Author's Note: These are connecting drabbles rather than plotted chapters, so things can be missing and there are jumps in time.


He recognised the maid as soon as he heard the confrontation in his lobby, after he strode out of his library demanding why his butler felt the need to cause such a ruckus in his house.

"Kitty, is it not? Lady Sansa's maid?" he asked, once he had ushered the tearful maid into his library.

His butler, Edwards, known as Dolorous Edd amongst the other staff had muttered the whole time about how letting stray maids into an establishment was never a good thing, until Jon had finally snapped, "Hush," at him and sent him away for a glass of milk for Kitty.

"Yes, milord," Kitty replied.

"How can I help you, Kitty?"

"It's Lady Sansa, milord, she's gone to the masque at the Pantheon with Sir Petyr Baelish."

"The Pantheon?" he asked sharply.

The Pantheon was a lavish building on the south side of Oxford Street. It comprised of saloons and a large ballroom that held masques. Before the original building had burnt down, it had been patronised by the haute ton, but now it was frequented by a mixture of demi-reps, aspirants to fashion and young sprigs of fashion kicking up larks. No young lady of good repute should be found there.

"I tried to warn her, milord," Kitty said, ringing her hands. "But I fear Sir Petyr had put in her mind that no harm could be come from attending such a venue."

Jon swore under his breath. Lady Sansa was such an innocent that she would not be aware of the danger of being seen in such a venue. Or with such a cad, he thought.

Sir Petyr was one of the murkier characters who hung on the outskirts of the haute ton, a Captain Sharp, making himself useful in matters of money lending and finding the latest gaming hell. Jon had marked his presence in the Countess of Arryn's drawing room several times, but he had not seen him near Lady Sansa. He had thought the rake was making up to the wealthy widow, but maybe Lady Sansa had been his target all along.

"Lady Arryn has not gone with them?" he asked.

Kitty shook her head. "No, she has a mild stomach disorder and thinks Lady Sansa has gone to the Rosby ball." She cast her eyes down then before continuing. "I didn't know where else to come, milord. But Lady Sansa, she doesn't really know the ways of the ton. A sweeter, kinder hearted mistress, I couldn't have asked for."

"You did the right thing, Kitty. Now, you drink up the milk Edwards will bring you and I'll get Pyp to walk you home."


Sansa eyed the deteriorating crowd with some consternation. "Surely we should return home now, Sir Petyr?"

"Nonsense, my dear. The night is still young and you said you wished to see a masked ball."

She looked doubtfully around her. "I did not imagine it to be like this."

Sir Petyr threw his head back and laughed before his arm tightened on her waist and brought her far closer to him than decorum allowed. I really ought to have listened to Kitty, she thought miserably. But Sir Petyr had made it sound like such a harmless lark that she had assumed Kitty was overreacting.

But as soon as they had arrived, Sansa had known this was not somewhere she should be but Sir Petyr had ignored her oft repeated requests to leave. It had left her with a poorer opinion of her aunt's friend. He had always seemed so pleasant whilst visiting the Arryn house in Grosvenor Square, his interest in her progress during the season appearing nothing more than avuncular. But his behaviour here had proved otherwise.

She breathed a sigh of relief as he removed his arm from her waist and led her back off the dance floor. Maybe I can convince him to take me home now, she thought.

"Would the lady do me the honour of this dance?" a low voiced asked, startling Sansa out of her reverie.

Sansa looked up to see a stranger in a black domino flourish a bow. There was something familiar about his stance but it wasn't until he straightened and she saw the grey eyes peer out of his mask that she knew who it was.

Lord Snow! What on earth was he doing here? Sansa wished the ground would open up and swallow her, so intense was her mortification at being caught in such a place. But just as she was feeling even more miserable, he shot her a reassuring smile.

"I do not think so, sir, we were just-" Baelish started to say before she cut across him.

"I would love to dance, sir," she said and before Baelish could raise any further objection, she had tucked her arm through his and was leading him back on the dance floor.

The arm that encircled her waist for the next waltz was familiar and welcome. The correct distance was maintained and Sansa automatically felt safe.

"Lord Snow," she said with a hitch in her voice. "Whatever you are thinking, I can explain."

"Don't worry, Lady Sansa. Your maid, Kitty, came to me. She was worried that you were not fully aware just what sort of establishment this was."

Relief washed over her at his understanding and any annoyance she could have felt at Kitty's presumption was lost in the realisation that Lord Snow did not feel any disgust towards her. She did not know why, but Lord Snow's good opinion mattered to her. He had been so kind over the last few weeks, helping wash the sting of the Duke of Kingsland's behaviour away. Under the auspices of him and his sister, Rhaenys' patronage, Sansa had started to find her footing once more, her pleasure at finally having a season rediscovered.

"Would you mind escorting me back to my aunt's house, my lord?"

He squeezed her hand a little. "That's what I've come to do."


An hour later, Jon waved Edwards away as he returned home.

"But my lord-" Edwards started to say.

"Not now, Edwards," he said shutting the library door in his butler's face.

"If it isn't my little brother, the knight in shining armour," his sister's voice said from the far side of the room.

He turned to find her tucked up a chair, her feet swept underneath her exquisite ballgown.

"Your dress is sadly crushed, you know," he said by way of reply.

"I'm not sure it's my colour anyway."

Jon laughed at that. Rhaenys fashion sense was impeccable and she would never wear an unbecoming gown.

"Did the Lady Sansa return home safely?"

He should be surprised, he really should. But a lifetime of living with Rhaenys had inured him to the fact that she always knew what was happening. It was a habit that she had honed even further once she had taken her place at the top of the haute ton. Their brother, Aegon, had once remarked that the Duke of Wellington should make use of her and employ her in the Peninsula as a spy.

He nodded. "I don't think she will be trusting Sir Petyr Baelish any time soon, either."

"That is for the best," Rhaenys said. "Better to cut that connection before the engagement is announced."

"There is no engagement," he said in the tone of someone weary from repeating the same thing.

"Oh, there will be, little brother, there will be."