AUTHOR NOTES:

1. For those who may be reading who are new to fics that ship Stannis & Sansa, this one in particular is exceedingly Alternate Universe and, unapologetically, gets many canon obstacles out of the way of the Ship and (in future vignettes) may introduce new obstacles.

2. I have made Sansa older (16) … I have no excuse other than it eases my conscience a little.

3. There are some things that look like they are becoming fanon for Stannis x Sansa shippers, which is another way of saying that anything that seems like an idea copied from another author I hope will be taken as flattery because I have to admit to being influenced by all the wonderful fics out there so far.

4. I do not profit from this or claim ownership rights of any kind … I just take out GRRM's toys and play with them when he's not looking.

Sansa

Alone and frightened, Sansa Stark sat in her bedchamber waiting for an outcome. Would this night end with no change to her status as prisoner of the Lannisters or would she become the prisoner of Stannis Baretheon? Or worse, would this be her last night with the morning finding her head on a spike? Given those three options, she was bewildered about why she had chosen not to go with The Hound. Fear of him had been a momentary fear; she knew The Hound would never hurt her – ever. She could have followed after him. While she had never grown used to his rough language or the violent things he said, he had made her feel safe when he was around. He couldn't stop the beatings Joffrey had the other members of the King's Guard inflict upon her, yet she somehow knew they would only go so far before he killed everyone in the room to save her. Despite that certain knowledge, here she sat … waiting for a fate that did not include him despite praying that he met no harm on his escape.

All around her, she could hear commotion. There was running, screaming, groans that accompanied injury and dying. It was close to early morning before anyone opened her door. The face of the man standing in the open doorway bore the lines of someone much outdoors, probably a seafaring man. Gray eyes set in a face haggard by extreme fatigue studied her as she stood, trying to appear unafraid. "Lady Sansa?"

"Yes," she replied, proud that her voice sounded a great deal stronger than she felt.

"I am Davos Seaworth, Hand of King Stannis," he said, bowing. She noticed his clothes appeared to be wet. He looked around the room. "Your sister is not with you?"

She felt her lip quiver at the mention of Arya. "I regret that I have not seen her since before the death of my father. The Lannisters do not know her whereabouts, of that I am certain."

Lord Davos was quiet for a few seconds, seemingly pondering information he hadn't anticipated. "I will post a guard at your door until it is safe to take you to the King."

"May I ask … " Sansa began, effectively stopping him from leaving. "May I ask whether King Stannis has won the battle this night?"

She noticed how tired he looked, "Yes, My Lady. You have nothing to fear. Those who held you prisoner will be held accountable for that and other crimes. King Stannis has reached an agreement with your brother, Lord Stark. Once all is secured, you will be brought to His Grace and he will explain all."

"Thank you, My Lord," Sansa replied, assuming the Hand of the King held the status of a lordship. She had no choice but to take his news at face value and hope she had made the right choice in staying.

Bowing again, Davos Seaworth took his leave, "My Lady." Once the door was closed, she heard orders issued to guard her door from any and all intruders until he returned.

Not risking changing her gown without the help of a handmaid, Sansa tidied her hair as best she could on her own and resigned herself to wait. Sleep that hadn't come during the night overcame her and it was late afternoon by the time she heard the knock on the door. Lord Seaworth had changed clothes, but he didn't look like he had had the luxury of sleep. "My Lady, if you will allow me, I will escort you to King Stannis."

All around her, as they made their walk to the throne room, there was a flurry of activity. Servants were carrying on as if it was business as usual, cleaning up the ravages after the battle seemingly of little difference than the daily routine. "Please forgive me, My Lady," Lord Davos remarked after they had walked in silence for several minutes. "I am usually more conversant."

"Please do not apologize," Sansa replied, sounding for the first time in months like the well-trained lady Septa Mordane had instructed in her courtesies. "Today is not a day for idle pleasantries and conversation."

He nodded gravely, sadness in his eyes as they continued to walk. "No indeed, My Lady," he replied, not unkindly, "It is not."

As they entered the Throne Room, Lord Davos announced her, "His Royal Highness, King Stannis, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm. I present the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell."

Since no one was sitting on the Iron Throne or wearing a crown, and as she had never met Stannis Baratheon, she had to wait for him to emerge from the group of six men who stood around a makeshift table set out with parchment maps. She barely got a good look at him, other than to acknowledge that he was a tall and muscularly built man, before she curtsied and lowered her eyes to address him. "Your Grace."

"Lady Sansa," he says curtly. His voice reminded her of the firm, decisive tone her father used when he was occupied or in a hurry. Although it held a touch of harshness, it did not offend her. It was not the same tone she remembered from King Robert. Sansa once overheard her lady mother say that King Robert always sounded like a lecherous drunk, even when sober, and she had found that to be accurate. She raised her eyes to meet intense dark blue eyes focused on her. Stannis Baratheon is not a handsome man and neither was he a homely one; nonetheless, he was most decidedly an imposing man. Not in the way The Hound was, by sheer size and terrifying aspect. This was a man whose commanding way was written all over his tightly pulled features and scowl. She had once been told he had a beard and was bald. The man before her was clean shaven and admittedly, his hairline started about halfway atop his head with hair combed forward, but he was not bald in the sense she had imagined.

"I trust you are well?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Most men who had looked at her as long as he had at least once suffered a glance at her body and parted with at least one appreciative look … even the members of the Joffrey's Guard had done so on initial inspection before beating her on command. Not King Stannis. His gaze never left her face. "My Lady, please accept my sympathies at the loss of your father. Lord Stark was worthy of respect.

"Thank you, Your Grace." It was on her lips to note that they both had suffered great family loss in this war and to offer her sympathies in return, particularly at the loss of his wife. It would have been the courteous thing to say, but she could not bring herself to give more than the shortest answer proper decorum allowed. Sansa wasn't sure whether she feared Stannis Baratheon or whether she had developed a fear of all kings. King Aerys has gone mad and killed members of her family, King Robert had required her direwolf be killed for no reason, and Joffrey was pure evil.

If he felt her lacking in courtesy, he didn't show it. "My Hand has informed you that we have been in contact with your family. They will swear fealty to me if their terms are met regarding you. These terms included your sister for we all believed her to be here with you."

"I am aware, Your Grace." Lord Davos hadn't imparted quite that much information, but enough for her to agree. She was relieved she would not have to feign an estrangement from her family to survive the brief time she would be spending in the court of the new king for it sounded like her removal from King's Landing was imminent.

Stannis' next words did not surprise her, "I wanted to be the one to tell you that Joffrey and Queen Cercei will be executed at midday tomorrow." What followed next did, "Lord Tyrion's fate will be determined by you."

Sansa felt a chill at hearing of the upcoming executions; she wasn't certain if the chill was based on having witnessed the horror of her father's execution or at realizing she was actually pleased to hear they would soon not be among the living. That said, she found it odd and unsettling that she would somehow be responsible for the fate of Lord Tyrion, "By me? How so, Your Grace?"

King Stannis motioned for her to walk with him out of earshot from the rest of those still viewing maps on the table. Lord Davos followed, lingering behind slightly. "If you have been … left a maid," the embarrassment at his words, spoken in a low tone so as not to be heard by more than herself and Davos, was obvious and was followed by an awkward throat clearing sound, "and if you support claims we have heard that Lord Tyrion did his best to spare you as much of Joffrey's villainy as possible, he will be offered a pardon as long as he swears fealty to me and meets certain conditions."

Sansa was glad of this. It wasn't that she had any great affection for Tyrion Lannister; however, it was true he had made every effort possible to spare her the worst. He had also tried to mitigate the damage Joffrey and Cercei were doing to the kingdom. It was good that he was to be spared as long as he did not incite any further rebellion. She couldn't imagine him seeking revenge for his sister and nephew. There was his father, however. Nothing was said about the fate of Lord Tywin Lannister and she had no wish to ask.

"I am yet a maid, Your Grace." She thought she saw something change in King Stannis' eyes. It was so quickly masked, it was difficult to convince herself she had truly seen any difference in the scowl he wore.

"I am glad this is the news I will be able to send your lady mother and Lord Stark. You will still be examined by a Septa to see the extent of any injuries that have been done and that you have the proper care necessary before word is sent," He looked away from her, but came back to focus on her eyes soon enough. "And the other matter? Lord Tyrion's overall conduct towards you?"

Sansa swallowed hard. She had had the fate of another person in her hands before. First, the butcher's son, Mycah. Only at the time, she hadn't realized her lie supporting Joffrey would lead to the boy's death. The second time, it was her father's. She had been manipulated by a hunger for power she hadn't thought possible and at the greatest cost imaginable. Now, she knew full well what the stakes were and had to find the courage to speak. "Your Grace, Lord Tyrion has been, at all times, kind to me. He made every effort possible, in his position, to spare me from his nephew's beatings." Then, another man's scarred face came to mind. "As did The Hound, Your Grace. He has left the city. If he is found, I would ask that it be remembered that he never beat me as the rest of the King's Guard did. He saved my life more than once."

King Stannis' eyes narrowed at this news and his scowl deepened, "The Hound? Clegane?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

The King turned his attention to his Hand, Lord Davos. "Is he among those imprisoned or dead?"

"No, Sire. I would have been told if he were discovered, alive or otherwise."

Sansa was relieved. She was also anxious about young Prince Tommen's fate and wished she could petition for the young boy as well, but knew she had probably taxed whatever good will she had with the request for consideration for The Hound if he were found. Somehow, she didn't see Stannis Baratheon as the killer of children unless there was no other option. In the short time she stood before him, he began to remind her of her father. This king was not charming and he probably wasn't a pleasant man either. Looking at him, she could believe what she had heard about him being an honorable one … one who was a slave to his sense of duty.

She wanted to ask about when she would be taken to join her mother and brother; somehow she knew this was not the time for that question. Or rather, she knew King Stannis or the Hand would tell her when they were ready. If nothing else, she had learned the necessity of patience during her time at King's Landing.