Sansa was jolted awake when the wagon hit a rut. Her hands and feet were bound, and she had been gagged tightly with a piece of cloth. With a sweeping glance, she saw that Arya was in a similar state, staring at her with fearful, yet relieved eyes at seeing her awake. Robb was still unconscious, his usually handsome face discolored and swollen.

And there, sitting across from her, was Dany.

She had hoped it had been a trick of the eyes, but the girl's hair was still blindingly white—the color of freshly fallen snow. Even in this situation, Sansa found herself slightly awed by the beauty of it. It was ironic that something so beautiful and pure looking could be a death sentence for her and her siblings.

"Take away their gags," said Dany—or whatever her name was. "No one will hear them out here even if they scream."

While one of the men removed Arya's gag, Sansa sent her pleading looks, begging her sister to hold her tongue, but she should have known it was hopeless.

The second her mouth was free, Arya used it to spit viciously in the man's face. Then, turning to Dany, she unleashed the full extent of her rage. "You're going to pay for this you cold-blooded, grandma-haired freak! You killed my brother!"

The man raised his hand to strike her, but Dany said sharply, "That's enough." She turned to Arya. "I assure you that your brother is still alive. He is of no use to me dead."

Sansa's spirits lifted slightly upon hearing these words. "If you don't want to kill us, what do you want from us?" she asked.

The girl eyed her carefully. "I hope to use you as ransom," she said at last. "There is something I want, and I believe that you can help me get it. If all goes according to plan, there is no need for any of you to get hurt."

"Right," Arya said sarcastically. "Because Robb obviously isn't hurt at all."

"I apologize about that," she said, with some of the old sincerity that Sansa had come to know from Dany. "My men went too far."

Sansa glanced towards the armed men who were sharing the wagon with them. They were clustered in a circle, speaking in hushed tones. Every now and then, one or two of them would look over in their direction. There wasn't enough light to make out their expressions, but she could sense that they weren't friendly.

Still, they seemed to be obeying this girl—a mere child. Sansa didn't know who "Dany" was, but she was obviously a person of some importance to have command of such men.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

The girl's lips curved into a smile as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "I would have thought that would be obvious by now, Sansa."

"I understand that you are part of the Targaryen house—but what is your name? And your title?"

"I am Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of Aerys and Rhaella—also known as Dany."

"Aerys…" Sansa's brows knit together. "You mean the king of Dragonstone?"

"That is right."

Sansa's heart sunk. Despite Daenerys' promise for their safety, she knew that the royal family could only have one goal in capturing them.

They weren't going back home. They probably wouldn't even live to see tomorrow.

"Is this the way of the Dragonstones, then?" she asked bitterly. "To deceive and trick a bunch of children by using another child?"

"I do not enjoy such methods, but I will do what I must for my family to maintain the Iron Throne," Daenerys answered coolly.

"The Iron Throne belongs in The North," Sansa said in an equally frigid tone.

Daenerys' eyes flashed. "You know not of what you speak."

"You saw the puppet show, just like the rest of us!" Arya burst out angrily. "It's ours."

"I wouldn't be so certain," Daenerys said, regaining her composure. "The story we hear in Dragonstone is quite different. According to our lore, your King Torrhen began as a noble hero, but after years of power he had degenerated into nothing more than a cruel tyrant. The Council of the Wise saw this, but they were too afraid of the king who was lauded for his prowess in battle to do anything to stop him.

"But one day, King Torrhen's greed reached new heights. He wanted a throne—a glorious throne unlike any Westeros had ever seen. And most atrocious of all, he wanted it forged from the most sacred substance known to mankind—the fire breath of a dragon. My ancestor, Lady Valyrian, though filled with trepidation, agreed to his request out of fear for her life. But in her heart, she knew that the throne would only increase King Torrhen's greed and bloodlust, until it consumed him and the entire land. So she fled with the Iron Throne, taking the dragons with her to protect the noble creatures from Torrhen's wrath and from the possibility of him trying to make another throne.

"Valyrian knew that King Torrhen would try to take back the throne, so she built up a kingdom that would be strong enough to face him in battle. She did not take pleasure in war or bloodshed, yet she was determined to keep the Iron Throne out of his hands, no matter the cost.

"As she lay dying, slain by her once friend and knowing that the throne had been stolen, she gave her children this all-important charge. The Iron Throne had to remain in

Dragonstone, out of the clutches of King Torrhen and his descendants, who know not how to handle its power."

As she finished, there was only silence for several moments, but eventually Arya gave a harsh laugh.

"That's ridiculous. It's your version of the story, so it's obvious that you would put your people in a good light and make us look evil."

"That may be so," Daenerys acknowledged, "but"—she leaned closer, staring at them with piercing blue-gray eyes—"the same could be said for your story as well, couldn't it?"

Sansa shifted uncomfortably. She had never thought that there might be another side to the well-known legend she had been told as a child. What if, perhaps, it was true…?

"Lady Daenerys." One of the men approached her. "We are nearing the border."

Sansa and Arya were gagged again, and thick bags were thrown over their heads. Although Sansa could see nothing, after a time she heard increasingly loud noises outside the wagon, signifying that they were nearing a city.

Eventually the wagon stopped, and they were shepherded down a winding staircase to a dank, underground hallway. When the bags and the cloths in their mouths were finally removed, they found themselves standing in a small, moldy-smelling room. A prison cell.

"Unbind them," Daenerys said.

"My lady!" one of the men protested. "Why should we treat this scum with any mercy? They don't deserve…"

Daenerys' sent him a withering glare. "Unbind them," she repeated imperiously.

Seconds later, Sansa and Arya were rubbing their chafed wrists gratefully. Robb was likewise untied and tossed roughly onto the stone floor.

"Robb!" Sansa rushed over to him, cradling his head in her lap. Tears of indignation rose in her eyes when she saw how badly they had hurt him.

"I'll send a healer to come and look at him," Daenerys said.

Her voice was neutral, but as Sansa met her eyes, she saw a trace of compassion. For a moment, it seemed as if Dany, the girl she had first met and grown to think of as a friend, had come back.

"Daenerys?" she asked as the girl prepared to leave. "Can I ask you one thing?"

"What is it?"

She hesitated on the precipice, wanting desperately to ask, yet not sure if she wanted to know the answer. At last, she said quietly, "Was any of it real?"

Daenerys only smiled sadly as she closed the metal grates of the cell with a clang of finality and walked away.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Days passed, but no healer came. Sansa didn't know what she was more appalled by—Daenerys breaking her word or the surprise and hurt she felt because of it.

She told herself over and over that Dany—or rather, Daenerys—was their enemy and she shouldn't expect any mercy from her, nor give any mercy in return. But somewhere, in her heart of hearts, she couldn't accept that the sweet, soft-spoken girl she had met had all been a façade.

As long hours blended into even longer days, she began to grow weary of it all. It was obvious that their captors were intending to kill them, for they hadn't seen as much as a crumb of bread since they came here. If the executioner's blade was to be their fate, she found herself

wishing that they would finish it swiftly, rather than leaving them to shrivel up and rot in this underground cell.

She was dozing against the back wall when a sound started her awake. Footsteps.

They were light, but after days of hearing nothing but scurrying rats and the dripping of water, they seemed to resound like a trumpet blow throughout the prison.

She glanced at Arya, who had straightened, apparently hearing them as well.

At last, a slight figure appeared behind the metal grates, bearing a flickering candle. By its faint light, she could make out a pretty, fine-featured face and a glimpse of white hair behind the figure's hood.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked tiredly. "I would have thought you would have sent your men for this sordid task."

"Hush," Daenerys said in a strained whisper. "Come, we must go now. There isn't much time."

There was a melodic jingle of a key, then a creak as the rusty door of the cell swung open.

"Follow me." The candle began to glide down the hallway.

"Arya," Sansa said after a moment's hesitation. "Help me with Robb."

"We're actually going to do as she says?" She couldn't see well in the darkness, but she knew that her sister's eyebrows were raised nearly up to her hairline.

"For now, since the way she's going also happens to be the way out."

Together they supported Robb, making their way painstakingly down the hallway and up the winding staircase by which they had entered. Once they reached the top, they were all breathing heavily. The burden of Robb's weight and the lack of food and water had taken their toll.

Arya collapsed to the ground with a groan. "I…can't anymore!"

"What is the matter?" Daenerys asked, her voice tinged with impatience and something else—fear? "We must keep moving."

"If you wanted us to be able to move, you should have told your men to give us something to eat—or at least water!" Sansa retorted weakly.

"They didn't feed you? But I told them…" She shook her head. "Why should I be surprised?" Her tone was thick with bitterness. "My orders don't seem to mean anything to them, after all."

She looked them over, then sighed in resignation. "Come, then. There's a storehouse not far from here that should have something for you to eat."

Sansa still had no idea what was going on, but the promise of some much-needed sustenance was enough to get her and Arya on their feet again.

"Here you are." Daenerys handed them some salted herring and dried apples, along with a canteen of cider that she had scrounged from the storehouse shelves. "I'm sorry there's no fresh bread or anything—this is where we keep our non-perishable items for the winter."

Sansa hardly heard her as she dug into the food with relish, feeling strength return to her body with every bite. She licked her fingers as she finished, then flushed with embarrassment when she caught Daenerys watching her.

However, the girl seemed to be more occupied with Robb. His color was slightly better after taking part in the victuals, but the open wounds on his face were still raw and painful-looking.

"I can see that they neglected to send a healer as well," she said, going away again and

returning a few minutes later with a jar of balm and a clean cloth. She started towards Robb, but he backed away.

"How do you we know you're not trying to poison me with that stuff?" he asked.

"Do you really think I would go through the trouble of sneaking you out of your cell and feeding you if all I wanted was to kill you?" she asked in a tone one would use to explain something to a small child. "If that was my goal, I would've ordered my men to kill you while you were still down in the dungeon."

She held out the items to Sansa, who, after a moment's hesitation, accepted them. She opened the jar of balm and took a tentative sniff. "It's alright," she told her brother. "It's just aloe."

While she busied herself with treating Robb, she glanced over her shoulder at Daenerys. "So, you don't want to kill us," she said, "but that still doesn't explain what's going on. After all this, you at least owe us an explanation, don't you think?"

Daenerys suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "I…I'm so sorry," she began haltingly, wringing her hands in her lap. "I never thought it would turn out like this. It was only supposed to be Robb, and I never wanted…" She took a deep breath. "I know that you don't have any reason to believe me, but I truly never wanted for you any of you to get hurt. I only wanted to capture you and get your father to agree to a peace treaty."

"A peace treaty?" Sansa repeated.

Daenerys nodded. "We've heard the rumors even here—that he's rallying his forces for another war. My country, and yours as well, have already suffered enough from all of the wars. I acted as I did in the hope of preventing another from starting…but I underestimated the power of the pro-war faction."

Her voice was pained as she continued. "Their members are bitter from the losses of past wars. They desire nothing but seeing Stark blood and the blood of your countrymen run freely. I tried to reason with them, but it was futile. Even my own men are blinded by their hatred and are afraid of displeasing the leaders of the pro-war faction. They do not seem to recognize that I, too, am a royal heir of Dragonstone.

"Come." She rose and smoothed her skirt. "We must leave. There will be plenty of time to rest once you are safely over the border."

Sansa blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I'm helping you escape back to your own country. There are horses waiting at the north gate. I've already bribed the gatekeeper. From there, it's a simple ride to the border."

"You're just going to let us go?" Robb asked skeptically.

"I have no choice. If King Eddard hears that we murdered his three eldest children, he will surely bear down upon us with the full extent of his wrath. It would result in a war more cruel and more terrible than all that came before. If such an event were to occur, both of our countries would be ruined."

Daenerys led them out of the warehouse and across a drawbridge. There were two horses tied up at one of the gateposts. Just like she had said, the gatekeeper had raised the gate high enough for a horse and its rider to pass through.

They mounted their steeds—Robb and Arya on one, and Sansa on the other.

Sansa turned to look at Daenerys, who stood clutching her cloak about her against the chill. "Will you be alright?" she asked.

"I'll manage. Even if they have their suspicions about what happened, not even my brothers can lift a finger against the Lady of Dragonstone."

Sansa's heart pounded in her chest. "Your brothers…?"

"Yes." There was a brief pause. "I have two of them."

"Come, Sansa," Robb said, turning his horse about and setting off at a steady trot towards the gate. "We must go."

But Sansa hardly heard him. Her mind was still spinning from Daenerys' words. It was a seemingly innocuous statement, but to her, it was an answer to the question she had been agonizing over for days.

She took one last glance at the white-haired girl. "Thank you for everything…Dany."

A/N: This was the last chapter, but I still have the epilogue, which will be posted tomorrow. And, as always, please leave a review to let me know what you thknk!