The queen sighed. "Sansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you about traitor's blood?"
Your father has committed grave and terrible crimes, my lady, Grand Maester Pycelle intoned.
Ah, poor sad thing, sighed Varys. "She is only a babe, my lords, she does not know what she asks."
Sansa had eyes only for Joffrey. He must listen to me, he must, she thought. The king shifted on his seat, "Let her speak," he commanded. "I want to hear what she says."
Thank you, Your Grace. Sansa smiled, a shy secret smile, just for him. He was listening. She knew he would.
Treason is a noxious weed, Pycelle declared solemnly. "It must be torn up, root and stem and seed, lest new traitors sprout from every roadside."
Do you deny your father's crime? Lord Baelish asked.
No, my lords. Sansa knew better than that. "I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him.