"Lovely work, Lady Sansa! Your stitches are, as always, immaculate!" Septa Mordane patted Sansa on the shoulder indulgently as she praised her work. Sansa sent her a modest smile before lowering her eyes and thanking the woman in a soft, clear voice. Sansa never missed a step in this dance-ever the perfect lady and sometimes it bored even her. But the septa only smiled wider at the appropriate response and moved on. Beth Cassel was sitting next to her and as the septa glanced at her work, her smile dimmed slightly.
"Beth, perhaps you should redo this line here...See how the Lady Sansa has hers? Straight as an arrow, whereas yours is crooked..." the chatter dimmed in her ears and Sansa let her mind wander as she pulled the needle through the fabric monotonously. It had been days since she had woken in the middle of the night gripped in fear, but she was still unable to shake the visions from her dream. That feeling of loneliness and helplessness had not truly left her and she didn't know what to do to make it go away.
"Lady Sansa...?" She jumped almost imperceptibly as the septa's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Where is your sister?" Sansa glanced around the room and noticed that Arya was indeed missing. As if on cue, a roar of laughter comes from the window where Sansa knows is right above training yard. Immediately, she knows that's where her siblings are congregated- all of them. The familiar pang of resentment at being left out floods through her, but she bites it down and smiles at her septa.
"I am unsure, Septa Mordane. If you'll excuse me, I will go find her and bring her here." Without really waiting for a response, she stands and glides out of the room and down the stairs to the yard. With every step, the laughter of her brothers grows louder.
She finally stepped out into the crisp, cold air and felt herself shiver slightly. It was always cold here and the thick furs she clutched at around her shoulders were always necessary. A large part of her wanted so badly to escape to the vibrant, warm south where beautiful ladies would wear lovely silk dresses. A small smile graced her lips at the thought of attending a tourney in the south, catching the eye of a handsome young lord who would gallantly ask for her favor before earning the champion's right to crown her his queen of love and beauty. Whenever the rare bard would find themselves this far north, she would beg them to sing every song they knew of knights and maidens, despite the groaning from her siblings. But Sansa was starting to lose hope that she would ever be able to attend such a fine event. Would never wear a crown of flowers gifted by a noble knight.
Her dreams were interrupted as she turned the corner and witnessed the scene before her. As she expected, Arya was with their brothers. Her little sister was dirty, as usual, and her sloppy braid had half fallen in rough tangles. She held a bow and the older boys were teaching both she had Bran how to properly hold and shoot an arrow towards the straw dummy at the other end of the training yard. While Arya was not as classically pretty as Sansa, the elder daughter could grudgingly admit that Arya's smile was radiant. Arya lived life fully- always savoring little moments, always charming the men in her life. And as Sansa looked on, she could see that wicked grin cutting into her sister's harsh, northern features. Another stab of envy hit her as she witnessed her sister's joy as her brothers laughed with her. Sansa stepped closer and hated to see the irritation seep into Arya's features as she was noticed. Even her brother's grins faded slightly at her presence.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the other ladies?" Arya sneered.
"I came looking for you. Your absence was noted." Sansa tried to ignore the pain that bloomed in her at her sister's glare. For some reason, the icy green gaze from the nightmare before flashed again and she shivered.
"Are you cold, Sansa?" Jon stepped forward and started to pull off his cloak- intending to wrap it around her shoulders. Sansa cut her gaze towards him and began to smile, reaching for the cloak, a thank you forming on her lips.
"You should go inside if the cold bothers you," Arya sniffed, turning her attention back to the field. Sansa faltered, having never felt so unwelcome in her own home. She had almost turned to leave, when a warm pair of arms wrapped around her tightly.
"How can you shoot against Bran with no prize for the winner?" Robb chuckled, squeezing Sansa tightly. "Archery competitions require a prize, and who better to bestow the golden arrow than the lovely lady of Winterfell?" Robb twirled a perfectly ordinary arrow between his fingers playfully, taunting the still pouting Arya and the glamoured Bran with it. He quickly pressed the arrow into Sansa's hand and then dramatically bowed to her. "My Lady," he cried dramatically, "would you do us the honor of presiding over our tourney?" The smiles had all returned, except Arya's. Though her lips were still twisted downward, Sansa could see the desire to compete glimmering in her eyes.
Theon leapt forward to join Robb kneeling at her feet. "My lady, please do me the honor of bestowing me with your favor. I will gladly win this prize golden arrow in your name and crown you my queen of love and beauty," he purred.
Bran jumped up and down as well. "I want your favor, Sansa!" he cried animatedly and Sansa smiled at her little brother's excitement before forcing a regal look across her features.
"I will award my favor to the one who has behaved most knightly, my good sirs." She pulled a sash off her warm wool dress and surprised them all when she turned to Jon with a kind smile. "Sir Jon, you would not have left me to brave the winter winds alone, and for that I thank you. Would you accept my favor?"
Jon gaped at her for a moment (as did the rest of them) before a smile broke out on his face. He took the offered scrap of linen and pressed a knightly kiss to her outstretched hand. "It would be my honor, my lady."
She gave him a regal curtsy and allowed Robb to take her hand and lead her to the viewing platform as a rejected Theon begrudgingly followed Jon, Arya, and Bran to the starting line. As the squeals of laughter and playful bantering filled the air, Sansa felt her shoulders relax and her lips to curl into a happy grin.