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

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Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

10: Sansa

"Isn't she precious?" Sansa couldn't help but gush at the beautiful, tiny pup that was lounging on her bed. The direwolf's yellow eyes were resting on Sansa. She couldn't keep the smile off her face sitting on the bed gently petting the pup's soft fur.

"You two are quite attached," Domeric observed. He was sitting on the floor, head resting on the bed, his brown eyes on her and the pup.

"We are."

It was from the beginning, she knew. As soon the pups were presented to her, when Sansa's eyes met this one she couldn't describe the feeling that passed, but she knew this pup was intended for her. It was as if a bond had formed between them in that moment and without hesitation Sansa declared this one was hers. She hadn't cared that this pup was the smallest of the litter. That just made Sansa more determined to take care of it so she could reach her full potential.

"Do you think she's still thirsty?"

"We can see," Sansa got up from the bed and moved across the room to a towel that was resting in a bowl on her dresser. The towel had been soaked in warm milk. She gently dabbed her finger on the cloth and was pleased to note it was still warm. She brought it over to the bed and sat back down, picking up the pup and putting her in her arms and gently guided the towel so that the pup could slurp from it.

The pup quickly began lapping up the milk from the cloth.

Domeric chuckled, and Sansa couldn't help but smile at watching the pup vigorously suckling the towel. She turned over to her betrothed and her smile only widened when their eyes met.

It had been a year since they're betrothal had been announced. In that time, Sansa had been incredibly happy. Every day that passed she remained thankful towards her parents for making this match. She wasn't sure she could imagine a better man to be her husband then the one who she was going to marry.

She found happiness anytime she was in his company. Whether it was with her family, with her siblings, or just the two of them, she relished it all. Though she did like the stolen kisses they had shared in the gardens or in the Godswood. The memories of those moments were strong enough to bring a blush to her cheeks and a cooling sensation to her tummy.

"You should thank your brothers."

Domeric's words interrupted her reminiscing, she turned to him; he must have sensed her confusion since he clarified, "About being able to keep the direwolf pups."

"What do you mean?"

"Some in your father's party wanted to have them killed," the sad look that covered Domeric's face conveyed his opinion on that idea, "But it was Robb and Jon that stopped him."

"Really?" Sansa looked down at the pup that was enjoying herself, suckling up the warm milk dripping from the towel. She felt a cold tendril coil itself around her heart at the possibility of her father killing the innocent puppies.

"Yes," Domeric confirmed grimly. "Jon convinced Lord Stark that you were supposed to have them."

"Suppose to have them?"

"The sigil of your family," Domeric reminded her, "three boys, two girls."

"You're forgetting something," Sansa saw his frown. She scooped up the pup in her arms and presented her to him. "She's ours."

Domeric's eyes widened at the gesture, as he accepted the pup into his arms, bringing her to his chest where the pup started licking his neck and chin. "I think that's enough," Domeric gently pulled the pup placing her on his lap.

Sansa couldn't help but giggle at the sight. She sat on the bed beside him, her hand going through his hair. He responded to her touch with a content sigh that made Sansa smile. He leaned his head back so that he could see her face.

"You don't-"

"No, Dom," she knew what he was going to say. "She's ours."

Domeric smiled, "Alright." She caressed his cheek, while he brought his hand to rest on top of hers. "So what should we name her?"

Sansa looked down at the direwolf pup that was curled up on his lap. The well behaved, gentle direwolf pup was not the expected behavior from a wild animal. At seeing how the pup was behaving a name suddenly came to her.

"Lady."

"He wasn't what I was expecting."

"Quiet," Sansa hushed her older brother. They were making their way back inside the castle. She looked back out into the yard where the king's golden banners continued to flutter in the northern wind. She had heard her mother proclaim more than three hundred had traveled with the King and the royal family. She scanned the area to see that the Queen, her brother, and the royal family had departed the courtyard already.

The last thing she wanted was for one of them to overhear her brother's words. Not that she could deny the truth in them. She too found herself disappointed when presented with the large man with many chins who presented himself as the King of Westeros. He was nothing like the stories her father use to tell about the Rebellion. She couldn't believe that this man who when he got off his horse became winded to be the same man who had defeated Prince Rhaegar at the Trident.

She and the others were headed back to their chambers to prepare for the feast that was being held that night to honor the King and the royal family's visit to Winterfell.

"Did you see the prince?" Robb mocked, "Jon says he looks like a girl."

"That's an insult to girls," Domeric added with a laugh.

She could hear Robb snorting from where he was walking in front of her, she too couldn't help but let out a giggle at their observations. Her first impression on the prince wasn't very flattering if she was honest. He may have been handsome if he wasn't scowling or sneering. The way he took in Winterfell, her home as if it was nothing but mud beneath his boot had stirred an anger in her that she didn't know she possessed.

Sansa often hadn't cared for Winterfell in the past. Yearning to go south to see the rest of the Kingdoms that she knew only about in songs, but she came to appreciate the north and her home. She had underestimated its beauty, a realization she didn't quite understand until Domeric came to Winterfell. His eagerness to explore the castle and his unguarded appreciation of its beauty was contagious.

"Where is Jon?" Domeric looked around, wanting to hear more of Jon's opinion on the Prince. He was disappointed, that he couldn't find him, "I'll just seek him out during the feast."

"If you can find him," there was sadness in Robb's voice.

Sansa understood why. She knew with the royal family in the Winterfell that they probably wouldn't be seeing a lot of their brother. She had always treated Jon kindly, but she had often made a distinction with him in her mind. He was only her half brother not her real brother.

Thinking about it now she felt ashamed about it. At the same time she also felt torn because of her mother and her feelings on Jon. Sansa didn't want to upset her. She found herself caught between wanting to treat Jon like her brother and a member of the family and trying not to hurt her mother.

"Honestly, I wouldn't worry about Jon," Domeric said bluntly, "In fact I'm sure he probably pities you two tonight."

"What are you talking about?" Robb frowned.

"I mean tonight you and Sansa will be spending the evening entertaining the Prince and the royal family."

Robb groaned at this revelation which only made Domeric laugh.

Sansa shared her brother's disappointment upon being reminded at how they were going to spend the evening. However, she was better rehearsed at keeping those feelings from bubbling up. She would be courteous to their guests. She'd treat them with respect and kindness even when the Prince had shown them nothing but contempt.

She wouldn't let his failings corrupt her. She was better that that.

Laughter bounced off of the corridors of Winterfell. Music seemed to fill every room in the castle. Troupes of musicians had come with the King and the royal family in hopes of getting recognition or even commissions to perform back in the southern kingdoms when the king and his entourage returned.

Sansa moved away from it.

She should've been enthralled by everything about the King's visit. The Queen's beautiful dresses, the shimmering armor of the southern knights, the entourage of the King's party, even the Prince himself would've probably captured her attention and affection.

Witnessing it now it all seemed so hollow. It all felt superficial.

The king drank heavily and spent most of the feast with various women on his lap none of them being his wife and queen. The Queen who many believed the most beautiful woman in Westeros couldn't even get her own husband to look her way. The knights were vain and rude. They reveled in drinks and had hands that wandered. The dogs that were sniffing around the tables for scraps were more polite then these anointed men.

Sansa could see through the veneer of these people. She detected the anger and bitterness that was well hidden behind the Queen's pretty smile and sweet words. She spotted the petulance and arrogance of the Prince beneath his noble behavior.

The music of the bards could never match how Domeric played the harp. He didn't do it for riches or recognition. His heart motivated him. He played for Sansa because he knew she enjoyed it. The thought kindled warmth in her chest. He wanted her to be happy so he played her songs. Sometimes she would sing, but mostly she would just hum and enjoy the peace and contentment that settled between them.

It was perfect.

Despite the atmosphere of the feast, Sansa had had her fill for the evening. Her time with the Prince and his siblings had been strained. She tried to be a good listener to the Prince's obviously fabricated stories. It was almost amusing at how he perceived himself. He believed himself charming when all she could see was his arrogance.

Thankfully, she had been rescued by Dom. He had sensed her distress and moved over to where she was sitting and asked her to dance with him. She politely excused herself from the Prince, but on the inside she was elated to be free from his presence. Even though she thought she hid her feelings well she couldn't fool Dom who only laughed as they started in on the dance.

There, she stayed in his arms as the music swirled around them. She was blissfully ignorant of everyone around them. She didn't have to think about the King's visit. She didn't have to pretend to care about the Prince's story. She didn't have to act as if she liked being in the Queen's presence.

When the music played and they danced it was only him and her. It had been a needed reprieve and a welcomed distraction.

After their dancing had finished, Domeric had told her that he was slipping out of the feast to try to meet up with Jon and share a drink. Robb was trying to escape as well and he told her she should too. Sansa agreed. She much rather spend the evening with her brothers, and Domeric laughing and talking under the starry skies above them; then to remain in the hall with these selfish and foolish strangers.

That had been fifteen minutes ago.

She had excused herself from her seat and had been given permission from her parents to leave. Sansa was sure she had seen an amused glint in her father's eyes when she asked to retire for the evening. She wondered if he knew or suspected what she and the others had planned to do.

"Lady Sansa?"

Stirred from her thoughts she turned to see the Prince approaching her. She was quick to curtsey; "Prince Joffrey."

"Please stand, my lady," he encouraged her.

Sansa obeyed. She looked to see his sworn shield, the Hound standing nearby. She tried not to shudder at the tall, intimidating knight with the burned face.

"Does he frighten you, my lady?"

"I meant no disrespect," she quickly apologized.

"Leave us, dog," Prince Joffrey dismissed in a rude, contemptuous tone.

"My prince," The Hound answered in a deep, gravelly voice. He stepped into the shadows and out of sight.

"Is that better, my lady?"

"You did not have to send him away."

A scowl darkened the Prince's face. "It seems I can't please you this evening."

"I meant no offense," Sansa bowed her head. She could hear his steps coming closer to her and she steadied herself.

"It's such a pity." He drawled, "That a beauty such as you will be left to wilt here in the north."

She felt his finger on her chin as he lifted her face up to meet his green eyes. Sansa restrained herself from looking revolted at his touch. He would've been handsome if not for the dark glint in his eyes, or the arrogance that covered his face or the haughtiness that seemed to seep into his every movement.

"You are too kind." Sansa chose her words carefully.

He smiled at that, a sickly, ugly looking smile that made his lips resemble fat worms. "You would thrive in the south, my lady."

"I belong to the north," Sansa answered politely. Uncomfortable with his closeness to her she took a step back only to find herself against the corridor wall.

"With your betrothed?" He sneered. "I could make you a queen." He moved closer, "My queen."

She hid her anger at how he referred to Domeric. He's a better man then you'll ever be, she thought. "I am betrothed."

"That could change," the Prince let his offer hang, a confident smirk spread across his fat lips.

"No, you can't," she whispered before she could stop herself. She felt her tummy tighten at the thought of the Prince annulling her betrothal to Domeric. He was who she wanted. It was only him. She felt an icy claw of fear clasp itself around her heart.

"You refuse me?" His nostrils flared. "I AM YOUR PRINCE!"

You will never be my prince, she thought. "Please," she met his stare without flinching. She wouldn't allow herself to be cowed by him. She was Sansa Stark: A direwolf of the north. This was her home and she refused to let him make her feel afraid here.

"I want to go back to my room."

"You don't have my permission to leave." He blocked her escape. "You throw away my offers of kindness." He shook his head. "You can't reject me!"

"I just did."

The Prince's face twitched. "You're a stupid little girl."

Sansa said nothing. She wouldn't dignify his little tantrum with a response. His words meant nothing to her. The sooner he realized that, the sooner he'd understand she didn't want anything to do with him.

It seemed her choice not to respond to his insults had riled the Crown Prince. "You think you're better than me?" He pointed an angry finger at her. "Believe you're better then a Prince?"

There was a mad look in his eyes. She met his madness with defiance. She would not bend to him.

"Sansa?"

Relief filled her at the sound of his voice. She turned to see Dom and Robb approaching them from the other end of the corridor. Sansa could detect the dislike that lingered behind Domeric's eyes as his lips formed a thin line. When they were close enough both northern heirs stopped and tipped their heads a fraction to the Prince.

"Come, Sansa," Domeric offered his arm to her and presented her with a smile.

Sansa returned it. "Excuse me, my prince," she recited the words perfectly before taking her betrothed's arm.

She never looked back at the fuming prince. He wasn't worth it.