(King's Landing: 10/9/298) Sansa IV

She practically skipped down the lofty steps of the Hand's Tower, with Lady hot on her heels, and seemingly sharing in her elation at the new finery her father had commanded one of the servants to leave at the foot of her bed.

'What a wonderful gift!' she kept thinking, inspecting the flowing gown of white Yi-Tish silk with grey fur trim along the neckline and cuffs, fearful of it having been only a dream. The center area of the dress was deep black with a white wolf design embroidered across the top area that was nearly identical to the Stark sigil.

'Her family's sigil, but hopefully it'll be a stag soon,' she giggled, happily humming to no particular tune, during her descent.

A snow white lace ran in a crisscross pattern across her stomach and sat as a lovely bow knot along her midsection with the remaining thread trailing down just shy of the foot of the dress, dancing with her and Lady as they moved. The inner borders of the dress were black, with twirling golden patterns stitched along its length.

As she neared the final turn of the stairs, she slowed her steps, so as not to trip in her excitement. As before, Lady followed suit and ceased her excited bounding. Leading into the hall, where her father conducted his duties as hand, she spotted two towering Dragonstone guardsmen standing silently near the shut doors of her father's office clad in their full black plate and eerie skull masks, gauntleted hands resting tightly on their swords. A third man, smaller than the other two though still somewhat large, and clad in the same black armour, stood near them. Unlike the menacing duo, this man bore no helmet, presenting a somewhat handsome, clean-shaven face with rosy cheeks, bright smile, blue eyes, and a head of neatly cut pale blonde hair. The man's hands rested at his side, appearing like some hero staring off into the distance.

'Those two might not be nearly as tall as Ser Gregor, but they're still terrifying. And that man? What is he smiling at?'

Lady halted in her steps, and Sansa could almost feel her hesitation. "Come, Lady. It is alright," she turned, kneeling down to scratch Lady behind the ear and scruff her neck. The smallest Dire wolf of them all, pawed at the floor, before letting out a low whine. Sansa locked eyes with Lady for a moment, a sense of calm washing over her. The wolf whined yet again before stepping forward.

Alongside the dark men and their smiling man, stood her father's far shorter guards, Jory, Alyn, and Harwin. The three Stark men appeared uneasy as they kept stealing glances towards the larger two of the three Dragonstone men, the ones who neither said, nor did anything out of the ordinary except remain unnaturally still. Several gold leafed benches lined the hall, interspersed with the odd torch stand or small hanging tapestry.

"Jory!" she exclaimed, gracefully walking up to the captain of her household guard, and catching a fruity sweet smell in the air.

The sight of the Flameguard within the tower had confused her. 'Has something happened to Bran?' she wondered, worried about her younger brother. 'Why else would Lord Stannis' men be here?'

"My Lady Sansa," Jory gave a stiff bow as he kept his eyes on the skull-faced giants at his side. Alyn and Harwin followed quickly with bows, and queer looks of their own, to both the Flameguard and her wolf.

"Good afternoon, my lady," the smiling man bowed, his left fist placed across his chest. "Ser Justin Massey at your service," his blue eyes twinkled.

"A pleasure, good ser," she curtsied and gave her best smile, feeling some heat on her cheeks, before turning back to Jory.

"What has happened?" she asked Ser Rodrik's nephew.

"Your lord father is currently speaking with the Lady Azula, and is not to be disturbed," he answered, eyes still nervously looking at the black-clad men to his side.

Her mind went wild on what they could be discussing, and then she wondered when the Lady of Dragonstone had arrived. She moved to ask, but before she could, the captain seemed to have had picked up on the questioning look swimming in her eyes.

"The Lady of Dragonstone arrived several hours ago, at Lord Stark's summons, with a wooden box that your father had a servant take to your room."

"A box?" She questioned softly. "Was it this dress?" she looked down at her new clothing and felt odd, unsure of what a gift from Ser Steffon's mother, 'If it truly was from her,' entailed.

"I do not know, my Lady," he answered, studying the dress. "Your father was the only one who looked inside the box. He did thank the Lady of Dragonstone, for what it's worth. Though he did seem somewhat confused. Perhaps not what he was expecting?"

"Maybe. Do you know when he will be done?" she pouted, wishing to get to the bottom of who exactly had gifted her this stunning dress, before her planned walk with Joffrey in the godswood. 'Surely he would ask?' she wondered, looking down once more. 'Would he be pleased?'

"Apologies, but I haven't the slightest, my lady," Jory seemed ashamed with his answer.

"It's quite alright, Jory," she waved him off, still somewhat off-put by how she would explain the dress to her prince if he asked. "I'm sure they will be done…"

'Click' the polished bronze door leading to her father's office unlocked, slowly opening to unleash a flood of that previously light fruity smell. The aroma drowned out the odor of the capital and drenched the hall in its nearly overpowering sweetness.

'Ack,' she coughed, her sense of smell surprised by the sudden onslaught.

'Fmmpt' Lady sneezed.

"Sansa," her father uttered, appearing from behind the door, a ghostly look graced his normally stoic grey eyes before vanishing. "Come in," he smiled that soft smile of his, and stood back, allowing enough room for her and Lady to enter.

"Good afternoon, father," she hugged him, reciprocating his smile with one of her own, feeling his almost crushing embrace enveloping her. He wore plain dark grey pants, with a light blue, almost grey leather doublet, and dusty black boots of Dragonstone make. Sansa looked over his shoulder and spotted the woman standing tall and proud, back facing her, at the edge of the room, near the small arched window looking out into the godswood of the Red Keep. 'Azula,' Sansa mouthed. Her father released her, and stared into her eyes for a moment, before giving an almost painful smile. He lingered a moment, then swept past her, heading towards the door.

'Click,' she heard it lock behind her, and saw as he withdrew to his seat behind the hand's gilded desk. Stray bits of parchment and leaflets of almost pure white paper, from Dragonstone, lay off to one side of his table while a quill and clear glass inkwell rested at the center, hiding his resting hands from view.

Keeping an eye on the woman, who's back remained turned, she inched forward, closing in on the center of the room. A shorter, though no less extravagant table, awaited her, resting alongside a golden bench with dark brown cushions and golden embroidery. The Lady of Dragonstone stood like a statue, hands at her back, with cleanly pressed clothing of her usual attire.

'She looks like Ursa.'

A Direwolf banner hung at Lady Azula's side, wafting softly in the slight breeze coming through the open windows. The shadow cast by the woman's five-pointed flame headpiece almost seemed to give her family's sigil a set of stag-like prongs. 'I wonder if her closet has anything more, but multitudes of that, and that one dress from the feast?'

As if sensing her thoughts, Lady Baratheon turned, bearing a razor-sharp smile on her lips, looking more like a lizard-lion than noblewoman. "Lady Sansa! What a surprise!" the Lady of Dragonstone exclaimed, walking up to her, arms open, accosting her before she could sit.

She heard Lady let out a low growl that the woman did not seem to hear. 'Calm,' she thought, feeling an inner sense of apprehension fade away. "My Lady Azula," a smile came to her lips, though not as genuine as she felt it should have been. 'Mother warned me to be cautious with her…'

"My, my, you fit that dress nicely," Azula placed her hands on Sansa's shoulders.

'So it was from her?' "Thank you for the dress, my lady," Sansa stated a bit too quickly. Her azure pools looked up into ones of golden flame, and she shuddered, finding those eyes to be far more unnerving than those of Ursa.

"Oh, don't worry, it was nothing. I often wished my Ursa liked dresses as much as I did in my youth." The disquieting smile from before remained plastered across that beautiful Yi-Tish face as she examined her, top to bottom.

'Mmft,' Lady snorted, causing the Lady of Dragonstone to shoot an annoyed look in her direwolf's direction.

'So she does have more than those uniforms in her closets.' Sansa was uncertain, but for a fleeting moment, she could have sworn seeing a knowing gaze within those burning orbs.

"You grow more like your mother every day," her auburn hair made way for lithe fingers with perfectly manicured nails. "You will become a great beauty. Certainly more beautiful than me," she felt her skin crawl and heard Lady shake her head.

"You flatter me, my lady," she smiled falsely.

"Somehow, I don't think I do…I don't consider myself a great beauty," the golden-eyed woman whispered, before turning back to her father. "Don't you agree, Lord Stark?"

Her father held her eyes a moment, before finally smiling for a second time. "Of that, I hold no doubt."

"You see? We are in agreement," Azula faced her once more, and grinned, the light not reaching her eyes. She stepped back, "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa, but I have other matters to attend to. People to see, birds to catch," the woman muttered the last, adjusting the fur collar of Sansa's dress. "There we go. That was bothering me," she said. Turning on her heels, the Lady of Dragonstone faced the Warden of the North, "With your permission, my Lord Hand, I must take my leave."

"Of course," her father nodded.

"Thank you," the woman placed her hands at her side and bowed. The Lady Azula made almost no sound as she stalked towards the door.

She felt Lady's eyes following the small Yi-Tish woman all the way.

The Lady of Dragonstone jingled with the handle then snapped her fingers. "Almost forgot," she turned, looking past her. "My ship will be here in two days, Lord Stark. I trust your affairs here will be in order? If not, it would be a simple enough request to push back its arrival if needs be. I understand very well the pressures a position as important as Hand of the King can place on people."

'A Ship? For what purpose? To pick up Ser Steffon and Bran?'

"Gratitude, but there is no need, my lady," her father reassured, a dark look crossing his eyes as he did so. "I will be ready."

"Very well," she answered, before finally unlocking the door and leaving as quietly and quickly as she remembered Ursa always did, shutting the door behind her.

She craned her neck and waited a moment, listening in as the woman's voice, and footfalls of her guards, finally subsided. After she felt confident the Lady Azula had gone, she quickly moved to find her seat and placed her hands across her lap. Lady moved to lay at her feet, and Sansa turned to face the Hand of the King. "Father?" she questioned, spying a grim face. His forehead was lined in numerous creases, and she knew that signalled something bad. Something worrying. 'What did the Lady Azula say to him?' Sansa wondered, as her wolf looked up at her, and whined softly at her side.

"Hmmm?" he replied, the chair creaking as he moved to readjust his hands over his desk. The Lord of Winterfell faced her with a smile that was not as warm as she had first seen when she had entered his study.

"Would it be improper for me to ask why the Lady of Dragonstone was here?" she hesitated, before finally asking.

"No, it would not," he replied softly, a hint of uncertainty in his ordinarily straightforward tone. He met her eyes, "She came to discuss our impending trip to Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Sansa questioned, the surprise readily evident in her voice. "Why are you going? For how long? Will I be going with you?" her words came out in a hurried jumbled, for she had not been expecting her father to leave his duties for any length of time. 'Let alone to visit that horrid place.' Screaming away at the back of her mind, a small part of her worried that he meant to take her away with him. 'Away from her handsome golden prince...' she felt her eyes begin to water.

"No, no," he calmed her, quickly rising from his plain bronze seat with velvet padding, to sit next to her. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she felt safe under its weight, even though she was horrified at the ill news he brought. "I will only be going to make certain it is a place fit for Bran, with my own two eyes, and only for a few days."

"And what will I do?" her voice quivered in uncertainty.

Her father stared at her, almost at a loss for words, before he let out a long sigh. "You will remain here in King's Landing with our household servants, and some of our guard…"

Sansa sighed, releasing the baited breath she did not realize she had been holding, but then saw that her father had not yet finished speaking his mind.

"…and will be placed under the protection of Lord Stannis Baratheon, at his manse in the noble's quarter. Near the old gate," he finished.

Her father's words felt like a cruel iron hammer beating down on her happiness, and she felt a strange sense of doubt wash over her. "But father, surely I can…" she sputtered, her mind conjuring up various reasons for remaining within the tower, but dying upon her tongue. 'This is unfair! I need to be near Joffrey. Lord Stannis scares me…'

"I will have no further discussion on this matter," he warned in an icy cold voice. A voice she knew not to question. "Upon my departure, you and the remainder of our household will be escorted to Lord Stannis' manse, and kept there for your well-being until I return." A brief, yet deafening silence fell over them until she heard her father speak once more. "Worry not, Sansa. It will not be for long. I promise you, when I return, everything shall be as it should."

She heard a slight pause in his final words, but thought nothing of it, and sniffled. "I will do what is asked of me," she nodded, looking at him with wet eyes. 'It was her! I know it!'

Sansa felt his thumb slide across her face, wiping away a stray tear with a look of gratitude in his eyes. He lowered his hand and smiled, before rising from his seat. His dusty boots padded along the stone floor until he came to a small case near his large desk. She saw him crouch over the leathery black container, before snapping it open, revealing a bundle of red cloth tied up with a silken cord of black and gold. He lifted up the small thing with care, and looked at it a moment, before returning to sit by her side.

She tried hiding her confusion, as best she could, when he sat down and handed her the red package. "What is this?" Sansa looked at him, then down to the mysterious object, before she pulled at the soft cord.

"A gift from the Baratheons of Dragonstone," he stated, smiling a warm, yet strangely empty smile.

"For what?" the cord fell away, and she placed it atop the small table before her.

"For welcoming Ursa into our home, and treating her as family."

'Family? I don't even like her. She's strange…' a hint of jealousy seeped into her mind as she thought on the King's mannish niece. Pushing her feelings aside, she unwrapped the cloth covering and held something soft in her hands. "A doll?" she muttered in genuine surprise since she could not have imagined the parents of Ursa Baratheon to have thought of such a gift. 'No, not just a doll,' she examined the little thing which held not the form of a person, but of a wolf. 'Grey velvet for fur,' she ran her hand along its surface. 'Soft cotton stuffing,' she pressed her finger into its soft belly and turned it over to face her. 'Glossy, large yellow beads for eyes, and a triangular black one for its nose...' it did not take long for her to realize whose likeness it bore. "It's Lady," she looked down and saw her loyal wolf staring up at her in curiosity, head tilted to the side.

"The Lady of Dragonstone said your gift was the most difficult to pick, so she chose that dress for you," he said, glancing towards the outfit she wore. "Before her son suggested something else…"

"Ser Steffon? This was from Ser Steffon?" she held the doll in her hands, and felt butterflies. 'No!' she chided herself and placed the small wolf atop the table. Chubby stuffed legs stuck out in front of its roundish pup-like face, and it looked to be calling to her to lift it up again. Lady followed the small replica and sniffed at its triangular bead nose. Her furred guardian stared at it, then gently snatched it up within her mouth, bringing it down in between her two front legs like some newborn pup. She stared at them both, before bringing her head down to nuzzle the doll protectively. Sadness filled her, but she was not sure why. "I don't care for dolls," she rolled her eyes, "but I will thank Ser Steffon when I see him."

"That is fair enough," her father sighed and gave her a saddened look.

'I want my Joffrey, not that smiling demon,' she told herself, remembering the black armour worn by the 'Silver-Tongue.' Righting herself and sitting as any proud lady would, she spoke, uttering her next words coldly. "Prince Joffrey and I were to take a midday walk within the Godswood. Am I still allowed to accompany him?" a part of her had sensed an uneasiness emanating from her father the moment she said the words, and somehow she knew his response would not be as before.

His body stiffened like her dire wolf did when she sensed danger, and for a long moment her father, the Lord of Winterfell, remained silent. He shifted in his seat, quiet as a mouse, eyes on her all the while. A deep frown lined his face before he spoke using his Lordly voice, "Jory and Harwin will accompany you."

"But…" her father looked at her. "It was supposed to be a romantic walk! He won't want me as his queen if I keep travelling under armed escort while I accompany him," she felt her temper rise and saw Lady's ears perk up.

"Sansa…" he warned, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"But why?" she fought the urge to stand up in a fit, knowing it was unladylike. "You let Bran be Ser Steffon's squire, and let Arya be friends with that stupid Dragonstone girl!" she pleaded in a last ditch effort to elicit the response she desired. "Am I not allowed to be close to someone other than my family? This is not fair!" she trailed off and lowered her head dejectedly.

"No. You will go with an escort or you will not go at all," her father's voice was colder than steel in a winter storm.

A long silence seemed to pass between them, disturbed only by the soft flapping of the direwolf banner near the window where the Lady of Dragonstone had once stood. Sansa shuddered, and looked away towards her father's orderly desk, having never seen her father grow truly angry with her. The Tempest, dark and grey, which had been swirling within her father's smoky eyes, dissipated like a spring shower. She nodded tersely in acceptance, realizing she would not get what she wanted. Her eyes stung as she forced out the words, "As you wish, father."

"Sansa…" he reached over in an attempt to soothe her, to no avail.

"Father, I wish to be excused," she stated simply, looking the Hand of the King in the eye. "I will await the summons from the prince in my room. If it pleases you?"

Her father sighed once more, before rising to his feet and offering her a hand. "My Lady?" An apologetic look and soft smile overtook every facet of his usually hard northern visage, but she would not accept it this time. She rose without taking his hand.

'He's ruining everything!'

He escorted her out, knocking at the door twice, before finally opening it when Jory answered, "My lord?"

The bronze door groaned on its hinges as she walked through. Jory and Harwin were stationed near the door and quickly shuffled aside to allow her to pass. The Stark guard, Alyn, rose from the gold-leafed bench opposite the door. "Harwin," her father said, voice strong and commanding.

"Yes, my lord?" the stocky man with brown hair replied, stepping forward.

"Accompany my daughter to her room and await a summons from the Prince. It will be in regards to a walk in the Godswood. You and Jory are to remain with her while she is with him," Jory shifted at her side. "However, before you do so, I must break words on another matter," he gestured towards Ser Rodrik's nephew and waved him into his office.

Sansa swore she had heard her father hesitate towards the middle of his words before his icy resolve took over at the end.

"Worry not, Jory will be along shortly," he reassured. Cassel nodded in acknowledgement and entered her father's study. The newest hand of the king lingered at the entryway, and for an instant, they stared at one another. A thoughtful frown had formed on her father's stony face before she turned and departed from the hall.

'Clang!' the bronze door shut behind her as she retreated to her room.


The shadows in her neatly furnished room began to grow long, she saw, watching as the legs of her carved wooden chair crawled along the floor like a spider's black spindly legs. A gilded Dragonstone mirror, free of stains or blemishes, sat against the wall. Easily the rival of even the finest mirrors from Myr, its crystal clear reflection displayed Sansa's seated form atop her cushioned 'spider' chair. Her Direwolf, Lady, remained perched at her side looking into the mirror and sharing the same thoughtful expression her father had shown earlier. The small wolf doll, gifted by Ser Steffon, rested between the wolf's closed legs.


"Good evening my Lady," she recalled the young knight's voice, smell, and smile, from the feast the King had thrown in his honor. The young stag from Dragonstone had unveiled a voice and brilliantly handsome grin she had felt a certain familiarity with, yet could not place. A youthful voice reverberated in her ears, one partially melodious and strangely deep, yet holding a peculiar sort of sweetness.


'It was welcoming, but reserved. Almost as if he bore a hidden burden,' frowning at the memory, a subtle warmness slowly crept up into her cheeks. The thought of the Baratheon boy's pleasant smell of ripened cherries and the tea the Silver-tongue's sister and her guards would always drink followed quickly thereafter. 'What was it? Gasmin? Jasnim? The tea sent from Dragonstone every moon's turn,' she squinted, trying to remember. 'Father and Maester Luwin had taken a liking to it.' Sansa had easily recalled the subtly sweet smell, but not the name. Suddenly, a strange thought crossed her mind, 'What did Ursa smell like?' she briefly wondered, before she shook it off as stupid.

She fidgeted in her seat, nervously tugging at the hems of the Lady Azula's gift, before laying a tender hand atop her wolf's fuzzy head and scratching behind its ear. The nearly two-hour wait passed at a snail's pace and pressed a deep worry upon her, which slowly grew with every minute that came and went. 'Where he is? Did he forget? Is he still sad about his sister leaving this morning?' she vexed, remembering her time spent in the early morning hours when she, her father, the King and Queen, the Baratheons of Dragonstone present within the city, and Lord Renly, had seen the Princess Myrcella off, escorted by Sers Jaime and Loras. 'Father? Did you have a change of mind,' the unspoken question lingered before another one, a darker one, took its place. 'Or…did Joffrey?'

"Stand aside," a gruff voice, partially muffled by the closed door, declared outside. "I am here to escort the Lady Sansa to Prince Joffrey."

Her heart lifted, and she rose from her cushioned seat, patting down the sides of her latest dress. The dark brown cushion bore golden tassels at its corners and was soft and pleasant. However, it did nothing to calm her nerves, for she was still upset that her planned romantic walk had been disrupted.

"Is that so?" she heard Harwin's voice, muffled by the oaken door, ask in a deep, wary sounding manner. "And what is your name, ser?"

"Ser Meryn Trant," the man grunted in annoyance.

"My lady Sansa," she heard Jory call out, the irritation readily evident in his voice, even from behind closed doors. A sharp knock followed the captain's address, "Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard is here to escort you to the Prince."

"I will be right there!" Sansa shouted excitedly, a slight flutter in her chest. She pressed down on her dress once more, before she motioned to her dearest companion, "Come, Lady." Her hands felt the coldness of the brass door handle, before pulling it open. There, she spied a Kingsguard knight with droopy eyes and a red beard. He bore a shirt of enamelled scales, tall helm with sunburst crest, and gleaming plate. A heavy woolen cloak lay upon his back, clasped with twin golden lions.

"My lady," the man bowed, his eyes showing no signs of warmth or welcome, only irritation.

She could almost feel the hairs on Lady's back standing on end as if they had been Sansa's own, and desperately wished to bare her teeth, only stopping herself when she realized what she had been thinking. A low rumbling, that only she could hear, reverberated within Lady's throat. Calmly, she motioned for Lady to relax and withdraw.

"Prince Joffrey awaits you by the Godswood," the man said, sneering towards Sansa's Direwolf. "Will you be bringing your dog with you, my lady?"

"She's not a dog, ser," she replied with a soft growl, and surprised everyone around her, herself included. 'Where had that come from?' she paused, her train of thought having taken a sharp turn before she remembered the man before her. "Her name is Lady, Ser Meryn, and yes, she will be accompanying me. As will they," a quick glance to Jory and Harwin signalled to the knight who she meant. "Now, if you please?" Sansa continued, stepping forward, past the rude knight. She heard someone close the door to her quarters, and heard three pairs of footsteps follow after her, while a smaller, quieter set of four followed beside her.


The path out into the courtyard had been relatively uneventful, with only the odd glance or two from her household guard and the trio of Lannister red cloaks stationed near the base of the tower, just outside of the main doors. Extending out across the stone square was the long shadow of the Hand's tower, cast by the receding midday sun. As she trailed behind Ser Meryn, she felt keenly aware of her surroundings, even though she had not once ever gone hunting or even fishing.

'That was unladylike,' she reasoned, 'and beneath her.'

Still, her eyes, ears, and nose stretched out, past the swaying Baratheon banners, rancid city smell, bird calls, and background chatter. She spotted, smelled, and heard the five men near the eastern wall of the yard, along with all the others in between. Servants, guards, all held smells of their own, and Sansa shook her head, trying to dispel that strange feeling. That sudden, clear awareness which assaulted her senses. Three of the men smelled of cherry blossom and were suited in full Dragonstone plate that was black as night. They spoke quietly with a set of Stormlander knights in similarly fashioned armour though in decidedly much lighter colouring, and bearing a slightly softer cherry and tea smell, similar to Ser Steffon's.

"What of Ser Cortnay?" she heard one of the Stormlanders mutter. "He's as loyal as they come and will not appreciate this."

"The lady of Dragonstone as made assurances to Lord Renly that the appointment is only temporary. A moon's turn at most. Penrose will be kept on to advise Ser Steffon for the short time he manages the castle, before setting out for another tour," the Dragonstone man with the trimmed black beard and strong jaw replied.

"Any clue on where the young Stag will go?" a copper-haired Stormlander asked.

"Likely the Vale," the bearded man shrugged, his raspy voice sounding like scraping glass. "Ser Steffon and the Lady Azula have spoken at length about their mutual interest in learning about the lords that reside there. If he goes, I imagine he'll take an Ironship, make port at Gulltown, and start from there."

Loose pebbles clicked along the path, diverting her attention away from the chattering men and drawing them towards several child servants, as they scurried to and fro scrubbing the stones clean of filth, with one lingering near the group of men. As Sansa and her escort passed, she brushed her nose and sniffed at the air, catching the scent of lavender and lilac emanating from beneath the children's grimy, oily, exteriors.

"Out of the way, child," she heard Ser Meryn growl at a small, green-eyed boy who had stumbled along their route. Emerald eyes grew wide in terror, and the boy quickly scampered off. A feeling of unease grew within her stomach as if she knew the knight had had every intention of kicking the small boy but had only just managed to restrain himself.

A woman clothed in a simple dark brown dress with black lacing, and nearing her mother's age, watered the small collection of flowers nestled in-between the arches of the covered walkway. In spite of the distance between them, Sansa heard the woman humming a strange tune she had only ever heard the girl, Jun, hum. Sansa mentally kicked herself, regretting having never deigned to ask the small foreign girl on its origin.

She caught a scent of mint in the air before her attention came upon a duo of youthful noblewomen gossiping underneath the shade of the walkway, and likely headed for some prior engagement, she assumed. Both were followed by the Queen's rosy scent, though the minty smell seemed to have also travelled along with them. Others would have found the women's features shrouded in shadow, yet Sansa blinked and saw their oddly gray faces in the gloom. One held straight light locks, while the other brandished curly dark trusses.

"The boy was handsome, but his mother was strange," the woman with yellow hair tittered, putting her thumbs up to the edges of her eyelids and slanting them upwards.

"Tabitha! Oh my goodness," black curls swayed as the woman brought her rose scented cloth to her mouth, stifling a scandalous snicker. "After we speak with the Queen, perhaps we should pay the Godswood a visit?" the lady lifted a knowing brow to her companion before Sansa and her group rounded the corner.

'There he is!' her heart skipped a beat, as she turned forward, spotting her betrothed waiting for her at the gates of the Godswood.

Ser Meryn clanked loudly as he stomped about, leading them to the gates. With every step she took, she felt more and more knots form in the pit of her stomach.

'Ser Mandon Moore,' Sansa recalled the Kingsguard's name, and his unsettling pale grey eyes, as he stood at her Prince's side accompanied by four Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks and full plate. The red cloaks smelled of the Queen, yet the lifeless-eyed man bore no scent. Though not as outwardly impressive as their Dragonstone or Kingsguard counterparts, the Lannister armour was still finely made and not at all inexpensive looking.

"My prince," Ser Meryn bowed, "the lady Sansa and her household guards, Jory Cassel, and Harwin." The knight gestured to them, the sneer having never left his face. A brief frown marred the prince's handsome appearance, disappearing just as quickly, as he eyed Jory, Harwin, and Lady.

"A pleasure to meet the noble guards of my Lady Sansa," her prince stated courteously, revealing a pearly white smile.

Sansa felt Lady on the verge of restlessness and quickly titled her hand in a placating gesture. 'Lady! Be still. Please!' she pleaded silently. 'Joffrey and I haven't had much time to speak with one another since leaving Winterfell. I don't want to lose this chance as well.' Almost on the verge of tears, Sansa sighed in relief as Lady grew docile once more. 'Thank you,' she cast a grateful smile to her furry friend, the oddness of the act having been lost on her.

Joffrey's golden curls rustled slightly in the breeze, and his clean royal attire of blue hues and black leather boots, made the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms appear ever so gallant. A deep blue doublet, studded with golden lions, completed the look, and Sansa was mesmerized. "My lady," he stepped forward, turning to her, and offering his arm, which she gladly accepted. "I believe we have a walk in the Godswood?"

"We do, my prince," she tried her best to contain the giggle she knew was coming and failed. Brushing her embarrassment aside, she followed the Prince as he led her into the wood. They passed through the gates Sers Meryn and Mandon had opened, both of whom had followed, Lannister red cloaks in tow, along with Lady and Sansa's own Stark guard.


As they walked down the shaded cobblestone path, she could scarcely believe her good fortune as the rays of the sun peeked out through the canopy above, leaves rustling in the breeze. Their escort clanked about several paces away giving her and her prince some small measure of privacy, though Lady remained at her side.

"You look lovely, my lady," Joffrey said with a smile, deep green eyes looking into her own. He held his hands behind his back as they walked, reminding her of the Lady of Dragonstone. She quietly matched Joffrey's strides with her own as the butterflies in her belly threatened to explode out of her body.

"You flatter me, my prince," she replied, nodding her head, cheeks flush with excitement, fear, happiness, joy, and every other emotion she could imagine.

"That was not flattery, my lady. It was a compliment," he grinned. "Flattery is insincere. A compliment is offered with earnestness. And you do look lovely," Joffrey stated calmly before his brow furled into one of suspicion. He squinted his emerald eyes, scanning up and down the face of her dress. "Though I wonder," he stopped, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "Where did you acquire your dress? It does not seem like something from the north. Did your Lord father have it made for you here in the capital?"

She winced, weighing her responses in her head before she spoke the only words she could. "They were a gift from the Lady of Dragonstone." Her eyes skimmed over his handsome feature seeing what reaction such a revelation would cause and found herself surprised.

Joffrey pursed his lips for an instant before smiling. "I'm quite surprised. I would never have imagined the Butcher of Shipbreaker to have had such excellent taste," he lowered his hand from her shoulder and continued walking, outwardly pleased with his words.

'The Butcher of Shipbreaker,' she pondered the derogatory title the Lady Azula's enemies had granted her during the rebellion. A title Sansa and her mother had held a small belief in, a belief Arya and her father had not seemed to share. 'She seems the type. Strange and dangerous,' Sansa recalled of Ser Steffon's mother and the peculiar unease she would feel when around Azula. Such disquieting things had coloured Sansa's perception of the foreign noblewoman, and as Joffrey said his words, she wondered whether he had thought the same as she or as her father.

'Snfft,' Lady snorted, drawing Sansa's attention.

Her wolf had continued at a steady pace beside her, head pointed downward, sniffing at a single dry leaf on the cobblestone path. Having given no indication of something being amiss Sansa shrugged and followed suit beneath the rustling leaves.

"The Lady Azula," Joffrey stated suddenly, pausing in his words before continuing his line of thought. "What do you think of her and my Uncle's family?" Her prince had not stopped their walk and pressed on upon their path.

"I…I would not presume to…" she hesitated, not knowing whether speaking of them would be proper to anyone outside her family.

"Worry not, my lady," he reassured her with a devilishly handsome smile. "When you are with me, you have nothing to fear. I promise you, no harm will come to you for speaking your mind."

His words had almost sounded like Ser Steffon's, and Sansa blushed. Looking back to her entourage and then to her betrothed, she nodded. "The Lady Azula is…odd. Like her daughter, Ursa, and both have mannish tendencies in how they carry themselves. Ursa, moreso than her mother, but…they don't act like a proper lady should." Joffrey's emerald eyes looked intrigued at her words, as he drank them up like a man trapped in an open desert. "They know the words, display the manners, but…when you sit across from them, when you speak to them, they feel wrong. 'And,' Sansa thought to herself, 'seem to be much more than they appear.'

"Hmmm," her prince raised his left hand to his chin, apparently thinking upon her words, as they walked. "Wrong, how?" Joffrey questioned.

"I cannot tell you, my prince," she replied, catching his sudden surprise at her statement before she continued. "It's only feeling, something I cannot understand, but it's there. That odd feeling when I am near them is not something that can be put into words."

"I see," he narrowed his eyes slightly, though not unpleasantly so. "Well, I leave it to your judgement, my lady. I have no experience on the minds of women," he chuckled, stopping and looking down the forked path they had reached in the wood. One turned off to the side, disappearing beneath thick brush, and another down some stone steps leading to an open area, where she alone heard the dull sounds of wooden swords clashing against each other. "So what of my uncle and his son?" Joffrey asked, guiding her towards the stone steps, seemingly unaware of the sounds emanating therein.

She froze, her senses having warned of someone, or something, coming down along the chosen path. Lady bounded down the steps and turned down the stone pathway, disappearing from view. "Lady!"

"Summer, come back!" she heard a familiar voice on the wind.

'Bran!'

"What is it, my lady?"

"It is my brother, Bran. He is in the clearing," she answered, pointing ahead, and walking forward, turning around the collection of brush obscuring her view of the small clearing partially beneath the shadow of the Red Keep. There, she saw Summer and Lady playing, nipping at each other, while the small figure of Bran stood further away next to the slim, lightly armoured form of Theon Greyjoy, both of whom bore wooden swords in hand.

"Sansa!" she heard Bran shout, as he waved his hands and ran towards her. Sansa heard the hurried footfalls of Joffrey, and their guards coming up behind her. Keeping her gaze on Bran as he bolted past the playing Direwolves, she noticed at the corner of her eye, a duo of fully-plated Flameguard hoisting up tower shields emblazoned with the burning stag in their right hand, while their left hands rested upon the hilts of sheathed longswords, both stood near a small path going into the woods behind the area the Dragonstone Greyjoy and Bran had been sparring. She could hear four pairs of feet walking along the cobblestone past the armoured men, one distinctly lighter than the other two, yet only three voices came from the opening within the trees lining the minor trail. One was familiar and silvery-sweet, the other was harsh and foreign though decidedly female in tone, and the last was clearly male, sounding heavy and slightly slurred.

As Bran grew closer, so too did Joffrey and their retinue.

"Prince Joffrey! Jory! Harwin! Greetings!" Bran smiled, bowing slightly in respect to Joffrey at the utterance of his name and title. Taking her eyes off of the armoured men, and placing them on Theon Greyjoy had seen him slowly jogging up towards them.

"Bran!" Harwin and Jory exclaimed, the surprise readily evident in their voices, smiles plastered on their faces. "We had wondered where you had gotten off to this morning when we returned from seeing the Princess Myrcella off."

"Ser Steffon asked father a day past if we could go travelling around the city to practice on knightly conduct. Helping the poor, learning about their lives," Bran smiled. "He really enjoys learning about people. Ser Theon came to the tower and escorted me to Dragonstone manor, where we awaited Ser Steffon," he answered as eagerly as any youth with aspirations for knighthood would. "After our time in the city, we came here to spar. The Silver-tongue was about to teach me the strange sword techniques he learned at the Academy, where I will be attending when I arrive on Dragonstone."

"And where is my dear cousin?" her future royal husband scanned about the clearing with eyes like a hawk.

"Where indeed?" Jory questioned, his eyes darting between Ser Theon, who was now only several paces away, and her thrilled little brother.

"He is speaking with one of his household servants, a woman in red, Phena and her son, Adar, who is Rickon's age, and a knight…ummm…Ser Dontos? I believe."

"What is the subject of their discussion?" her golden-haired prince leaned in.

"My prince!" Ser Theon exclaimed, partially startling her prince, and taking a bow as Bran had done before him. "What a pleasant surprise," he continued, with a bright smile and cocksure swagger. "Here to take part in our sparring? Ser Brandon to be has learned the basic tenants of knighthood quite quickly. I dare say he'll be a greater knight than even Ser Barristan. Certainly, one to watch out for when an opening forms in your future Kingsguard," Ser Theon looked down and scruffed the top of Bran's head, causing her little brother's large smile to grow even larger.

Joffrey's lips grew thin, before a sharp smirk formed upon his face. "Perhaps, but I will be the judge of that when the time comes. There may not be many openings, especially since I intend to make my cousin Lord Commander should he remain without wife or issue when I ascend the throne, and possibly even a few more knights from Dragonstone given the reputation of the warriors raised and bred there…"

Ser Theon and Bran held their smiles, until Ser Mandon pointed out, past them, across the small glade. "Look, my prince. It is Ser Steffon."

Out from the wooded opening with the small path had emerged the handsome young Baratheon knight, Ser Steffon. He was clothed in a deep black and gold brocade doublet, pressed crimson trousers, and black boots reaching to his knees, with a golden-hilted Dragonstone-steel sheathed at his side. The pattern near the base of the tunic's neck took on the shape of a stag's antlers, and near his heart was a small golden rose pin. Accompanying the Silver-tongue out of the brush was a portly man in a suit of ramshackle armour with a reddish nose, a comely pale woman with shoulder-length auburn hair covering the right side of her face, and a small slightly less pale boy with shaggy black hair. Both the boy and woman held passable clothing, the woman wore a crimson sleeveless dress, a ruby choker, and black slippers and cloak, while the boy wore simple black trousers with a brown tunic and little black boots. A silver necklace hung down the boy's neck with whatever pendant, or jewel, hidden just out of view, underneath his tunic.

"I wouldn't worry about your paymaster, Ser Dontos," she heard a smooth voice drift along the midday breeze. "That reaching little lord has bigger things to worry about from my mother should things go south. But enough about him," she saw Ser Steffon's head turn in their direction. "You all have your duties to perform," the knight looked down, and knelt by the small boy, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Especially you, little one. You have the most important task of all, can I trust you to do what is asked?" Azula's son reached into his satchel and withdrew a small sweet-smelling piece of what appeared to be dried fruit.

The boy remained silent, almost as if he had been incapable of speech, and yet shook his head as enthusiastically as Bran had when her father had broached the subject of being Ser Steffon's squire. Both Lady and Summer had ceased their playing and returned to her and Bran's sides.

"Now, I must take my leave, the Prince seems to be awaiting my presence," Steffon Baratheon rose from his kneeling position and brought the woman's hand forward, placing a gentle kiss upon her hand. He then nodded to the rotund man, before turning on his heels and walking briskly in their direction. The silent Flameguard shadowed him closely, matching his pace with raised tower shields and sheathed swords. The odd trio quietly slunk back into the small path from which they had come.

Joffrey frowned and started forward and they all followed.

"Hail! Prince Joffrey!" the heir to Dragonstone declared, coming upon them, and bowing as a proper knight should before royalty.

"Good afternoon, cousin, what brings you here this day?" the Prince asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice.

"Showing young Bran how to be a knight. He is…" Steffon started.

"Yes, I've heard this before," Joffrey cut in, sharing a look with her, then glancing towards Bran and Ser Theon, who had both begun walking back to Ser Steffon's side. "And what of the three who you saw fit not to introduce me to?"

"Urgent business," the knight smiled. "A secret my mother would not wish to be known."

"And what conspiracies have you and the Butcher gotten yourselves into, cousin?" the prince retorted, clasping his hands behind straightened back, chin up, frown firmly in place.

The insult to his mother ignored, Ser Steffon continued smiling and did not blink nor reveal personal injury to the word. "Very well, my prince. It is a terrible crime to lie to royalty," the son of Dragonstone took in a deep breath. "My mother's nameday will be coming soon, and I was hoping to surprise her with a small feast at the manor. Nothing grand, given our imminent departure, but something is better than nothing," he rested his hand along his belt and continued. "So, I enlisted the aid of the head of the Dragonstone household servants in the capital and her son, to make ready the manor, while Ser Dontos requests nothing short of the finest wine from his benefactor. My mother doesn't enjoy such a thing being public knowledge, but I do enjoy teasing her about it."

'What?' she blinked, as did they all, save for Ser Theon, Bran, and Ser Steffon who held large toothy grins.