Prologue
Sansa
Sansa's morning was doing just fine. Then the noise started. She should've been used to it by now. The noise would always start after the Starks broke their fast in the Great Hall of Winterfell. Her brother Robb would leave with Jon and Theon and head towards the yard to play at swords. Bran would sometimes be allowed to go with them but only if he asked his father. Lady Catelyn would never allow him to join in. Only watch. On occasions, Arya would try to sneak out with the group but could never escape the ever watching eye of Septa Mordane. After the morning fast, Sansa and Arya and all the other ladies at court would go into the Maid's Tower and play at a different sort of sword: neddlework. At that particular summer morning, Sansa was finishing up a kerchief that showed the silver trout of House Tully, her mother's house.
"Oh Sansa," exclaimed Jeyne Poole," You did such a marvellous job!" Jeyne had been her best friend since she could remember.
"I know," replied Sansa without so much of an attempt at humility. She took pride at her needlework.
"Now Sansa darling, a proper lady would have replied with a thank you," said Septa Mordane. The septa would walk around the room and check on the girls work. Sansa replied with a small, courteous apology. The septa continued to walk around the room and stopped beside Arya's stool. Sansa could see that her sister was staring out the small window that was by her stool. Sansa and her little birds started to giggle at the scene. The laughter brought Arya back to the world.
"Now child, what in the name of the Seven is more important than your needlework," asked Septa Mordane, in an exsasparted tone.
"I was just watching the boys-" started Arya.
"-playing with swords when you should be attempting something that can be called stitchery," finished Septa Mordane. She picked up the pallet from Arya's lap. It was supposed to be a blue kerchief but was rather a blue mess. Sansa couldn't help but smirk at the uneveness of the stitches. As a down trodden Arya's eyes returned to her work Beth, the master at arms daughter, turned to Sansa and said something clever. Sansa mumbled a polite reponse and returned back to her work. As she finished the final stitch, she found herself inexplicably wondering what her sister saw in the noise that would make Sansa annoyed.
