”
She could feel the car starting to move, and she didn’t give a fuck about what the girl said, she could feel they were going to kill her. They weren’t wearing masks or anything to hide their identity and they also let Daenerys’ participation really clear. They wouldn’t release her just so she could go straight to the police station.
Sansa’s eyes were starting to feel misty, but she blinked the tears away, refusing to give those people the satisfaction of seeing her cry. There were four of them in the car with her and they all talked animatedly between them as if they weren’t going to, at least, give Sansa the beating of her life. They were all a little drunk, she could see in their faces and smell the alcohol in them. While they took her for God knows where, she thought idly of how she couldn’t smell even the smallest trace of alcohol in Daenerys, no matter how close the two of them were.
The car stopped abruptly and Sansa thought they had arrived until she heard the quiet “What the fuck?” from the driver. From the way she was being held she couldn’t see what was happening, but one of the doors was open and she could hear the driver screaming while someone yanked him out of the car. The girl on the passenger seat also screamed and threatened to call the police. One of the guys who were behind with Sansa asked the girl if she was stupid and to just shut up, but he was the next victim of whoever was outside of the car. Because of that, she was released and, taking advantage of everyone’s panic, she left the car and started to run in the opposite direction of whatever was happening there. Her heels ended up betraying her, however, and one of them broke. She screamed at the audible crack! in her ankle and fell down. She took off her shoes and had some hope of still being able to run without them until she saw her ankle bended in an unnatural angle.
With her heart beating scarily fast, she looked behind and could finally see the assaulter.
She could recognize that uniform anywhere. The red and black of their armor, the helmet that hid their entire face, the dragon that covered their entire torso. That was Stormborn without a doubt.
After beating all four of her captors, Stormborn went in her direction. Some part of her brain warned her that he could think she was one of them, that no one knew she was being kidnapped and they could be in Stormborn's sight for another reason. Another part, however, felt like she could trust them. That they would listen to her.
“They kidnapped me”, she told them, a little miserably, when they were close enough to hear her.
“I know”, a robotic voice answered her. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Just take me to my car and I’ll go home, I… can’t really afford going to the hospital.”
They seemed to take a look at her ankle.
“I don’t think you have a choice about it.” They took her in their arms with surprising strength. Sansa didn’t feel that safe in years.
“Yeah, I guess not…”
Stormborn started to gently float before actively flying and Sansa had to hold on to their neck to keep herself stable.
“How did you know they were kidnapping me?”
“Does it matter?”
“Kinda, yes.”
Stormborn laughed lightly.
“I just saved your life.”
“I know, and I’m thankful! Don’t get me wrong, I really am. It’s just… I don’t think anyone knew what they were doing.”
“Well, consider this a little miracle, then.”
Sansa laughed lightly.
“No such thing in my life.”
The rest of the short trip to the hospital was made in silence. When they left her in the wheelchair at the reception, Sansa took her keys from her purse and shoved them into their hands.
“Can you take my car to my home? It was five blocks away from Aerys Targaryen Museum, it’s a baby blue shitty little thing. It’s old and a piece of trash but I can’t afford to lose it.”
They stayed silent for a second.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I know you won’t steal it because you’re Stormborn and because your armor alone must be more expensive than my car. It won’t take you too long. Please?”
The vigilante sighed.
“Yeah, sure. Just give me your address and consider it done.”
Sansa smiled in relief.
“Thank you. Not just for that, but… for everything. God knows what would happen to me if you didn't show up.”
“Just doing my work. Stay safe, okay?”
She laughed.
“I’ll do my best.”
After giving them her address, she watched them leave with a pounding heart that could be attributed for her almost kidnapping, but she knew to be for entirely different reasons.