Sansa

"They should have killed you instead of Lady!" Sansa cried as looked down at the growing stain on her beautiful ivory dress. Arya was so stupid. Why would she ruin Sansa's gown? Just because Arya was okay with being dirty did not mean that everyone liked their clothes to be ruined.

Septa Mordane lurched to her feet and sent both Sansa and her sister to their own chambers. She couldn't help but be surprised that the septa would punish her. Arya was the one who attacked her, not the other way around.

Tears welled in her eyes but she refused to let them spill. Queens did not cry in front of others. Sansa would get to her room and cry into the silk-covered pillows right after she took off her soiled dress.

She barred the door behind her and took off her dress. The blood orange's juice had leaked past her dress and onto her underskirt. Sobbing, she threw her dress towards the chilled hearth and ripped off the rest of her clothes. She threw herself onto her bed and let her tears roll furiously down her cheeks.

Looking into the golden eyes of her direwolf, Sansa woke at the sound of someone knocking on her door. Confused, Sansa sat up and looked around her room. Lady had just been here. They had been running and dancing… Tears welled in her eyes once more. Lady was dead. It had just been a dream.

Her Septa called to her once more and Sansa asked for a few moments to dress. She turned her face to the looking glass and saw that the skin around her tear-covered eyes was red and swollen. Straightening herself up, she attempted to make herself look as beautiful as everyone said she was.

After she was done prepping herself, Sansa was escorted by the septa to the solar where her father was resting with a leather-bound book. He closed it and looked up at her. "Come sit beside me, Sansa," her father instructed while the septa left to fetch Arya.

He said nothing until Septa Mordane returned with Arya. "Here is the other one," she announced, urging her towards their father. Her father dismissed the septa and Sansa quickly explained what had happened.

"Enough." Her father's voice was sharp and silenced Sansa immediately.

"I'm sorry Father. I was wrong. I beg your forgiveness, Sansa," Arya murmured, her eyes rising.

Startled, Sansa could not think of anything to say until she asked about her dress. Arya suggested that she be the one to wash it, but the silk was ruined. Her little sister offered to make her a new one, which was clearly a jest. Arya could not stitch to save her hide.

"I'm sending you back to Winterfell," her father informed, causing both daughters to plead that they stay. Arya had her stupid dancing classes, which were nothing compared to Sansa's situation. Joffrey was her betrothed and true love. She was to be queen one day! Her father couldn't send her away!

As if Arya had not just been begging for forgiveness, the two sisters fought about Joffrey and who he was. Joffrey was not a stag; he was nothing like the drunk of a king. Joffrey was a lion: strong and proud.

The septa returned to escort them to their rooms and Sansa felt tears streaming down her face. Before they could leave, a white owl flew into the room and landed next to her father.

It was a beautiful bird. Nothing like the dirty ravens or bloody hawks that Maester Luwin had back at Winterfell. It cooed to her father before sticking out its leg towards him. Her father looked at the bird as if it was a snapping wolf.

"Strange," the septa commented. "Is it from Maester Luwin?" she asked.

Her father untied the string holding the parchment. "Maester Luwin does not have any owls," he muttered before unraveling the letter. A vial of something fell into her father's lap.

"Septa Mordane. Please give me a few more minutes with my daughters," he requested quietly. The septa once again turned away and left the room so the family could have some privacy.

"Who is it from?" Arya asked in an unladylike manner.

"Is it from Prince Joffrey?" Sansa questioned. He would have such a grand bird and it would be so romantic if he sent her a letter.

Their father struggled to sit up and Sansa stepped forward to help him. "It is from Bran," he murmured, his eyes going back to the beginning of the letter. "He says a woman visited him and gave him this protection potion," her father informed. He folded the letter and put it away near his heart. The letter looked much longer than what he said, so there must be more to it.

However, it would be unladylike for Sansa to ask to read the letter from her younger brother.

"Protection potion?" Arya asked curiously, inching closer to their father. He lifted the vial from his lap and studied it.

It was as red as the lip paint that the queen let her try one day on the King's Road. "What do we do with it?" Sansa inquired with a soft smile. Was it like a perfume that they would dab onto their skin? Or would it taste like wine whenever they drank it?

"Let me see your hands," he instructed. Arya eagerly thrusted her hand at their father, clearly thinking this would be an adventure. Curious herself, Sansa presented her hand to her father as carefully as Lady placed her paw in Sansa;s hand whenever she learned how to introduce herself.

He placed their hands together and looked up at both of them. Her father's gray eyes looked into her blue ones. Because they were gazing at one another, Sansa did not see the silver knife that cut across both hers and Arya's palms.

"Ow!" Sansa cried before trying to jerk her hand away from her father. His one hand held both of hers and Arya's close to one another before he poured the vial over their cuts.

Sansa felt a tingling in her hands as her father wiped away the blood. Before her eyes, the cut on her palm closed, leaving no trace of it ever being there. Her father touched both of their palms in awe. "Bran said it would heal but I didn't think it was true," he wondered aloud.

"What about you?" Arya asked. Sansa looked at the vial and noticed that it was nearly empty.

He looked at the knife that he had used on them. Taking the tip of the blade, he cut his own calloused palm. Arya picked up the vial and dripped what was left onto the slice. Sansa took the sleeve of her pink dress and wiped away the blood from his hand.

"Where did Bran get the potion from, father?" Sansa asked, looking at the vital. It had silver on both the bottom and the cap. It looked like wolves dancing on a snow-covered field.

Setting the knife down on the table, he watched as the owl readied its wings and took flight. "A white woman" was all her father said.