Nepotism displeased her, at least when it benefited herself. Because of this, the fact that Sansa was playing her first real show at Winterfell felt unjust. More than that, though, everything felt like a surreal amalgamation of nostalgia and possibility, as if Sansa stood on the edge of her childhood and the threshold of her career as a musician at the same time.

The crowd was uproarious. Not to see Sansa, but because it was a Friday at Winterfell, when things were always loud. Sansa had spent more than a few nights of her childhood in the manager's office, and even on Tuesdays the noisiness of the club had caused her to struggle to finish her homework. The venue, a warehouse that had been renovated going on three decades ago, was always noisy to the point of distraction. But when someone was performing… Well, it was an honor to play here tonight, no matter the fact that her father owned the famed New York City nightclub.

"You ready?"

Sansa turned around to see her brother Robb smiling at her. He resembled their father's side of the family more with his wavy dark hair, while Sansa sported a long, straight, red mane. A lone singer, she'd needed a back-up guitarist for the night, and Robb was the first person she thought to ask. Of course, her half-brother Jon would have garnered a larger crowd – he had a fan base of his own already – but this night was about her performance… Not to mention, she got on far better with Robb than she did with Jon.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Sansa said with a small smile. At sound-check earlier, things had gone well. She'd sang with Robb plenty of times growing up, so they already had that connection. "Thank you so much for supporting me tonight, Robb, even if things go horribly."

Robb's smile turned to a smirk and he rolled his eyes, bringing Sansa in for a hug. He was tall, but so was Sansa, so her head rested comfortably on his shoulder as she returned the affection. "You're gonna kick ass out there, little sis," he told her. "Now come on. Let's get out there."

Sansa whirled around to see that the stage lights had indeed turned on. From their view in the wings, she could see the MC, a spunky-looking girl with colorful hair, trotting up to the mic. "Ladies and gentleman!" she called. "Give it up for our performer tonight, Sansa!" Sansa couldn't help but smile abashedly. She'd hoped they would leave her last name out. Her family didn't embarrass her; she loved being a Stark. But again, nepotism and all that.

Robb led the way, heading towards his stool and guitar. Sansa took a deep breath, thrust her shoulders back, and then power-walked her way across the stage to the mic as the MC exited stage right. You can do this, Stark, she said to herself, letting out her breath.

For a split second, Sansa was caught in the spotlight, staring out at the crowd. She could barely see them against the glare, but they were there all the same, most quieting down to hear her perform. The vibe of Winterfell depended on the performance on stage. She could wow them with a spectacular performance, drawing all attention to her, or just provide fun background music and let the crowd do its own thing. But Sansa wasn't here to make background music. She was here to be a star.

Her sound was a little softer than what Winterfell was used to, but she wasn't going to change who she was. On YouTube, the videos that had gotten the most hits were all of her covers. Sansa knew she at least had that going for her. She did covers like no one else could. With a nod at Robb to start strumming on his plugged-in acoustic, she began.

"Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now

Our song on the radio, but it don't sound the same.

When our friends talk about me I hope it just tears you down

'Cause my heart broke when you left that day

And it all just sounds like, "Oooh."

I was too young, too dumb to realize

You never bought me flowers, you never held my hand

Never gave me any of your hours while you had the chance

Never took me to your parties, and you knew I loved to dance

Well now, baby, I'm dancing, but I'm dancing with a better man"

At the pause before the next verse, Sansa strained to listen over Robb's guitar. People were talking, but in hushed tones. She had to pull the microphone from the stand and strut across the stage to keep from jumping up in down with excitement.

"Your pride, your ego, your needs and your selfish ways

Caused a good strong woman like me to walk out your life"

She went in for the kill now, raising her voice, pouring her passion into the song, forgetting about the crowd and focusing instead on the words and the ex-boyfriend who had inspired her to redo a sappy Bruno Mars song.

"Now you'll never, never get to clean up the mess you maa-aade

I bet that haunts you every time you close your eyes"

People were cheering! Sansa faced the crowd, opening her eyes after her outpouring of emotion as she continued into the chorus. A group of young women stood by the stage and were singing along, raising their lite beers to her, cheering whenever her changed lyrics focused on what it felt like to leave behind a shitty ex. She glanced back at Robb, who grinned at her as he continued to play. If his hands were free, she was sure he would have given her two thumbs up.

It was time to slow down now. Energized by the crowd, Sansa slipped towards the front of the stage, singing to the three women who had raised their beers to her.

"Girls, I hope he buys you flowers, I hope he holds your hands"

Sansa crouched and took the one girl's hand, and the "wooo!" she erupted in sent her confidence sky-rocketing.

"Hope he gives you all his hours when he has the chance

He'll take you to every party because I know how much you love to dance

He'll do all the things that asshole shoulda done when he was your man"

Standing up fully, she gazed out into the crowd, making eye contact with a man at the bar at random. She couldn't make out faces that far away against the glare of the stage lights.

"He does all the things you coulda done when you were my man"

The crowd exploded with applause and Sansa couldn't help but grin like the cat that got the cream at her brother. Now, Robb really did give her two thumbs up before joining in the applause. The song wasn't the most high-energy, but damn, had it been a good choice. "Thank you Winterfell!" Sansa called into the mic, placing it back into the stand as she faced the crowd. "It's wonderful to sing here tonight in New York City!" She stepped away to take a sip of water, and before she knew it, Robb was on the electric guitar, playing one of his original songs, one that she knew the words to. From there, it was all came naturally, and the rest of her performance was a blur of adrenaline and beauty.

Before Sansa knew it, it was time to take a break. The MC ushered her off stage and she was led to the bar, where her father sat. He immediately stood up the second he saw her and scooped her up into a bear hug. "You're doing wonderful, Sansa," he said to her, holding her at arm's length now.

Ned Stark, the owner of Winterfell, was a tall man like his children. He wore his hair long, almost to his shoulders, and had for at least thirty years now. Broad, prone to wearing black, and covered in tattoos, he was the image of an aging eighties rocker. And while slim, feminine Sansa was different from her father in appearances, he meant everything to her. Her relationship with her mother was even closer. "Thanks, Dad," she said with a shy smile. Of course, Sansa lived for praise, but that didn't mean it embarrassed her any less than the average person.

Robb handed her a glass of white wine and clinked his craft beer against it. "To your first show," he toasted, and the two each took a sip, though Robb's was more of a gulp.

Sansa only had twenty minutes before her final set, and Ned made sure she was plenty busy making the rounds and talking to people. All of it was a blur, and she only had five minutes at the end of the intermission to run to the bathroom in the manager's office, located fairly close to backstage. In the bathroom, she fixed her hair, applied another coat of bright pink lipstick – she didn't care if people thought it clashed with her hair, she liked it – and knocked back the remainder of her glass of wine. The combination of alcohol and adrenaline gave her a buzz that left her more than excited for the rest of the show. Sure, a fairly popular local band would be on shortly after her, but one day she would have people opening for her. Sansa certainly hoped and even dared to have a feeling that that day was coming soon.

Leaving the wine glass on the sink, she left the bathroom and then the office, glancing down at her phone to see that she had a ton of notifications and only three minutes now before she had to be on stage. She was so busy replying to a text from her best friend, Jeyne, that she nearly collided with a man standing in the shadow outside of the office. "Ooh! Sorry!" Sansa cried, dropping her phone onto the distressed hardwood floor.

"The fault is mine," the man said, bending to pick the phone up. He had graying hair that had once been dark, which was all she could see until he stood back up and handed Sansa her iPhone. "I apologize for startling you." The way he said it, though, made Sansa doubt him. He certainly had been waiting for her outside of the office.

The man wasn't particularly tall, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Sansa, and slight, too. Still, he cut a fine figure in his dress pants, collared shirt, and tie, the colors of which Sansa couldn't make out in the dim light of the concert hall. "Your performance tonight blew me out of the water, Miss Stark."

So he knows who I am. Really, it wouldn't have taken a lot of work, though, if he had been watching her. After all, she'd run straight out of the first set to hug her father and talk to his friends. "Thank you," she said, only mildly startled now.

"I only wonder, are you signed yet?"

Sansa blinked, pleasantly taken aback. The whole point of coming out tonight was to impress a talent scout who might sign her to a record label. "I haven't," she informed the man. "Which label are you from?"

His smile was sideways as he informed her, "Oh, I'm not from a label." His flicked a card out of, well, Sansa wasn't sure where. It seemed to suddenly just appear in his hand, as if by magic. She took it and glanced down at the writing. PetyrBaelish. Agent.

"O-oh." Sansa hadn't thought about an agent. She hadn't thought about any of it, really, aside from tonight and then what it might be like to record an album.

Suddenly, Robb popped into the hall from backstage. "Come on, Sansa," he called. "We're on in thirty seconds." He glanced at Baelish, then popped backstage again.

"I've got to go," Sansa said. Not wanting to be rude, she made a show of putting the card in the back pocket of her skinny jeans. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Baelish."

"Thank you," Baelish insisted with a small nod. "I hope to hear from you. And please, call me Petyr."

* BEEP BEEP BEEP *

There was nothing more annoying in the world than Sansa's alarm tone, even at twelve noon. She fumbled for her phone to switch it off before groaning and burying her head beneath her pillow. Her ears were still ringing from last night, not to mention the fact that she was suffering from a major headache and a case of dry mouth. After the show, she and Robb had stayed at the bar, and plenty of new fans had bought her drinks. She'd probably done three too many shots of Fireball. Maybe five too many.

But it didn't matter how hungover Sansa was. For now, playing shows, even at places like Winterfell, wasn't paying the bills. Neither were any of her other three jobs, either, if she was being honest. She was lucky enough to have semi-rich-and-famous parents, but again with the nepotism… Sansa insisted on making her own way whenever possible. If her parents had taught their children anything, it was work ethic.

Sansa finally got out of bed and headed into the kitchen of her apartment to attempt to eat breakfast. She passed Jeyne, who was sleeping on the couch, as usual. Jeyne, too, worked quite a few jobs, and some nights she was too exhausted to make it from the front door all the way to her bed (a whole twenty feet away) and so she just crashed on the couch in her work uniform. "Christ, Sansa," Jeyne complained, rubbing her eyes. "I heard your phone go off 900 times last night. With the door shut and everything. Who was calling you?"

"Pretty sure you were hearing things, Jeyne," she said, proceeding on her way.

Three struggle-filled bites into her bagel thin, Sansa was surprised by Jeyne plunking her iPhone down on the dining table. "Look," she insisted. "Told you so." Sure enough, Sansa's phone display showed multiple unread iMessages, missed calls, and e-mails. She had slept right through them.

It was annoying how nosy Jeyne could be sometimes, but she meant well. Sansa shrugged her behavior off before reading through her notifications. Most of the messages were congratulatory or questioning texts from friends and family all about last night, but there were a few messages form new contacts, too. Somehow, Petyr Baelish had tracked down her e-mail (though maybe wasn't the most difficult of addresses to find). She also had a message from one Robert Baratheon, CEO, Fury Records.

Holy fucking shit.

Sansa dropped her bagel. It made a rather non-dramatic thump against her plastic plate. Thankfully, it landed cream cheese side up.

To be fair, Sansa wasn't as shocked as most would have been to receive a message from Robert Baratheon. He was, after all, her dad's old friend. The two had opened Winterfell together and still remained fairly close. They rarely saw one another, but Sansa knew that Ned and Robert considered the other their best friend. Still, to think that the CEO of Fury Records had reached out to her…

This was too good to be true. She clicked on the e-mail, ignoring the constant banner notifications from Twitter. (Apparently, #SansaTakesWinterfell had trended in the tri-state area last night, some time after that third Fireball shot.) While being a trending topic was plenty exciting, an e-mail from Robert Baratheon took the cake.

What followed was short and sweet, though beneath it was a rather interesting electronic paper trail. Apparently, Mr. Baratheon had been so excited to talk to her that he'd tracked down her e-mail himself, not through one of his talent scounts, but through Ned. They'd spent about three e-mails each reminiscing about the old days (Sansa had not needed to know about the Acid Trip of '77) before Robert finally remembered why he had e-mailed his old friend in the first place and then accidentally forwarded the entire chain to Sansa. Oh, Baby Boomers and technology.

Sansa – I hope you're doing well. Actually, I know you are, from what I saw at Winterfell last night. Call me when you get this. I have something I would like to discuss.

Robert Baratheon

CEO & Owner

Fury Records

How did one keep it quiet all day about getting an e-mail from Robert Baratheon?! He wants to sign me! Sansa found herself thinking all day at her waitressing job. She was on hostess duty, and as she sat customers and consulted the seating chart, she composed lyrics in her head. My first album should have twelve songs, she decided. And two bonus tracks, like, if it generates enough interest.

Her phone burned a hole in her pocket the entire shift, and on bathroom breaks she checked it to text her dad for advice. Can I call him tonight? Is that too late?

It's never too late with Baratheon, Ned assured her. He also sent two emoji – a microphone and a winking face. He had just discovered the little yellow smiley faces and was convinced using them made him look "with it."

Finally, Sansa was done with her shift. She knew she couldn't wait any longer, and so it was in her car, from the parking lot, at nine-thirty in the evening that she called Robert Baratheon on his direct cell phone and her entire life changed.

Four nights ago, Sansa had performed at Winterfell. This morning, she was on a plane headed to LAX.

Getting out of her shifts had been a nightmare, but the way Sansa saw it, this was her future. Not seating grumpy customers who barely tipped, not slinging drinks in booty shorts, not crooning at a jazz club full of gray-haired businessmen with creepily winked at her. This was her calling, and she would give up anything in the world for it. Jeyne also worked at the restaurant, so she'd picked up her hours there. The bar let her go without a second thought – long-legged girls were a dime a dozen in New York. As for the jazz club, well, Sansa hadn't even bothered calling them. She'd shot off a text to the owner, who she was ninety percent sure didn't know how to text back.

Traveling was exhausting, but Sansa had survived the past week or so on adrenaline alone, and so she felt rather fresh once she checked into her hotel. Still, she showered, hydrated herself, and dressed in her most business-like but still casual attire. She had heard that L.A. was extremely laid-back, and of course, she wanted to sell her brand. For a moment, she wondered whether or not she should have an agent or manager to help her out during a time like this. She'd left PetyrBaelish's card in her skinny jeans, though, and that was the only contact she had. Besides, something about her bothered her, somewhere deep down in her gut.

Right after Sansa was done dressing and blow-drying her hair into a soft, tousled look, a black car arrived at the hotel to take her to Fury Records. In the car ride over, she was surprised not to be a bundle of nerves. Perhaps Sansa was already getting used to everything. It helped, of course, that her parents were both in the business, as well as her two older brothers in some way or another. She certainly had the experience and knew what she was to expect and ask for at a meeting like this. Jon had signed with Fury Records quite a few years ago, though he hadn't ever put out a second album, and her father was constantly negotiating with performers at Winterfell. Her mother also had experience as a singer.

When the car pulled up, Sansa was shocked at how quickly the door opened. Was a doorman waiting for her? She hadn't expected such promptness and attention to detail in Los Angeles. When she glanced up at the man holding the door open for her, though, she was surprised to see that he wasn't, in fact, a doorman. He was dressed in street clothes – a pair of fitted shorts and a plain white T-shirt with immaculate sneakers. He wasn't tall, perhaps her height, but something about him… The blonde hair, the surprised blue eyes, the lopsided grin? Sansa felt her heart race and her mouth go dry. It's Joff.

"Oh, my bad," the young man said, stepping away from the door and allowing Sansa room to exit the car. "Thought this was my ride." He gallantly reached out and took Sansa's hand, helping her from the vehicle. When she stepped out, he held her hand for a second or two longer than was necessary.

Oh my God. I'm holding hands with Joffrey Baratheon!

Joff was a pop star, and perhaps the most idolized one by tweens, teens, and twenty-something women alike. He was about Sansa's age with blonde hair and a cocky grin, and his songs were meant for dancing your ass off, either that, or crying alone into your ice cream with. "Crossbow Shot (to My Heart)"had been on repeat on her gym playlist for the past month.

"Quiet, aren't you?" he asked, and though it was cocky, it was also charming. His smirk was infectious, and Sansa felt herself smiling back. "I'm sorry I tried to get in your car, if you're waiting for an apology."

Sansa laughed, he voice finally coming back to her. "Just a misunderstanding, no worries. I'm coming and you're going. It happens."

"You're coming, are you?" That smirk again! Was he making a risqué joke? Sansa blushed and bit her lip, racking her brain for a witty response.

"I'm Joff," he offered, reaching out his hand to shake hers, as if she would have no idea who he was without introduction. "And you are…?"

Again, they were holding hands, though this time just to shake them. His grip was firm, his smile perfect and white and straight. "Sansa Stark," she told him.

"Ah, Stark!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "You're Ned Stark's daughter, here to talk to my father about a record deal."

A record deal! Sansa had to try very, very hard not to squeal. Of course, Robert had told her on the phone a few days ago that he wanted to fly her out, talk with her, and record a single as well as her "When I Was Your Man" cover. She'd hoped that that would progress into a deal for a full album, but hadn't dared to dream. "Yes, that's me," she confirmed, keeping her cool as best as she could. With as good of a disinterested glance as she could muster, Sansa gazed up at the windows of the building before her.

"I should let you go," Joff said, and Sansa felt herself missing him already. "Don't want you to be late for your appointment, though a gorgeous woman like yourself… Well, I'm sure my father wouldn't mind." Sansa smiled at his compliment, willing herself not to blush.

"How long are you in town for?" he asked offhandedly as he stepped into the black car.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," Sansa stammered. Nice going, Stark. "However long my business takes me." She stood taller than him now, but even staring down at him, Joff was gorgeous.

"Hmm, mysterious," he said, and Sansa truly did feel mysterious and special in that moment. "Well, if you're still here tonight, might I take you out for a drink? There's a great place in Pasadena that I'd love to take a pretty redhead to."

"Oh, well," Sansa managed to flirt back, relieved that she'd finally found her cool. She shuffled from side to side, pulling at her yellow skirt, patterned with images of birds, playfully. "I suppose I'm free tonight. For a little bit, at least."

Joff smirked, pulling his black iPhone from his pocket. "That's what I like to hear." He handed her his phone, a blank text message already brought up. "Just put in your number."

Sansa typed hers in, then, boldly, sent herself a text so she would have Joff's number too – just in case. Feeling flirtatious, she went to open up his emoji to send herself a kissy face. She was flustered to realize that he did not have the emoji app downloaded. "New phone?" she asked, settling for a "to the hot redhead" text instead. "No emoji."

Joff shrugged as she handed him his phone back. "I don't like smiley faces. Unless they're on a gorgeous girl like yourself." He winked. "See you later."

"Bye." Sansa waved, feeling like a freshman who just got asked to the homecoming dance by a varsity football player as Joffrey shut the door and the car pulled away from the curb.

Sansa's phone buzzed and she glanced down at it. to the hot redhead, her phone read, and beneath that, make that to the BEAUTIFUL redhead.

Sansa took a deep breath and turned around, marching towards the doors emblazoned with the Fury Records logo. She felt like she was floating on Cloud 9, but there was no way she could survive her meeting with Robert Baratheon if she swooned right here on the spot.

And so, she held her head high and power-walked her way into the foyer, using confidence to chase the butterflies in her tummy away.

Sansa Stark had been in L.A. for three hours. JoffreyBaratheon, pop star sensation, People's 14th Sexiest Man Alive, had asked her out. And now, she was going to get a record deal.

Forget Joffrey making People. Rolling Stone, Sansa said to herself, here I come.