Whitehall Palace

Sansa and Arya had been up since the early hours of the morning getting ready for their presentation to the King and Queen at the palace. Sansa was in a fret, desperate to make a good impression before such illustrious and elevated people. There was so much at stake and they could not afford to fail. Not when Mother had made such an effort to send them so very far away.

"Will you stop pacing, Sansa? You're making me nervous now!" Arya declared, after her elder sister passed her for the fourth time, wringing her hands and fidgeting with the solid silver wolf ring on her finger, which was a Stark family inheritance. Her fingers fluttered towards the silk violets in her hair, cunningly made to look as if real and scented delicately with the fragrance of the flower.

Sansa bit her lip, turning huge worried eyes on her sister. "I can't help it-"

Arya looked at her with a glimmer of understanding. Sansa was like this, though she allowed few to see this side of her, fretting about the need to be perfect at all times. A fool's errand, surely! How could you please everyone all the time? 'Tis impossible!

"You are fretting, aren't you?"

"Maybe you don't understand why this is so important, but I can't help it. I just want everything to be perfect."
"It will be."

Sansa looked at Arya a bit dubiously but she wasn't to be swayed.

"You worry far too much. Everything will be just fine." Arya said blithely. "We meet Lord Arryn at the Palace, make our curtsies to the king and look for positions. You're bound to get snapped up by one of the duchesses, or maybe even the Queen seeing as you're so accomplished. I have no idea why you're fretting!"

Sansa said nothing, though she fiddled with her ring once more.

I wish I could be so confident, she thought.


"I can't believe we're all going to court. This is all so exciting!" Jeyne gushed as the carriage sped towards the palace.

"Aren't you excited, Lady Arya?"

"You're more than welcome to take my place if you want to that much, Jeyne, believe me." Arya muttered.

Arya's scowl deepened. She couldn't have more unimpressed if she had been trying. No matter which way she sat, she could not get comfortable, not with those torturous cane and whalebone stays digging into her sides, and her long dark pin-straight hair frizzed into oblivion round the sides of her face. She looked like a damned poodle! What ninnies would willingly put themselves through all this?

She had to admit her dress was lovely, pearl-grey satin which was so pale it almost looked white trimmed with silver. Her skirts were held back with cloth of silver rosettes and she was wearing little matching slippers. Her dark hair was done up in a Grecian style knot bound with a string of pearls entwined with silver ribbon. She wasn't really one for fashion, not like Sansa and Jeyne, but she had to admit that Madame Marianne had done herself proud.

Sansa sighed long-sufferingly, trying hard to have patience with her younger sister. She smoothed her light cream satin skirts round her into graceful folds. "Please try and be a bit more positive, Arya. This is a very great honour for us, can't you see that?"

Arya grunted in rather an unladylike fashion, evidently not feeling that grateful at all.

"It's one day. We should have a couple of days for you to run wild at the end of the week. Please Arya, can you not do this for me, and Mother?" Sansa pleaded. "You do look so well in our house colours. Mother would be so pleased and proud."

She knew what a concession Sansa was granting her; she ought to be grateful her sister wasn't pressuring her to spend her time in more ladylike pursuits. Sansa might have not remotely understood her longing for freedom, but at least she was trying.

"Alright! I promise nothing though."

Sansa flashed her sister a little encouraging smile, just the tilt of the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you, Arya." She mouthed silently.


Whitehall Palace loomed up in front of them, a hodge-podge of buildings from different eras. The red brick of the main area with its Tudor style facade, the green and well-kept gardens where well-dressed courtiers whiled away the day and the bustle of lords and servants as they went on their way. The palace stretched all the way from Charing Cross down to Westminster bordering the river with its own wharf, timber-yard and brewery. The palace sprawled like a loose-limbed old mongrel taking a rest by the river bank.

Sansa could hear the muted cries of the ferrymen as boats went up and down the Thames. The royal family and the great men of the realm used it as a convenient and private thoroughfare. All down the banks, as far as the eye could see lay the houses and palaces of the great and good. Greenwich, Hampton Court, the Tower, St James's Palace…

"Looks more of a rabbit warren than a palace-" Arya remarked looking bemusedly at the place. "What's the wagering we're going to get hopelessly lost for months, until we get our bearings?"

"The Palace has been built and added to for centuries. There's parts of it that date right back to the Middle Ages. Can you imagine? All that history-" Sansa looked round with rapt eyes, obviously imagining herself as part of some fantastical tale. "- those great men and women that lived and died here. What tales these stones could tell!"

Arya shook her head. Gods, her sister was such a romantic, with her dreams of mythical knights, fair ladies and long-gone days! "You and your tales, Sansa!" she contented herself with saying.


"Try not to fidget, Arya!" Sansa said to her sister as they waited to be presented to the King and Queen. They were meant to be meeting their uncle by marriage, Lord Arryn, who had kindly offered to smooth their way at court.

She hid her trembling hands in her light cream satin skirts wishing to appear calm and serene even though she was terrified and nervous at the thought of being presented to royalty and the court. Was she ready to enter such a large and important stage?

Septa Mordane had reassured her that she would be a credit to her House and that the king would be inclined to be favourable for the sake of their father Ned who had been a hard-working and valiant member of the royalist forces.

Charles was not a man who forgot the valour and bravery of the men who'd given their lives and their fortunes to gain him back his throne. He remembered his friends and for the most part forgave his enemies.

This was a time of new beginnings for the entire realm and the dark days of the Interregnum had been banished, hopefully never to return.


They had been waiting for only a few moments when a man with white hair and a kindly face approached them.

"My word, is that little Sansa? And Arya?"

"Uncle Jon!" Arya beamed at their uncle and darted forwards to shake his hand. Sansa made her most polite and graceful curtsy to him, which made him smile and buss her lightly on the cheek. Her father had always talked fondly of Jon Arryn, referring to him as fondly as a second father and a truly good man.

"You both look wonderful!" he told them. "Your mother's done you both proud and at least you'll be able to keep each other company during your debuts."

"Wait for the king to come out of the chapel and we'll introduce you there. I thought perhaps you'd want a little informality. Make things a mite less intimidating for you. Charles isn't quite such a stickler for formality as his father and mother were." Lord Arryn said with a kindly smile. "I wish Lysa was here to see your great day, but Robin is somewhat indisposed and she dotes on the lad. I will be sure to tell her what a success you girls had."

Sansa steeled herself for the challenge ahead. I must not be afeared. I am a Stark of Winterfell. I must not let Mother and Robb down. I can do this.


Sansa wasn't sure she could deal with the tension any more when Arya gave her a nudge. "Look, I think they're coming! Uncle Arryn's going to introduce us now!"

An elegant group was ambling towards them in the garden, a constellation of courtiers hovering like satellites around them. Sansa took one look at them, and the tall dark man that dominated the group and she knew who they were.

It's now or never, Gods help me, let me not make a fool out of myself! She said internally.

"May I present to you my lovely nieces Lady Sansa and Lady Arya Stark, daughters of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Earl of Winterfell." Lord Arryn announced. "This is his royal Majesty Charles the Second of the House of Stuart, King of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales and his Queen, Catherine of Braganza."

The king loomed over them, extending a hand to raise them from their deep curtsies. Sansa sneaked a look at the king, awed by his height, presence and charisma.

He didn't really look remotely English, inheriting the dark Medici colouring of his Gascon ancestor Henri IV from his mother, Queen Henrietta-Maria. He had dark hair and skin with a full sensual mouth underneath his neat facial hair. Charles was remarkably tall, topping six foot in height with dark striking looks, almost gipsyish in complexion, the pristine white of his cravat highlighting the warm swarthy darkness of his complexion. He had a broad friendly smile as he took in the girls, his teeth shining white in contrast.

Arya stepped forward boldly to return his greeting, ignoring Sansa's sharp elbow. She smiled back at him, all friendly and winning, disarming any surprise at her boldness with her youthful sincerity.

"Your Majesty, we are glad to see you in your rightful place. My father never lost faith you would return to us."

The gathered courtiers gasped at her daring, but Charles smiled at the bold young lass in front of him, liking her artlessness already.

The king smiled indulgently at her, taking her arm. "Ned Stark was the best and bravest of men. It saddens me he is no longer here to see us regain our place." He bent down from his great height and gave her a ceremonial kiss on her cheek. "I am honoured to have his daughters here at my court. Welcome-"

The crowd of courtiers gasped at such an overt sign of good favour from the monarch. Jon Arryn looked pleased as punch that the girls had made so positive an impression on the new monarch.

"I believe you may be of an age with my darling Myrcella. Myrcella darling, come meet our newest debutantes!" Charles called.

A girl with masses of shiny golden ringlets and a magnificent gown of gold silk overlaid with black lace came forth. She dipped into a graceful little curtsey, her emerald green eyes glinting with good humour and kindness. Arya found she couldn't help but like her a bit.

"Papa?" Arya realised that she must be one of the king's many illegitimate children, brought up as one of his own.

"-and where's Tommen?" said Charles looking round for his young lad.

Myrcella grinned at her father. "Tommen wanted to take the spaniels for a walk after chapel, but he said Ser Pounce was too small to run with the pack, so he would carry the pups with him."

Charles's smile turned fond. Sansa could see he was as fond of the lad as he was of Myrcella.

"This is Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. She's newly arrived at court and is of an age to you, I suspect. Would you be kind enough to take her under your wing and show her round court, dear?"

"Of course, Papa! Your slightest wish is my command!" the girl swung on his arm affectionately, beaming as he kissed her on the cheek. He seemed very fond of the girl and she basked in his affection like a flower leaning towards the sun.

"Good lass! And perhaps later you and Jemmy might show me and your uncle James that galliard you've been practicing, eh?"

"Of course, dear Papa. Lady Arya, come with me and I'll start showing you round. The palace might seem like a rabbit warren, but once you get the knack, you'll be running round in no time."

"And who is this?" the king asked, turning to the quieter Stark maiden.

Arya pushed Sansa forward. Mortified by Arya's daring , she kept her head demurely low.

"This is my elder sister, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell." Arya was saying confidently, as if she and Charles were the very best of old friends.

He raised her chin to look at her closer. "My lady, I am very glad to-" his deep urbane voice trailed away as he took in the beauty of her features. "Oh!-" he stared at her as if he simply could not tear his eyes away.

The little Queen by his side kept her polite friendly smile, even though she must be been disconcerted and embarrassed by how her husband was behaving to this stranger.

Sansa stared back at him, riveted by his sheer charisma, and his dark surprisingly handsome looks. Oh, he was as magnificent and fascinating as all the tales said. She couldn't believe she was in his presence.

"Sire?-" she said in a soft shy voice, gazing at him as intensely as he was at her.

Why was her heart fluttering against her busk so swiftly?

"You must be one of the most gorgeous girls I've ever seen. Utterly exquisite-" his deep smooth voice was hushed with awe as he stared at her, quite unable to tear his eyes away.

Despite herself, Sansa felt a teeny thrill that she managed to have such a potent effect on a king. Especially one as famous, thrilling, and charismatic as him.

They stepped towards each other, as attracted as iron filings to a magnet. His fine hand ran down one soft cheek, caressing her.

She shivered, struck by the tingle the path of his his fingertips had awakened in her. "Sire, please-"

He blinked recovering his equanimity swiftly, as if suddenly realising that they were not alone. "Dear me, I have forgotten my manners most terribly!" he said, pulling himself together briskly. "This is my Queen Catherine-" he announced, gesturing to his wife.

She was a small lady with dark Mediterranean features – dark brown masses of hair and coal dark eyes with a sallow complexion. She was tiny compared to her giant of a royal husband, barely coming up to chest height on him. Sansa thought she was as petite as Arya, almost childlike in her demeanour, although she gazed at him with adoring eyes. Her dress and jewels were magnificent, befitting a queen of the realm, all stiff cloth of gold and magnificent pearls embroidered on her stomacher, at her ears and round her throat.

Sansa got the sense she was a pleasant lady, but a bit shy. I'd like to work for her if I could gain a position at court, she found herself thinking. I should like to be her friend, if it's not too presumptuous to think it

"You are new to court? You come to join us?" Catherine said. Her accent was still quite pronounced but as she smiled in welcome, the girls felt far more at ease.

"Yes, your Grace."

"Please rise! Any friend of my husband is a friend of mine. He talk of this Ned Stark. He said he was a loyal and good man-" she raised them both up with such a sweet shy smile, even Arya was charmed. "-I did say right, Charles?-" she turned towards her husband, searching for his approval.

He smiled at her fondly, making the little queen glow with happiness. "'Twas very prettily done, Catherine, thank you m'dear."

As the group moved on, Sansa and Arya knew that their royal debut as informal as it was had been a triumph. Lady Myrcella was already taking Sansa by the arm to start showing her round.

Sansa and Jeyne were still in a tizzy afterwards about the fact that Charles had taken such notice of Sansa. Their introduction had been a perfect success!

"Wasn't it so thrilling being presented to the King and Queen? I should have expired on the spot. Is he as handsome as they all make out?" Jeyne asked her mistress, all ahop with excitement.

Sansa had to think about that one. He was handsome, in a strange way. His features were heavy, too overtly sensual to be truly beautiful, and Sansa had noticed the lines of care and cynicism carved into his face- a mark of his sufferings and time abroad in exile, but it was more the way he held himself, the confidence and ease he had in his own skin that made him attractive. The traces of good humour beside his lush sensual mouth, the glint of appreciation for her femininity in his dark smouldering eyes.
She could see why females lost their heads and threw themselves at him. They could hardly help themselves!

"I...well, I suppose he is." Sansa said, still disconcerted and confused about what she thought about the king, now that she'd met him.

It wasn't remotely like the undeniable attraction she had felt for Willas Tyrell that day at the modiste. Charles's dark gaze swept over her as if he would devour her whole.

She had the sense he would be dangerous, and that to go near him would be to play with fire. Sansa was no fool. She followed the gossip as best she could from the seclusion of Winterfell; she knew that the king had an eye for a beautiful woman, and was known to have strayed from the marital bed. But his spell-bound reaction to her, and her own awed response was a surprise to her as well as him.

Is he, could he be attracted to me?, she wondered privately, though she durst not say anything out loud, even to Jeyne.


Meanwhile, the Stark girls were the topic of avid conversation amongst the courtiers, who were all enjoying a good intrigue and new faces. The girls' arrival was the most exciting thing to happen for a long time.

"Who are these girls and where have they come from?" asked one courtier with interest. "So nice to have some pretty new faces at court."

"It's been a long time since a girl has been so lovely as to leave Charles speechless. His golden tongue was quite stolen away, I fear." One lord said appreciatively.

"She was stunning, though. So young and fresh! What a sweet young maid!"

"It seems that the Stark girls are without a doubt in favour with the king." murmured Baptist May with appraising eyes.

"Really, Bab?" George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham sneered. Inwardly he was pricking his ears up at the prospect that his cousin Barbara might at last have some serious competition for the king's attention. The little redhead looked most intriguing. He would have to see about getting to know her a little better…

He smiled wickedly. "Anyone else would have been slapped down for their familiarity, but Charles seems charmed by the little girl."

"I'm not surprised: she is a winsome little sprite!" Lord Varys simpered behind, performing his usual trick of materialising in the oddest places with a rustle of silk. "Shades of the famous Lyanna, I suspect. She certainly has the Stark look, does she not?"

"It seems Ned Stark's and Lord Arryn's names were good for a great deal. His Majesty was very fond of him and his siblings Brandon and Lyanna."

"Lord Arryn's nieces, aren't they?" said Petyr Baelish, watching them with avid interest. My God, the eldest was so alike to her mother it had given him a start.

"They must have lived a secluded life. No one has ever seen them until this day." Villiers was saying.

"I'm not surprised if they're Ned's girls. He retreated back north after the war and raised his brood there. They say that he never went further south than Sheffield for as long as he lived, sickened by war and the regime."

"Bless him, he was such an idealist!" the way Lord Varys said it did not make his statement sound like a compliment.

"Well, they are still rather young. I imagine the eldest has only just escaped the schoolroom. The youngest must be all of five and ten, if that?"

"Very beautiful girls, aren't they? The oldest one will turn heads, even with that hellish shade of hair. What an exquisite face! Wonderful figure too."

"By all accounts they're Catelyn Tully's girls. Remember she went north to marry Ned Stark?" Baelish found himself saying, staring at the loveliness of the girl like a starving man who would never be sated.

It was uncanny- dearest Catelyn reborn again, innocent and free as he'd always remembered. Not with careless bold Brandon Stark's filthy paw-prints all over her, or Ned Stark's clumsy clod-hopping ones. Could this be a second chance?

Even the king seemed enamoured of the girl who was as fresh and lovely as a goddess of spring. "I've never seen the king like that! Lost for words, he was!"

"The Roses of Riverrun. What a stir they caused at Court! I'm sure Lady Arryn will be dying to meet her nieces once again."

"The older girl is the mirror of Lady Catelyn. It gave me quite a turn, I tell you." He remarked, trying to sound unaffected. "You're grinning, Bab. What is it?"

"I think Lady Sansa, in particular, will bear watching. You mark my words. If the girl has any sense she'll capitalise on the fine impression she's made on the king."

"You sound very confident, Bab?" Petyr made a point of saying to his friend as he moved close to intrigue further.

Baptist May was very close to his Majesty, he knew everyone as Keeper of the Privy Purse and if anyone knew the king's mind, it was likely to be Bab as he was informally known. If he made a comment, it was to be noted.

Bab leaned closer to his friend and lowered his voice confidingly. "Between you and me, I think we're looking at a change in the guard. Things should get very interesting round here, I suspect."