For Blood and Wine are Red

Chapter Three: Kings Tide

I've taken a good deal of artistic license with timing in this one – #sorrynotsorry canon ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

For those who were curious, Nymeria's new name Salty is a reference to one of Arya's aliases in the books. The reason for this is that the Faceless arc won't be happening in this fic - or at least, not the way it did in canon …

Kudos to my not-at-all-subtle anime references in the OCs in this chapter. First person to figure it out gets a prize! A bonus scene of your choice next chapter *finger guns*

Wylla's speech in this chapter has been lifted directly from A Dance with Dragons.

EpicReader , you are as amazing as always, and I really needed those reviews, they made my day! 3

Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and others buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die.

Sansa is in the Sept when Sandor Clegane finds her next.

"Your brothers are lucky to have you," he rasps, eyes on the seven lit candles about the altar.

"You are too kind," she returns softly, eyes trained on the Stranger.

"It's no kindness to admit the truth, girl. The Lordling nearly started a war today!"

"I know, thank you!" she hisses back.

"Whatever you think the Lannisters have done, if your brother makes an enemy out of any of them, you will all die."

"Is that a threat, ser-not-a-ser, or a fact?"

"You know full well what it is, girl, don't play coy with me! Your septa isn't here to hear your false chirpings."

"Shall I growl whilst she is not about to hear it?" She turns from the faceless god, her own face a cool mask and eyes trained between his brows so that she does not have to see the ever-present anger in his own eyes. "Shall I snap and snarl about the unfairness of it all, that my father and our men may be the only high borns in Kings Landing to possess even a scrap of honour, of kindness? That, if we are not careful, my father may still go the same way as Lord Arryn? My sister and I may yet go the same way as our uncle, aunt and grandfather? You made everything very clear for me in the godswood already, thank you!"

Angrily, she turns back to the Stranger's statue. "This isn't a song, I know. Kings Landing is not the great adventure I thought it to be, and we may still lose lives to your liege's House, no matter what I do. I know."

"What are you going to do about it then, eh?"

"... I will do as my parents taught me," She says softly, reaching out both hands to briefly grasp those of the Stranger and offer up a quick, final prayer. "I will rule as they have taught me. I will know them, and love them, and hope that they will come to know and love and be loyal to me too."

"That's a shit plan."

"I know," she says one final time. "But it is all that I can do."

"... I can keep you safe. They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you, or the wolf-girl, else I'd kill them."

She turns to him again, smiles softly, and squeezes a single, gauntletted hand. "You cannot." She glides from the chapel, offering a very soft but, thank you as she closes the door behind her.

They had left Winterfell with the first grey light of predawn five days before; it is on the evening of the fifth day that they finally arrive at White Harbour. A summer snow had followed them the last two days, and the Lannister men had not enjoyed the experience. The two men-at-arms had taken to calling Sansa the Ice Queen, after Lord Tyrion had commented that "at least we shall have the Ice Queen to protect us when next Winter comes!" Arya and Jory had continued their training sessions under the pretence of catching rabbits for tea, and the Westermen had picked up on Sandor's Wolfgirl for her, too. When they arrive at the Harbour, the Manderly's respectful Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are much appreciated. The invitation to take tea with Ladies Wynafryd and Wylla, even more so.

Wylla chatters, voice high and thin and hair a garish green. Wynafryd is quiet, but her pale blue eyes are just as sharp as her lord grandfather's. Both girls, actually, possess those gimlet eyes, and as soon as the two septas have retired for the evening to leave the girls some semblance of privacy, those eyes are on Sansa and Arya.

"There are many rumours coming down the river," Wylla says idly, toying with the end of her green braid.

"Is it true that Jon Snow has taken the black?" Wynafryd asks breathily, mouth a mou of distress. "We had hoped to perhaps join our houses."

Arya looks at Sansa, and there is much written in those familiar grey depths. Sansa nods, draws herself upright and drops the Lady's mask that she has worn the last five days straight. Arya's Lord's Face drops as well.

"You wanted a husband who would let you keep your name and still raise your status, my ladies," Arya says plainly. "One who would turn the other way from your weapons dealing." Here she gestured at the callouses on Wylla's fingers.

To their credit, the Manderly's respond in kind. Wylla twists and leans back in her chair, draping one long leg over the arm and drawing a small wine skin from up her sleeve. Wynafryd leans forward to place both elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her left hand and fiddling with one of her dangling earrings with the right.

"My lady is in no position to scold another for taking up arms." Wynnie says at a regular volume, eyes flicking up and down Arya's person, and then cutting across to eye Sansa's own hands.

"Winter is coming after all, I take it?" Wylla asks in a much lower voice, taking a draft from her skin and then holding it out to the Starks in turn. Sansa raises a hand in the negative, but Arya accepts a sip, scrunches up her nose, and passes the skin to Wynnie, who gives it straight back to her sister. "Rumour has it an assassin tried to off the little lord Bran, after it came out that he yet lived."

"The Lannisters came into our home, took our bread and salt, asked for my hand as the crown prince's bride – and then they tried to kill our brother. They killed my Direwolf, hurt our parents, disparaged our country. The North remembers, my ladies. Dark and difficult days lie ahead."

"A friend in Kings Landing would go a long way towards your protection," Wylla offers after taking another sip. She holds the skin out to Arya again, who hesitates for only a moment before taking another, smaller, sip of her own.

"Kings Landing is no friend to Northern daughters," Sansa says, a warning and an excuse to see their reaction both.

"The docks are ever the friend of a Manderly," Wynafryd answers calmly, tapping the pointer finger of her right hand against the table two, three, four times, then drumming all five digits of the hand against the tabletop.

"A thousand years before the conquest, a promise was made and oaths were sworn in the Wolf's Den before the Old Gods and the New. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. This city is built upon the land they, you, gave us. In return, we swore that we should always remain your men, Stark men." Wylla's eyes, the same pale blue as her sister and grandfather, are bright. She pulls a wickedly-sharp dagger from the opposite sleeve from which she drew the skin, balances it between both hands, and looks both Sansa and Arya in the eye as she swivels right way round, drops to her knees and places the blade on the stone floor.

"Ladies' Stark. I offer you my services. I will shield your back and keep your council, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Sansa and Arya look at each other again, wide-eyed, and then draw a breath. Slowly, steadily, they answer together. "And we vow that you will always have a place by our hearth, and meat and mead at our table. We pledge to never ask a service of you that might bring you dishonour. We swear this, by the Old Gods and the New. Arise, Lady Wylla."

Wynafryd dragged the nail of her pointer finger across the tabletop, never blinking. "Grandfather had hoped to ask you to take one of us as a handmaiden when we broke our fasts, Lady Sansa. He'll be pleased to know that you are aware of the nature of Kings Landing, and that you will have Wylla at your back." Here her eyes flicked to her sister. "You're certain?"

At Wylla's lazy smile, Wynnie nodded once, and straightened in her seat as her sister retook her own. "I'll speak with Grandfather on your behalf. Wyl, make sure your affairs are in order. The ship to Kings Landing will leave with the tide at midday tomorrow. Good night, my ladies. Happy hunting."

Her Lady's Mask slipped back into place seamlessly, and she glided from the room after ducking a quick curtsy.

"The ladyship doesn't come to me as easily as it does for Wynnie," Wylla offers, smiling fondly after her older sister. "The underworld is where I thrive. You want the dockside gossip, I can get it for you. You want to learn to sail, to read the tides or fix a net or handle a dagger, I can teach you. You want a foreign trade agreement, I can have a draft drawn within a day of meeting the traders. You want a man dead in a winesink, I can organise it for you. This is what I'm bringing to the table, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya."

"Then I hope that we might be able to practice weapons and trades together, Lady Wylla," Sansa says with a small smile. "Arya and I have been practicing with the predawn –"

"We can do that," Wylla said, cheerful. "I'll be sure to be back from the docks by then. I've got some rats to wrangle between then and now though, so I'd best take my leave of yourselves as well, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya." She doesn't sketch a curtsy so much as do a superfluous bow, winks cheerfully and saunters from the room with a jaunty sailor's gait. The moment she opens the door, her gait and demeanour slip back into that of a Northern Lady.

Arya chuckles and snorts; Sansa smiles and giggles. Taking her little sister's hand and squeezing, Sansa asks, "Shall we to bed too?"

"Aye. Winter is coming, and we'd best be ready for it."

One thing that the songs had never said about traveling, Sansa had found, was the boredom. The long cartride north had been fraught with tension, with herself trying to mediate between Septa and Arya, and Sandor and Arya. The trip to White Harbour was almost as harrowing, with Arya trying to act the lady, Septa rebuking her for things even Sansa felt were unnecessary under their conditions, and trying to smooth Tyrion Lannister's jilted pride.

The little lion lord was kind enough to indulge Sansa by swapping stories, speaking of the places that he had seen, and then speaking some more about the places he had always wanted to go. At night, Sansa and Arya would take turns playing cyvasse with him, until they had finally reached the Merman Court. With Lord Wyman entertaining Tyrion; Sandor, Jory and the men-at-arms in the barracks; and Septa and the Starks with the Ladies Manderly, the group were given a well-deserved break from each other.

Predawn found the Winterfell party and Wylla Manderly in a tucked-away nook of the training yard. As she had promised, Wylla was a wealth of knowledge regarding knife work, and walked both Jory and the sisters through the basics of a backalley knife fight, and how to best handle a dagger. Both sisters were rapidly improving, but still Sansa was better at throwing a blade than keeping it.

"If you throw it, you lose your weapon!" Arya snapped at her, again. "You need more if you want to make this work!"

"Underfoot has the right of it, my lady," Jory added, trying to soften the verbal blow.

"I know," Sansa said, voice tight. "But there's only so many places to hide more weapons! Lady Wylla, do you have anything to add?"

Once again playing with the end of her green braid, Wylla thought a moment longer before giving a slow nod. "Aye, mayhaps – the ship we're taking today is run by some Yi Ti traders. One of the girls wears long pins in her hair, and I've seen her use it as both a dirk and a throwing knife. We could ask her? Find a discreet smith in the South, if such a thing exists, and have them make the pins for you with a stylised end, so that it looks more like jewellery than a weapon."

"That could work," Sansa said, speaking faster with excitement the more she thought the idea over. "Yes, it could! If we have a smith patent the design, and encourage the trend as the peak of fashion, then no-one will look twice at how many pieces I wear! The hairstyles of southron ladies are so fancy already, surely they will leap at the chance for a less time-consuming way to decorate themselves! The more Ladies who wish to wear their hair thusly, the more business we generate in the Street of Steel and the Street of Silver! We can boost the economy of the common smiths and jewellers both, which will ingratiate us with the merchant guilds, and allow more of a pathway for foreign trade with Yi Ti and the Jade Sea!"

"How will you find your smith?" Jory asks, smiling indulgently.

"We need to be seen." Arya says.

"Yes – we need to be known; we need to establish our reputation with the smallfolk of Kings Landing before the Royal Party returns." Sansa practices one of the showy flips Wylla had taught them, blade spinning round and round her fingers. "If we take an hour or two each day to wander down each street, each section of Kings Landing, then we can prove that we want to know the people, and find out what is happening and the state of things without having to rely on someone else telling us!"

Wylla giggled, "Lady Sansa, it would take more than an hour to wander Kings Landing!"

"I know," She answered, blue eyes bright with excitement. "It will take us an hour to do the Street of Steel, and an hour to do the Street of Meat, the Street of Silk or the Street of Silver. Once a day, we will do a single street. Wylla, you and I will play at Ladies the whole time, will ask Sandor to come with us for protection and the Lannisters' pride both – Jory, you will be with Arya. Little sister, be your usual self and talk to everyone, learn everything, and hopefully we will best be able to prepare Father when he returns."

"What could go wrong?" Wylla asked with a crooked smile.

Sansa deflates. "We could always be assaulted in the streets. Lord Varys could find out about our plans and tell the Queen. Someone else might tell Joffrey. The patent mightn't be accepted, the Queen could refuse the hairpins as a trend, your friend mightn't even share the design with us to begin with –"

"My lady, my lady!" Wylla laughed, took both of Sansa's hands in each of hers, and smiled brightly. "It is a game my grandfather taught me – plan for the worst, and be happily surprised when you have a plan for every eventuality. See? If we take protection, then we should not be assaulted. If we know the grievances of the smallfolk, then we can find a way to change whatever might lead to the tempers that would justify our assault, in their minds. Even if the Queen does not take to the trend, we have time enough to encourage it amongst those ladies who didn't come North. And, if they do not keep to the trend, it can simply be something that sets us apart as Northern daughters! The only way Lord Varys or anyone else can find out is if we tell someone outside of ourselves the true purpose of the pins – when we talk to Lan, ask her lots of other questions to hide the true purpose of your asking, and tuck the question about her pins away in a compliment after you have spent some time talking with her. I promise, Lady Sansa, it's easy."

Sansa drew in a deep breath. "Easy," she whispers, before saying louder, "Of course, Lady Wylla – What Could Go Wrong?"

Wylla squeezed her hands, smiled even more brightly than before, and let go of Sansa. "That's the way, my lady! Now, come – that is enough practice for the morning. Let us sneak back in through the kitchens, and then we may finalise everything that we will need before we leave."

"Were you up all night?" Arya chirps.

"Aye, Lady Arya – I'll tell you more of it later, when there are fewer ears to hear the tale, and then have myself a nice long nap once we hit the open water, I think. Come, you simply must try Eden's hotcakes before we leave the North!"

With both Bran and Rickon in foul moods, Maester Luwin tries to distract them with clever games. If Sansa and Arya stop at this port, which nobles might they see? From which House, and what are their standards and their words?

Unfortunately, this only entertains them for a day. They have already tried to assist Robb at his duties, will sit and listen to their people's troubles as happily as anyone can be with such a task; the rest of it, however, they do not find anywhere near so entertaining.

Theon suggests that they try to outshoot each other in archery, and that entertains them until they receive word that the girls' have made White Harbour – at that point, the two little boys are bereft again. It is then that Rickon declares that if they are to be knights someday, then they should prepare for some distant, glory-filled war. On progress they would have to set up camps and so such – they may as well practice now. So they load up Bran's wolf-drawn carriage, attach Summer and Salty, and fill the cart with tent and supplies, and inform Robb and Theon that they are going to spend the night in the Wolfswood.

Robb tells them that they are not going into the Wolfswood unsupervised, and he does not have the time or the staff to come with them, so they will stay the night in the Godswood instead. Rickon throws a tremendous tantrum, which leads to a terrible fight that neither Bran nor Theon can derail, despite their best efforts. The nightcamp is thusly denied, with Rickon sent to his room without dinner, and Robb sending himself into the solar to do paperwork for the rest of the evening. Bran is left to speak with the smallfolk for the evening, and Theon to try and get the eldest and youngest Stark to stop sulking.

Bran hopes that his sisters are having a better time of it than he is.

The captain meets them at the docks; he is a strange young man from Yi Ti with black hair and eyes, and skin paler than even Sansa's, called Yao. His first mate, Lan, is the woman Wylla had spoken of. Sansa doesn't have to fake her interest at all in the other woman's hair pins, for she truly finds them beautiful – even Arya is impressed! Wylla takes the Stark sisters up and off to the sides so that they can watch the castoff process, giving them a hilarious running commentary the whole time. She knows this crew very well, as the majority of the North's trade with Yi Ti is from Yao's ship.

Most of the crew have the Yi Ti look – dark hair, darker eyes, slim and with high cheekbones under thin eyes – but there are a few who could almost be Westerosi, if it wasn't for their strange, jewel-coloured eyes. Wylla dedicates every second or third sentence to calling out something in the Yi Ti dialect to one such person, golden-eyed and either male or female in appearance depending on which angle you looked at them from, in a very pleasant tone. Sansa feels certain that whatever Wylla is saying to the person, it must be incredibly rude, judging by the yelling that is going on. Wylla ignores the yelling blissfully, continuing to whisper asides to Sansa and Arya about the ship and the clouds and the waves.

Yao eventually calls out a jovial reprimand to Wylla, who giggles girlishly and apologises. This sets the strange gold-eyed person off again, cursing Wylla out in at least three languages that Sansa doesn't know, what sounds like Valyrian, and finally in the Common Tongue. Wylla completely ignores them, and points out the different crew members to the sisters.

Yao ends up calling the person off and directs them to the other end of the ship, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck in bemusement.

"Lady Manderley, you're in a fine mood today," he said cheekily.

"I'm nowhere near as lively as Renkinjutsushi-san is today, though," She smiled brilliantly.

"Ah, so innocent!" Yao cheers softly, patting one hand over his cheek and tilting his head to the side with his eyes closed from smiling. Even softer, eyes slitting open only slightly, he says, "Fuckssake, Fin, you know better than to stir xem like that. What are you doing?"

Wylla's answer was just as quiet. "Who will pay attention to me, with xem stealing the show?"

"Let me know if there is anything I can do to make your trip more enjoyable, ladies Stark!" Yao continues in a louder voice, tone still jovial.

"Thank you, Captain," they curtsy together.

Sansa draws on her courage, and says, "I wondered, when she is free, if we might speak with Lan about her hairpieces? They are beautiful!" She receives a slit-eyed Look of her own, before Yao turns and calls for Lan.

"O-waka?"

Yao said something to her in a language slightly different to the Yi Tish from earlier, gestured at the sisters, and walked away after the golden-eyed person from earlier.

"Excuse me, Lan," Sansa says quickly. "Your hair pins are beautiful! Are they a special Yi Ti style?"

"It is called kanzashi," Lan whispers hesitantly. Wylla had warned that the older woman was very shy. "It comes from Jinqui. This is the most simple style; the ladies of the courts wear many, much more fancy than this."

"Oh, I can't imagine anything like that!" Sansa gasps, clasping her hands together. "This is already so pretty! How do you keep your hair up with it?"

"Yi Ti are different to Westerosi," Lan says with a headshake. "Our hair – see? It holds better. So if you twist like this – see?" She pulled the pins from her own hair, and Sansa watched avidly as the whole thing fell free to her midback. The sailor twisted her hair back up into a bun again, shoving the pins through the middle.

"Could you teach me?"

"I can try."

Later, when the menfolk have grown tired of listening to Sansa and Lan speak about the different gems that can go on the kanzashi, and how that affects how well the piece stays in one's hair and how a wood or metal carving changes the grip, Sansa dips her voice down just enough and says, "Wylla says that you can use these as weapons, too? Could you tell me about that also, please?"

Lan's eyes light up, and suddenly she is so much more enthusiastic than she had been before, her shyness fading as she walked Sansa through the motions; how to keep a kanzashi sharp but still safe enough to wear, which toppings make for better throwers, which material works best as a thrown blade over a small dagger, what hairstyles would allow Sansa to wear all of the kanzashi!

Nevermind whatever she had thought about Joffrey, Sansa thinks that she might actually be in love, this time.

Leaving a bored Wylla and Arya on deck, Lan takes Sansa to her own bunk, pulling out a small wooden chest that she very carefully unlocks to reveal a number of kanzashi in many different forms. There is an incredibly fancy one shaped like a swallow, which Lan says was a gift for saving a prince's life, three metal pieces topped with glass baubles, two metal bases with precious-stone tops, and then five each of wooden bases with glass baubles or semi-precious stones.

"They're gorgeous," Sansa breaths at the end of Lan's introduction. "And you can use all of these as weapons?"

"In Jinqui, all people are armed at all times," Lan said solemnly. "And at the capitol, Yin, one never goes into court without protection. In Asabhad, only the most deadly and the most stupid go without some blade or another. In Tiqui, it is an insult to wear weapons openly above a certain caste but stupidity to be unarmed; all people wear kanzashi, or carry tessen – war fans. O-waka's sister, Chang, she will have one."

"Would she let me look, do you think?" Sansa fretted.

"O-waka will make her, if she does not," Lan says confidently. "She… does not like me, so you will ask her yourself."

"Would she be free tonight, do you think?" Sansa asked.

"Yes – O-waka will introduce you, if you ask him."

"Then I shall be sure to ask him over dinner! Until then, do you think – could you show me how to throw these, please?"

Lan and Sansa had been gone maybe ten minutes, and Wylla and Arya were watching from a corner of the deck as the sailors handled the ship, Wylla providing her cheery commentary the whole time.

"Oi, Fin!" The strange person from before growled down at them, quiet enough that none of the Lannister party could possibly hear them. "The fuck are you doing, using me as a distraction for?"

"I told you what happened to the son of my Lord, didn't I?" Wylla breaths back, dropping into a rougher sailor's drawl. "Pushed from a tower for reasons unknown, and when it came out that he yet lived, a catspaw was sent after him. Kid's barely ten."

"What, so you're headed to the capitol for revenge?"

"Knowledge," Wylla corrects, before saying even softer, "My ladies don't even have a choice – Lady Sansa is betrothed to the Crown Prince, for whom unsavoury things are said in secret. I'm going to protect them, and hopefully find the truth of things."

The blonde hums, then shifts those strange golden eyes to Arya. "And who are you, little Lady Stark?"

Arya starts to draw herself up indignantly, but stops herself. She doesn't want to draw attention to this discussion, though she's sure that she's missing something. So she stops, breathes, and thinks. This strange person calls Wylla Fin, and most of this crew seem to behave differently depending on if they are talking to Wylla Manderly or Fin of the Harbour. She remembers what Wylla had said at their training session earlier that morning, about how she had spent all night on the docks taking care of business; how Wylla had said the ladyship doesn't come to me as easily as it does my sister, how the sailors indulge Wylla but obviously treat her as a lady but respect Fin and treat her as an equal. Arya thinks of how the older sister is the lady, and the little sister guards her back with a blade from the shadows, and she wants.

So she gives this stranger a wolfsmile, hungry and wild, turns her head so that the others can't see how sharp it is. "I'm Arry Pack. Who are you?"

The grin she receives is equally bloody. "I'm a researcher from Xes, off the Hidden Sea. Tell me, little Wolf girl – whose scent do you track, and what do you need to find it?"

"I need to know what Bran saw, and why someone would kill him for it," Arya Arry answers sharply. "What can you teach me, scholar?"

Musingly, the researcher says, "You're going to Kings Landing. Busy port, lots of languages, lots of people, lots of cultures. I can teach you all of that."

"You're a fighter," Arry notes, eyes dropping to the scarred hands then back up to those golden eyes.

With a hum, the scholar says, "There's few people better than me at hand-to-hand, though Yao can give me a run for my money if he's determined enough. I'm the best on board with a staff, pole or spear. Are you sure you can learn that too? We're only travelling together for a fortnight."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Arry says firmly. The Lannister party has retired below deck, so she steps away from the railing to look up properly, grey eyes to golden, and prove that she is serious.

"Heh," the scholar laughs, dropping over the railing and landing in a crouch in front of her. "Alright then, little wolf. I understand wanting to protect your little brother more than anything. You can call me El, I guess. Fin, keep watch for below. Arry, come at me with everything you've got! Let's see what your fighting skills are like!"

Lan gifts her one each of the bauble-topped and stone-topped wooden based pins, and she practices every day how to best style her braids so that she can easily slip the pins in without drawing attention to the sharpened ends. Wylla has helped both girls learn Yi Tish in both Yao's dialect and that of his half-sister, Lan has taught the basics of her own Jinqui to Sansa, and El has taught Arya the basics of Valyrian, Lorathi, Lhazarish, Xerx, and Qarthi.

The crew have helped to keep the Lannister party occupied and, theoretically, unaware of their goings on. The ladies all take turns at interacting with Lord Tyrion, so that the little Lion doesn't suspect anything is amiss. They keep long days: before dawn Arya practices the sword with Jory and Sansa the daggers with Wylla; in the morning light they start language training with Lan in Yao's dialect of Yi Tish, and then his half-sister's dialect before they break their fast. They dine with the Lannister party, then have an abridged version of their regular lessons with Lord Tyrion in Septa's place (for the poor woman has no stomach for sea travel) for two hours. Afterward, they take turns distracting Lord Tyrion whilst the other does another language, swapping off in the hour before the midday meal. Wylla takes her turn at entertaining the Lannister party then, plying the men for tall tales and sea shanties alike, whilst Arya trains the staff with El and Sansa kanzashi with Lan again. How the Westermen do not figure them out, none of the girls know, though Sansa is sure that the Hound suspects something and is choosing not to look into it. After dinner, the three practice learning the court dances from Lord Tyrion; Jory dances with Arya, an amused Yao with Wylla, and a very grudging Clegane with Sansa. After dancing, they each play a round of cyvasse with Lord Tyrion, Chang, and El, before finally collapsing in their bunks.

When they dock at Kings Landing, all three Northern daughters are well-versed in the subtle hairstyle necessary to hide the pins; two braids from the middle of the forehead, and one at each temple pulled back into a bun, whilst the rest of their hair hangs free. The pins are slipped in at the top of the bun, with all three practicing until it is second nature to return the pin to the exact some spot, no matter how tired or sore they are.

They are met at the docks by Lord Varys. Wylla notices him first, carefully getting Sansa and Arya's attention and covertly pointing him out.

"Someone blabbed on us," she was smiling and looked to be hiding a giggle behind one hand, though her words were soft and spoken with the rough sailor's accent she favoured as Fin of the Harbour. "I won't be able to find out who for a while."

"Then we must play the court now whilst we can." Sansa smiled back, straightening and calling over Clegane and Jory. With a very quick goodbye to Lan and Captain Yao, they ducked back over to the Imp. "Lord Tyrion, if I might interrupt?" Sansa called.

"Yes, Lady Sansa?"

"Do you know who that man is? The bald gentleman over there."

"Ah – that would be the Master of Whispers himself! You do, of course, know of Lord Varys?"

"Yes, my lord, thank you."

"But I must say, it's unusual to see him out and about, and especially on a day of the Small Council Meetings!"

"Unusual indeed, my lord – if you would excuse us again? Wylla, I leave the ship to you, please."

"Of course, Lady Sansa."

Together the sisters Stark made their way over, schooling their faces as they went. "Lord Varys," Sansa called, again leading the conversation, Clegane only a few paces behind her. "It is an honour to meet you. I am Lady Sansa of House Stark, and this is my sister the Lady Arya. As I understand it, there is a Small Council meeting on today? Thank you for taking the time to come and greet us and, as neither our father nor my betrothed are yet here, thank you for the opportunity to sit in for them both in council."

Looking quite taken aback, the Master of Whispers took a moment before he went to answer. Arya spoke over top of him.

"We promise to take the best of notes for Father," she said earnestly. "And of course, we will be on our very best behaviour!"

They both smiled beatifically up at him, which earnt them a chuckle. "Very well, my ladies – if you would follow me, please?"

"Kings Landing is so big!" Arya exclaimed. "Is it true that there are really millions of people that live in just the one city?"

"Oh yes, my lady," Varys says softly. "There are all sorts of people here, from all sorts of life."

"We wished to familarise ourselves with the city during our stay, Lord Varys," Sansa says. "If it is possible, we wished to try each street for an hour a day until we know all of them. Our father says that a true leader knows their people, so I wish to learn of my betrothed's city."

"Surely not alone, Lady Sansa?" Varys askes in a gently shocked tone.

"We had hoped that Jory and Sandor Clegane would come with us," she told him, demure.

Clegane's pace shifts behind her; this is the first time he has heard of the plan, but he isn't saying anything. Sansa swears to offer a pray to the Warrior for him at the earliest opportunity.

"More guards would be safer, my ladies." Lord Varys twitters.

"Surely that would draw more attention to us, though, my lord!" Sansa gasps, her Lady's mask wrapped tight about her shoulders, and her wolfcloak tight about her heart.

"You are the betrothed of the Crown Prince, my lady, it would be unbecoming for you to tour the city in anything less than a carriage."

"…" She draws in a deep breath, straightens, and let's a touch of the wolf out, after all. "I am a Stark, Lord Varys. We are high born, yes, but that does not make us above our people. I cannot meet the people if I am in a carriage. If you insist that we take a coach to the start of each street, we must comply – but I will not tour the streets locked in a wheelhouse. That is simply asking for trouble!"

Varys is giving her an assessing look that she does not like. "Well said, my lady. Very well, then, when you wish to start your tours, let me know and I will help organise it for you."

"That is too kind of you, my lord," She says, voice calm but internally reeling over the ease with which he complied. "We would like to start tomorrow, if you please. Preferably we would like to start at the street of steel or the street of jewellers – I wish to commission hairpins to send home to our mother for her nameday."

"Of course, my lady," Lords Varys smiled. "It shall be done."

GUES WHO IS NOW A PUBLISHED AUTHOR?! I made a kids book about Australian fossils for my Museum!

(Guess which dickhead didn't know they were writing a book to begin with? Me. This dickhead. Communication is not my boss' forte)