Author's Note: This is very loosely based on Game of Thrones. I used a few of the characters and names of people/places/etc., but the story is original. Also, some of the characters may act a little OOC, but that was the way I chose to write them for the plot. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it as well!
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Sansa sat proudly on her golden-maned stallion, her eyes roaming the landscape before her. It was a beautiful day for a battle. There was nary a cloud in the sky, and the slight breeze did its good work keeping the war banners and flags waving gaily.
Here on this hill the flags waved royal blue and bore the crest of the House of Stark, but across the valley, they were colored crimson. She wasn't near enough to see the crests, but she knew that they depicted a horrible three-headed dragon—the mark of arms of the Targaryen House.
Today was the day. Today it would all end—one way or another.
The line of soldiers on the opposite side of the valley began to ripple—they appeared to be parting to let someone through. Sansa watched closely as a white mare emerged and took its place at the front of the Dragonstone ranks. Astride it was a slender figure whose long, flowing hair was the same brilliant shade of white as the horse she rode upon.
Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone.
Sansa dug her fingers into the thick mane of her stallion as past memories assaulted her. Even though they now faced each other as enemies, she had first met her as Dany—a simple peasant girl…and a friend.
When she glanced at her brother and sister, she could tell that they were thinking of the same thing. And when she looked out towards the horizon, she couldn't help wondering if Daenerys was also remembering that fateful day from years past.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, the wagon wheels sang, clickety-clack to the festival and back! Thirteen-year old Sansa could hardly contain her excitement. It was the day of the harvest festival—the one day each year when she and her siblings were permitted to leave the cold stone walls of the Stark Estate and visit the village nestled at the foot of the mountain. She looked forward to the festival all year, and nothing, not even her sister's incessant whining, could lower her spirits today.
Although Arya certainly was doing everything in her power to change that.
"I still don't understand why I have to wear a dress!"
Sansa exhaled in exasperation. "Because you're a girl, Arya, and girls wear dresses."
Her sister looked down at her green muslin gown as if it had done something to personally offend her. "But I can't enter the swordfight tournament in this thing!"
"The tournament is for boys only. You know that."
"If I was wearing a tunic and pants no one would've known," her sister muttered darkly.
Sansa rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't be proud about that, you know."
"But it's not fair! I could've beaten them all—boy or not!"
"Not me, little sis," Robb patted her head with a chuckle.
"I could too!"
"Could not!"
"Sansa." Her younger brother Bran tapped her arm. "I'm a boy. Can't I join the tournament?"
Sansa smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Sorry, Bran, but you're still too small. Someday when you get bigger you can."
He shoved her off impatiently. "Stop treating me like I'm a baby or something like Ricky!"
"Hey!" Rickon protested. "I'm not a baby! I'm already six!"
"Enough," Sansa said distractedly. "Look, we're here."
Her siblings' bickering stopped abruptly as four pairs of eyes pivoted in the direction of the village.
"Thank you, Sam," she addressed their wagon driver. "This will do."
"Yes'm, Lady Sansa," the boy answered. "I'll jus' tie th' wagon up near 'ere an' come meet up wi' ye."
The children hopped out of the wagon and hurried into the town, looking around themselves in awe. The Stark Estate was grand and stately, but in their young eyes, nothing could compare to the bustling excitement of a village preparing to celebrate the largest festival of the year.
Colorful ribbons—dancing merrily in their brilliant orange and scarlet hues—had been strewn across every rooftop. The smells of smoking, savory delicacies permeated the crisp autumn air. Vendors crowded the streets peddling trinkets of all sizes, shapes, and kinds. Performers could be seen in every corner taking advantage of the unusual influx of passerby traffic. Baton throwers, magicians, flame-eaters, animal trainers, foreign dancers, singers, jugglers, players of the lyre and pipe—all could be seen by simply taking a stroll through the towns' main thoroughfare.
"We should go to the square first," Robb said, raising his voice over the noise. "The spots in the tournament often fill up fast."
Sansa followed his lead, clutching Rickon with one hand and keeping both eyes on Arya and Bran—the two who she knew were most likely to run into trouble. She was so busy watching them that she didn't even see when something darted in front of her path.
"Oh!" she cried as she bumped into a cloaked figure. The bag the person had been
carrying fell to the ground with a dull thud, spilling bright red apples all over the dirt road. There
was no time to react as a horse and wagon passed by, trampling the fruit to a pulp.
"Oh my!" Sansa exclaimed. "I apologize—are you alright?"
The girl—for it was a girl, she realized—looked up from the unfortunate apple remains. She was about her own age, with a smooth, fine-featured face and solemn grayish-blue eyes that gave her the appearance of being much older than she was. Her dress was made of brown wool and she wore a red headscarf wrapped tightly around her head. She looked to be a peasant, but there was something about the way she held herself…If it weren't for the clothes she was wearing, Sansa could have easily mistaken her for nobility.
Upon seeing her, the girl's eyes widened. "Please don't apologize, Lady Sansa! It was my fault."
Sansa stepped back warily. Her father had purposely kept his children under tight confinement to protect them—or as Arya liked to call it, to "kill them slowly by boredom." In any case, the result was that no one outside of the castle knew what she and her siblings looked like.
"How do you know who I am?" she asked sharply.
"My mother used to work as a maidservant at the Stark Estate," the girl explained, dropping a polite curtsy. "She took me there a few times when I was young, and sometimes I would see you and the other young lords and lady in the halls."
"And your mother's name?"
"Mhysa," the girl replied. "Although you likely wouldn't remember her, my lady. It was nigh ten years ago when she became ill with the plague and passed."
Sansa's brow furrowed in thought. She didn't remember it well, but she had heard stories of a plague that swept across the country when she was three or four years old.
"That's enough, Sansa," Robb rebuked her mildly. "You're the one who bumped into her, there's no need for an interrogation."
Sansa threw an irritated glance at her older brother. Maybe she was being a bit harsh, but there was no doubt that Robb's sudden penchant for compassion stemmed from the smooth complexion and doe-like eyes of a certain village girl. Still, she knew that her brother was right. The girl's story lined up, so it appeared that she was telling the truth.
"I'm sorry about your apples," she said at last. "If you just tell me the amount, I would be happy to reimburse you."
The girl shook her head. "Thank you for your generosity, Lady Sansa, but please don't trouble yourself."
"Nonsense—"
"Please, Lady Sansa," the girl interrupted earnestly. "It's alright." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "My mother loved serving you, you know…she would have been so happy to see how much you've all grown."
Well, great, Sansa thought with a sigh. Now she just felt guilty.
"But there must be something we can do to repay you," Robb said. "To show our regrets…and to thank your mother for her service."
The girl turned beseeching eyes onto each of them. "Do you really mean it?"
"Of course," Robb said, while Sansa and the others nodded their agreement.
"There is something, but"—she bit her lip uncertainly—"it's a lot to ask, so please feel free to refuse."
"Go on," Sansa said encouragingly.
"I was wondering if…" Her gaze faltered and dropped to her feet. "I would really
appreciate it if you would let me spend the day with you all—at the festival. I used to go with my mother, you see, but ever since she passed…"
The nurturing nature inside of Sansa could no longer be quelled. She grasped the girl's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "We would be honored to spend the day with you."
"Oh, thank you!" she beamed. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."
"Well then," Sansa smiled, "there's a lot to see, so let's get moving, shall we? Oh, and by the way—" She paused, glancing at the girl.
"What is it?"
"I'm afraid that we still don't know your name," Sansa admitted sheepishly.
The girl smiled. "Please, call me Dany."
A/N: I've already finished writing this, so I'll be updating every few days. For now, please drop a review to let me know what you think!