Long before she arrived in King's Landing, Sansa's imagination had been captivated by the fabled Summer Isles Festival of Swans. Instituted the year after the Seven kingdoms confirmed his rule, King Robert ordered the celebration as a diversion for the suffering smallfolk, a symbol of hope for better days ahead. Even then, the city was far too cramped to host tourneys, so instead Robert set aside a large tract of ground just outside the king's gate along the riverbanks for that purpose.

Her father and mother attended as guests of the king when they were newly betrothed and Lady Catelyn never forgot the beautiful displays. Many a cold night, her mother sat on the edge of her bed and shared tales of the magical festival: the magnificent tall swan ships, so named for their billowing white sails and for their figureheads, most of which depicted birds. As she drifted off to sleep, Sansa could almost feel the warm breeze scented with exotic spices wafting over her bed.

After spending a childhood dreaming of the festival, she was determined she would not miss her opportunity to see the fantastic spectacle in person in spite of her current predicament. It was not only Sansa who eagerly anticipated the event: the ever growing downtrodden and middle class populations of King's Landing also looked forward to it, giving the often separated classes an opportunity to mingle as they sampled delicacies and watched the famed swan ships parade up the causeway of the Blackwater.

Joffrey had wanted to do away with the tradition, claiming it wasted valuable resources that were better served in the War of the Five Kings. Given his perilous position with the smallfolk, however, Lord Varys and Tyrion had successfully persuaded him to allow the festivities to continue. When the date of the festival was finally announced by the Hand of the king, Sansa eagerly began pleading Shae to take her along with her on the day set aside for the smallfolk who worked in service to the royal house.

"No, my lady, you will not fit in there," Shae shook her head when Sansa begged to go with her. "You look every bit the highborn. Act like it, too. Besides, you are a prisoner here. If we got caught the queen will have my head."

"We will not get caught. My sister told me of the many of the secret passageways beneath the castle," Sansa whispered conspiratorially, the young woman at once scared and secretly exhilarated. "And if I dress as one of Cersei's handmaids, no one will even notice me. Please Shae, say you will take me with you."

Sighing, Shae frowned at her. "Even if we could somehow get you out of the castle, it is far too dangerous for you there. The smallfolk do not like Joffrey, and there is talk of rebellion."

"They will not risk rebelling before the festival," Sansa took her hands. "I can dress as you do; then I shall fit in, don't you think?"

Shae looked over the beautiful, hopeful girl with a raised brow. "Well, perhaps; let us see," Shae presented her with a simple gown the same style as her daily attire. "Here, put this on."

The gown was cut in the halter style and far more sheer than any gown Sansa had ever worn. Blushing, Sansa carefully stepped into the sleeveless indigo organza confection trimmed in peacock feathers along the hem. "I do not think I can bring myself to wear this in public, Shae-it is far too revealing."

"You will wear the style of the Summer Isles or else I will not allow you to go with me."

Sansa swallowed her pride and agreed. "As you say."

"Alright then. Put on your plainest gown and cloak and pack this one carefully. Once we are out of the castle, you will change. When we are there, talk to no one and stay beside us. If anyone inquires of your origin, you are Lysene, understand?"

"Yes, of course. Forgive me, Shae, I did not mean to sound unappreciative. Truly, this is a lovely gown," Sansa whispered, delicately tracing her fingers over the garment. "The color is exquisite. Wherever did you get it?"

"Tyrion; where else?" Her onyx eyes twinkled mischievously. "He is the one who will make certain that we will not be discovered. He is also sending Bronn to accompany us should there be any trouble."

Scandalized, Sansa began trembling in fear. "Why would Tyrion do that? I am as much a prisoner of his as the rest of the Lannisters."

"Let's just say he has a soft spot for broken things."

Sansa was not sure she understood but knew better than to ask for details. "Won't his sellsword tell on us? The other maids say he drinks in the same tavern as the Hound."

"No," Shae answered hastily. "I have secured his silence and I will do the same with the Hound if need be."

How would she do such a thing? Sansa did not know what to make of her words. As she silently stood mulling them over, Shae skillfully changed the subject. "There is a feathered masque that matches the gown. Wearing such is the custom at the Festival."

Gently she placed a peacock feather adornment over Sansa's face before turning her toward the mirror. "Now then, you look not quite smallfolk but definitely not highborn."

Gazing at her reflection, Sansa most certainly agreed that she no longer looked like Lord Eddard Stark's daughter and the betrothed of the king. In fact, she could pass for the red headed woman widely whispered to be a prostitute who accompanied Lord Baelish around King's Landing. The change in her appearance thrilled her and so Sansa eagerly agreed to Shae's terms. "I will meet you and the sellsword tomorrow then, at the stairway alcove next to the kitchens."

"Don't be late or we leave without you," Shae smiled as she tweaked her chin.

Multicolored silk streamers danced in the breeze over the merchant stalls offering samplings of wines, heady spices and beautiful feathers from a wide assortment of birds to the smallfolk masses. Wide-eyed, Sansa drank up the sights and sounds with relish, laughing and pointing to objects of interest at every turn.

"Many of the men at court speak of a special kind of wood from which bows are made that have a longer range than most others," Bronn remarked, glancing around at the crowd. "Might be I'll be needing one of those soon."

Shae put her hand on her hip an hissed, "Are you going to help me watch out for her or shall I tell Tyrion you would rather shop for weapons?"

"Come now, the Summer Islanders' celebrate their dead through a means you and I have found most enjoyable in the past," he patted her on the bottom. "What do you say, girl? Let us sneak off for a bit. I've got coin."

"Behave yourself," Shae swatted his hand away. "Sansa will see us. Young though she is, the days of sidestepping her questions are soon coming to an end."

"The girl don't care about us," Bronn whispered in her ear while watching Sansa ogling a group of scantily clad Summer Isle women beckoning the men into a scarlet colored tent. "Innocent as a spring lamb that one, and a beauty at that."

They had been bickering ever since the left the castle. Sansa quickly learned to drowned them out but now her ears peeled at the sound of the compliment. Leaning back, she struggled to focus on their conversation while appearing nonchalant.

"She is an innocent child and I mean to see she stays that way."

"I'm not the only man to notice her, you know…"

"Tyrion?" Shae sputtered incredulously. "He would fuck that child? You men-"

"No, no, no," Bronn shook his head, "the Hound. Seen the way he looks at her, have you?"

A deep heat flushed Sansa's cheeks at his words; for all her supposed naiveté, the lustful way Sandor Clegane's eyes followed her had not escaped her notice. But despite his heated gaze, it was no worse than the way the other knights looked at her, save for Loras Tyrell. If fact, Sandor Clegane treated her better than any of the other men at court, she had to admit. He even went against his usual insistence on the truth to cover for her with Joffrey and his effort deeply moved her. When Sandor wasn't scaring her, Sansa found she actually preferred his company to anyone else she had met, excepting Shae.

Despite being sworn to protect Joffrey, the scarred man had tried to help her and always told her the truth in his own, rough way. As of late, whenever she was in his presence, a warmth spread throughout Sansa's body and her breath quickened at the sight of him stalking around the castle. Her reaction both confused her and made her long to explore it further. The very notion embarrassed and thrilled her; never had Sansa been happier that her face was hidden from view.

"Yes, I have noticed," Shae nodded quietly. "He cares for her, though. That is not the same thing."

"The Hound?" Bronn laughed long and hard. "You think he cares for her? That man only cares for the kill, believe that. He wants to fuck her, nothing more."

"Think whatever you like, Bronn, but I have made a living learning to read men."

"Aye that you have, and a good one at that."

"No more such talk," Shae handed him a flagon of wine. "She might hear us."

While Sansa's mind reeled from their words, she became aware of a large figure weaving in and out of the crowd behind them. Has someone recognized me? Is it one of the members of the Kingsguard? No, they would not come to such a place unless Joffrey was here. Panicking, Sansa returned to her place beside them, nervously wringing her hands.

"Shae, Ser Bronn, did you see someone following us?"

"No, my lady." Bronn glanced around, his keen eyes scanning the undulating crowd swirling around them.

"My lady, you must relax and enjoy yourself," Shae patted her hand. "We cannot stay much longer. Bronn and I will not let anything happen to you."

"Go on, lass, sample the pastries there," Bronn gestured toward a blue and yellow striped stall. "The lemoncakes are very good, I hear."

Sansa's eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite confection. "Lemoncakes? Oh, they are my favorite, and I've not had one in ever so long!"

"There's a fresh batch over there," Bronn chuckled. "Eat as many as you like. We'll wait over by the wine merchant there. If there's trouble, just holler and my blade is yours."

"I will," Sansa squeezed his hand, "and thank you."

Suddenly a large hand clamped down on her shoulder. "And what do you think you are doing here, girl?" A familiar deep rasp filled her ear. "You're coming with me."