A/N: I want to thank everyone for reading, alerting, and favoring this story.

I also want to extend my appreciation to Fejstroll, CamFou182, Nox Descious, JediMasterDraco, X59, purple sky always, Hiei-Uchiha, Dragonbinder, azphxbrd, Ari989, Axular, Mikle Silver, thepkrmgc and to the guests and anon for taking the time to review. It means a lot to me. Your incredible support keeps my muse happy. And a happy muse is a busy muse. As seen by these quick updates.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

7: Sansa

"Dom?"

"Hmmm?"

Sansa turned to her friend to see that he was distracted. A distant expression covered his face. They were in the Godswood. He was sitting by the heart tree. She sat closer to the dark pool then to him.

This had never been a place that she sought out. The long, melancholy face of the heart tree had frightened her as a child. She could never understand why her father would come here. Sansa could still remember asking him when she was younger, he had smiled at her and told her, this is where the old gods rest. They can hear our prayers and ease our burdens.

She never looked at the heart tree the same way again after that. Her siblings Robb and Jon following Father's example would often come to the Godswood. Domeric too sought the solitude of the Godswood, and the comforting presence of the weirwood tree. He sometimes would bring his harp with him and say that the old gods loved music too.

Slowly, and more surely, Sansa started to come more and more with her brothers and Domeric. Often they would hardly speak, settling under the stare of the heart tree and a comfortable silence would fall on them while each invoked their prayers and thoughts to the old gods.

After the first time, Sansa was surprised by the relief she felt afterwards. That had been all she needed to continue to seek this place out whenever she felt troubled or scared. When she wrestled with her frustrations for her sister or her own doubts about the path her parents would set her on. It was all brought here and it was here where she found peace.

Putting aside her thoughts and memories, Sansa turned to see Domeric's pensive expression as he remained sitting in the shadow of the weirwood tree. She suspected he was seeking the old gods out to protect his father and aunt on their journey to Winterfell. She knew he was fretting about the arrival of his father.

It was just the two of them. She and he had come together after her lessons with Septa Mordane and his with Ser Rodrik. They met in the training yard and walked together to the Godswood. It was a routine they had fallen into for months now. It was one that Sansa enjoyed immeasurably.

"What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking," he hesitated before clarifying, "About my father's visit."

It had been announced several days before of Lord Bolton and Lady Dustin's visit to Winterfell; coinciding with Domeric's one year stay in Winterfell.

A year, she thought, still surprised by how fast it seemed to have gone. Or of the friendship that had forged between her and the Heir to the Dreadfort. He had become one of her closest friends. A fact she found strange at times, but never did she wish to change it or try to deny it.

"I don't want to disappoint him," he confessed suddenly. An expression of melancholy clouded his face, his eyes downcast, looking at his hands which he had resting in his lap.

Sansa didn't like seeing him in such a state. She preferred the warm, friendly Domeric who talked and laughed with her and her siblings.

"You won't." She knew how much he valued his father's opinion. She could tell just by listening to him when he spoke about him. He wanted to prove worthy of being the heir to the Dreadfort. He put such a burden on himself in the hopes of getting his father's approval.

Sansa didn't like it. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder how someone so kind and warm like Dom could be related to the cold, aloof Lord Bolton. They seemed so different. She wasn't sure she wanted Domeric to get his father's approval. She wasn't quite certain what that would entail. The last thing she wanted for Domeric was for him to change for his father.

He doesn't have to change, she thought. He's great the way he is.

That realization brought a soft flutter in her chest. It was a strange, but not an unwelcomed feeling. It wasn't the first time either that she had felt it when she was around him.

"I'm sorry," his words pulled her abruptly from her thoughts.

Sansa turned to him. She could see he still looked troubled but when his eyes met hers it all seemed to evaporate from his expression. He gave her a smile that made her heart sing. He looked so handsome when he smiled. That fluttering feeling returned.

If only Dom could see himself the way she saw him, she thought. How no one could ever be disappointed or how someone like him never should be nervous or afraid. How truly happy and lucky she felt that he had come to Winterfell.

"We should be going," Domeric dusted himself once he pulled himself to his feet. He offered her his hand, his smile remained.

She hesitated, "Dom?"

"Yes?"

Looking into his warm brown eyes, she found her courage. "You could never be a disappointment."

At first she feared she had said the wrong thing. He said nothing to her words. He didn't even react. She was about to hastily say something to try to cover up her gaffe, but his voice stopped her.

"Thank you, Sansa." His words were soft, but strong.

Relief flooded through her. She smiled at him, taking his offered hand as he helped her up. When she got to her feet she noticed how incredibly close they were. Faces hovering only inches apart. He just had to lean in and his lips would touch hers…

She felt her cheeks go warm at that thought. He was still holding her hand. His eyes were on her. She didn't dare speak in fear of ruining the precious moment that was spreading out between them. Her eyes held his.

There was a small voice in the back of her head exclaiming how improper this arrangement was. The two of them alone, unsupervised, so close to one another. That this wasn't how a proper lady should act or behavior she should encourage. But looking into his eyes, she didn't find herself caring.

He then raised her hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss upon it. His eyes never left hers. Afterwards, he slowly slipped his fingers from hers. Her hand felt suddenly cold. She dropped them to her side.

Sansa found herself wanting more.

He did what was expected of an honorable lord. He acted no different than the princes and knights in her songs and tales. So why did she feel disappointed? She hadn't wanted the moment to end with him placing a kiss to her hand but rather a kiss on her lips.

That sudden confession surprised her. She couldn't deny it either. It was all so confusing. She didn't have the strength to sort through these feelings at the moment.

"Dom!" Arya's voice carried through the Godswood.

Domeric took a few steps away from Sansa to put a respectable distance between them as to not give anybody any reason to gossip about them.

"There you are!" Arya came into view. She was smiling, oblivious to the mood she had walked in on or the moment she had interrupted. Her eyes were on Domeric. "You promised you'd let me ride Shadow."

"I did," Domeric dramatically scratched is chin as if trying to recall this promise. "Are you sure?"

Arya laughed at his behavior. "Yes!" She bobbed her head up and down before reaching out and grabbing Domeric's arm. "Come on!"

"Arya," Sansa chastised her sister's behavior. Yet, at the same time she found herself wishing she could be so courageous in her own touches with Domeric.

"It's alright," Domeric waved her off. "I'd be honored to escort this lady to the stables."

Arya smiled at that even though she tried her best to hide it. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed.

Sansa felt a bit of jealousy creep up at the interactions between Arya and Domeric. Arya touched and grabbed him without thought or care. She joked and laughed with him without second thought. She wasn't like Sansa at all. She didn't seem to worry about any of it. Arya didn't seem to care who saw it or what they'd think. They were traits that Sansa often secretly admired about her sister.

"Did you find them?" Bran was out of breath when he arrived.

"What do you think?" was Arya's joking reply, gesturing to Domeric and Sansa.

Bran laughed. "So is he letting you ride Shadow?"

"I don't know," Arya turned to the Heir to the Dreadfort.

He looked between her and Bran unable to fight the amused smile that came to his face. "I suppose I must." He offered his arm to Arya.

She took his arm all wrong, Sansa thought while she watched her sister take Domeric's arm. He led Arya away but not before looking over his shoulder to Sansa and to offer her a small smile.

Sansa returned it, feeling a blush creep on her cheeks, she turned away.

Bran cleared his throat. He stepped forward and offered her a bow. "May I?" He held out his arm.

Sansa giggled at her brother's silly behavior. "I would be honored."

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Sansa stepped into her father's study. She had been surprised by the summons. She knew there was some time before dinner where her family would formally welcome Lord Bolton and Lady Dustin to Winterfell.

She didn't mind it. She was tired of her needlework. She was also a bit put out because Domeric was spending his afternoon with his aunt. That had surprised her. She had seen him with Lady Dustin several times throughout the castle, but couldn't recall seeing him with his father since greeting him when he arrived to Winterfell. She could only wonder where the Lord of the Dreadfort was and why he wasn't using the time gifted by her father during this visit to see him.

Bringing her attention back to the study to see her father wasn't sitting behind his desk like the countless times before when she would visit him here. He was standing by one of the windows. He was holding a cup. He looked at her with a kind smile. He wasn't alone. She spotted mother too. She was sitting in one of the chairs closest to the fire. She gave Sansa a warm look before gesturing to the seat beside her.

Sansa obeyed. Coming to take the offered seat next to her mother, she sat down and noticed Maester Luwin was also in the room. He was hovering quietly by the desk. He was holding several pieces of parchment but when their eyes met, he bowed his head respectfully, his expression friendly.

"How are you, child?"

"I'm fine, Father." Still unsure of why she had been brought here.

"Good," he said a bit stiffly.

She noticed a look exchanged between her parents. They seemed to be having a silent conversation in front of her.

"What is it?" She didn't miss the fleeting, but pointed look her mother sent to father.

Father didn't answer right away. He took a sip from his cup. "Do you remember your lessons with Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin? About the roles we are expected to play."

"I do," she said slowly.

"Robb is our heir and will one day rule Winterfell as Warden of the North."

Sansa already knew this. She wondered why her parents were telling her this.

"You yourself have an important role too."

"I know, Father," she told him, "To marry into a noble family and strengthen our family ties and secure alliances."

"That's right," he agreed. He looked relieved that he hadn't had to say it.

"An offer has come forward for your hand."

"I'm betrothed?" Sansa hadn't been expecting this. Not yet. She felt her heart lurch, before she would've been excited about this. Learning what nobleman she would be marrying, and hoping beyond hope that it was someone outside the North. How she wanted to live in the southern courts and see how it fared to her favorite tales. She had always wanted to marry a prince. Now, she found her heart wasn't looking to the south for a husband. It was hoping for someone far closer.

"Yes," her mother was there. Grabbing her hand, and trying to soothe the worry that was bubbling up in her tummy. "But you won't be married for some time."

"That's right," Father confirmed.

"Lady Sansa," that was Maester Luwin, shuffling the papers in his hands which she could only think were of the recently agreed betrothal arrangement. "This union will strengthen your house and the North."

"The North?" she repeated, perking at the word. She turned to Father for confirmation.

"Aye." An amused look flickered over his face.

Could it be? She thought. She felt hope swell within.

"You are betrothed to Domeric Bolton."

Betrothed…

That simple, single word had brought with it a spring of happiness that filled her.

Sansa couldn't stop smiling. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

It had only been last night when her father had told her the wonderful news. That night a celebratory feast had been held to honor the occasion while word was sent across the North of the agreement. It wasn't a grand affair, and Sansa found that she didn't mind. It was her and her family, Domeric's family, and the loyal retainers of both of their families. She found the setting intimate as these were the people who knew them best.

Before she had dreamed of a lavish feast with lords and ladies flocking from all the seven kingdoms to celebrate her union to some prince and congratulate them on their pending vows. That was how it was told in the stories, but this wasn't the first time she slowly found herself drifting away from the tales she was told as she grew up. She had already found her true prince and he wasn't from the south.

They had danced for much of the night. Her father had a singer from White Harbor perform which made Sansa think that perhaps he had known about this pending union longer then he had told her. Being in Dom's arms she had felt safe like nothing or no one could hurt her. She hadn't known what she had been missing until she felt his strong arms embrace her. Being able to share touches in such an intimate space without fear of reprimand had been a delight.

He danced with grace, sharing a dance with her mother, his aunt, and even Arya wanted one. In that time she shared a dance with her father, Robb, and Bran. Then she shared a dance with Lord Bolton. When Dom made her warm and happy, his father made her cold and nervous. She could still remember his quiet voice offering her his congratulations of the betrothal and how she would be welcomed at the Dreadfort. Looking into those pale eyes, she was thankful that Domeric hadn't inherited them.

It had felt like a dream. She was afraid that when she went to bed last night she would wake up to find out it had been and that none of it was true.

That fear had been alleviated. Blinking in the sunlight, she stirred under her covers still smiling about last night.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, "Lady Sansa?"

"Yes?" She sat up on her bed. She recognized the voice to have belonged to one of her father's guards.

"Your presence is expected in the gardens."

"I will be out shortly."

"Very good, my lady."

Confused at who or why she would be needed in the gardens at this or any hour. She had been hoping to break fast with her family and Dom. She dressed quickly before departing for the glass gardens.

Sansa arrived to see who it had been who had invited her. Sansa looked wide eyed at the small picnic laid out waiting for her. The small array of food had already been spread out as were two filled goblets.

"I hope you don't mind," Domeric stepped forward. "I asked your father for permission and he agreed." He continued, "I thought it would be nice if we broke fast together."

"It's wonderful!" She declared happily.

Relief came to his expression as his smile became more certain. "I'm glad." He offered her his arm to escort her to the little picnic area he had set up.

She took it gladly. Still smiling, "You didn't have to go through all this."

"Yes, I did." He told her as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You are to be my wife one day, which means by the laws of the gods and man I have the right to spoil you."

She giggled at that. "I love it."

"Good." He led to her spot, she gathered up her dress before sitting down.

"Don't worry," he was still smiling as he moved to take his seat beside her. "Septa Mordane is skulking about," his smile turned mischievous when he added, "To make sure you don't take my virtue."

She laughed, before playfully slapping his arm but that only made him laugh harder. When the laughter subsided, a comfortable silence fell on them as Sansa went about sampling the bits of food that Domeric had brought and putting others on her plate.

The warmth of the hot springs pumped into the glass gardens with the morning sunlight shimmering through the glass ceilings. Sansa couldn't have imagined a better morning to break her fast with. Here, in the gardens bathed in sunlight and surrounded by the beautiful flowers of the north, and beside the man who would one day be her husband. A man she already found herself caring for.

Thinking back about the prayers and thoughts she had offered to the old gods beneath the weirwood tree, she knew now they had been listening. They had answered her prayers. They had brought Domeric to her.

"Are you happy?"

Sansa looked up to see doubt in his eyes.

"About the betrothal?" He clarified.

"I am," she affirmed. She didn't like seeing the doubt cloud his expression. She reached out and took his hand.

He was surprised by the gesture but clearly appreciated it if the smile he gave her was anything to go by. "Good," he sounded relieved. He leaned towards her and before Sansa could think or react she felt his lips on hers. His kiss was tender. Their lips touched gently.

To Sansa it was perfect and was everything she dreamed her first kiss would be like...

Except for when Septa Mordane loudly cleared her throat. Interrupting the blissful kiss and all but ruining the moment, Sansa had been sharing with her betrothed. Her heart was fluttering in her chest at the wonderful, first kiss they had just shared. It was better than the songs, she had decided.

Domeric pulled away from her after the Septa's scolding. A smile was on his lips and a slightly glazed look in his eyes. Sansa was all but certain it was a look she currently mirrored. He looked over his shoulder to the frowning Septa. "Fear not, my virtue is still intact."

Despite the Septa's glowering look, Sansa couldn't help but laugh.

A/N: They're now betrothed.

So Sansa may appear a bit OOC in this story moving forward, but my reasoning for that is that she is older/more mature then her book/tv show counterpart at this point in this AU story.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire