A/N: Thanks for the support

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

14: Sansa

Finally, Sansa thought, distancing herself from the Queen's ornate wheelhouse with each step. She didn't turn around or slow her movement, in fear the Queen may try to call her back.

Sansa felt equal parts relief and excitement when the wheels had rumbled to a bumpy halt. She was tired of being cooped upside the bouncing, uncomfortable, and hot ornate wheelhouse which felt more like a prison to Sansa with the Queen serving as her jailor.

Looking forward, she saw the reason why the day's march came to an earlier end than usual. A three-story high inn stood before her. It was the largest Sansa had seen. Made from pale stone, it sprawled and stretched out before her. Even as she marveled at is size, she couldn't help but wonder if it would be able to hold the king's party. Said party had grown to well over four hundred when her father had accepted the position as Hand. He had taken his household with him for the journey.

Sansa was restless.

A feeling she couldn't shake since she found herself departing Winterfell all those days ago. She did her best not to show it. She remained civil and never voiced her frustrations or her displeasure at how long their journey was taking or that she had to spend most of her traveling days in the Queen's company.

It's not her company I wish to be in, Sansa thought of her betrothed, Domeric, seeing glimpses of him riding atop his horse, Lady usually trailing behind him since her direwolf wasn't permitted either in or near the wheelhouse. The Queen's decision, and Sansa had her suspicions it was done more to hurt or alienate her then it was to protect Cersei's children, the latter being the reason she claimed when making such demands.

At first, Sansa had refused. Insisting, if she could not have Lady with her then she would simply not attend to the Queen. An opinion that scandalized Septa Mordane, confused Jeyne, made Domeric smile, and brought out a tired chuckle from her father. Who then gently told her that she couldn't ignore the Queen and would have to abide by her rulings.

That had been before the first day Sansa had found herself riding with the Queen, and sadly for her, several more had since followed.

"What troubles you, my lady?"

Sansa didn't stop the smile that came to her lips, an instinctive reaction whenever she heard the warm, friendly voice of her betrothed. She turned to see him smiling at her. He moved to meet her, kissing her hand when she gave it and then a chaste kiss on her lips that had her heart fluttering.

Lady joined them seconds later, panting heavily, having clearly been enjoying herself running through the woods, paws coated with mud, while flecks of dirt covered her underside. Her direwolf came to her, tail wagging and Sansa bent down to greet her, hugging her around the neck, uncaring of the potential grime and smudges that she may get on her dress from embracing her direwolf.

"Lord Stark gave us permission to stroll across the grounds before supper," Domeric said. "I thought you might like some time away from everything."

"That sounds wonderful," Sansa rose to her feet, silently thankful at her betrothed's thoughtful consideration for her.

"Then it's settled," Domeric looked pleased that she had approved of his suggestion. His eyes then shifted to over his shoulder where two Bolton men-at-arms appeared, their chaperones. Domeric gave them a nod before turning back to her, "Shall we be off?"

"Yes," Sansa couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice at the idea of getting away from it all even if it's only briefly.

He chuckled, before leading Sansa away from the noisy and bustling royal party and towards the quiet, secluded woods. "What's troubling you?" He repeated his earlier question to her reminding her that it remained unanswered.

"That I must spend time with the Queen," Sansa answered honestly, when she knew they were out of reach of eavesdroppers, "While you get to ride in better company."

Domeric laughed at this. "I assure you my lady, I'm with no better company then when I'm with you."

"You think your sweet words can save you from my frustration?" Sansa teased.

"Of course not, my lady," he brought his other hand to gently pat hers which was resting on his arm. "However, let us not ruin this day by speaking of such foul things as certain lions."

Sansa giggled, unable to deny the happiness that filled her whenever she could spend time with her betrothed.

The few times when she was with him, he was her balm. Domeric saw through her polite façade to see the frustrations she was feeling. Sansa was appreciative of his ability to listen and how he remained quiet when she talked. It was not necessarily the encouragement he gave when she finished that she cherished, but his attentiveness.

"I heard of rumors that the King wants to throw a tournament to honor father being named his Hand." Sansa had never been to a tournament. She couldn't deny she was interested in wanting to attend this one. She wanted to see the pageantry and the events. Curious with how it would compare to the ones she heard so much of in her stories or the ones that were often held in the south.

"Aye," Domeric had led them to the banks of the Trident.

"Will you enter the lists?" Sansa couldn't silence her curiosity. She had seen him ride countless times and believed he could handle himself with any challenger the south could throw at him. She had heard her father say he rode like the wind, and that his prowess on a horse would make him an equal to any southern knight.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "Lord Redfort always encouraged me that I could do well in them…" He trailed off, looking awkward, "I-I'm not sure how I'd fare to be honest."

"You'd be brilliant!" Sansa said before she could stop herself. She saw the affect her words had on him as he turned to her, his mouth slightly agape at her praise. She couldn't stop from giggling before placing her finger on his chin to close his mouth. The move snapped him out of his shock.

"You are too kind, my lady," he deflected. "I will think on it." His expressive brown eyes remained on her. "If I join it will only be with your blessing and your favor."

She smiled, feeling her heart fluttering within her chest upon seeing the look of adoration that shone in his eyes for her. She had often dreamed for a man to look at her like that, wondering how it would feel to be the center of such gaze.

"You will have both." She kissed his cheek and he returned her smile. A smile that became mischievous when he hesitantly pulled his arm away from her hand and moved closer to the banks of the Trident. "What are you doing?"

He was pulling his boots off and then his socks, one by one. "Did you know this is where the King won his crown?" He tucked his discarded socks into his boots and moved to the edge of the river. "Where he smashed Rhaegar and where the rubies from the Crown Prince's armor scattered into the water."

"You don't honestly think to find rubies?" She shook her head in dismay.

He laughed, "Of course not." He stepped in. "But the water is nice and cold."

Sansa moved closer to the banks of the river. Lady followed behind.

He moved deeper, the water was up to his knees. "Will you join me?"

Sansa slipped out of her shoes. She looked to see he was waiting for her with his hand out.

She didn't hesitate.

Sansa stepped into the river where she was greeted with chilly water. Her toes sunk into the muddy ground of the river as she carefully took a few steps. She felt smooth stones against the bottom of her feet.

"I have you," Domeric assured her, gently grabbing onto her hand while his other hand went to her waist to steady her so that she would not fall. They were wading in the river. The swirling water rushing around them, but they remained where the current was still calm. Beyond them were rushing rapids that frothed and swirled and were strong enough to suck in any stalwart beast or foolish man.

She let out a contented sigh, appreciative of the cool water that lapped her legs. "This is nice."

Her declaration got a smile out of Domeric who looked pleased that she was enjoying herself. She noticed his hands remained, one clasped around hers and the other on her waist. She didn't mind, the closeness between them.

She closed her eyes, finding the sounds of the rushing water soothing and relaxing, washing away her frustrations from the journey.

After a few heartbeats of quiet bliss between them, Sansa found herself swaying slightly, body instinctively moving trying to keep in rhythm of the river. Humming softly, as she moved, Domeric followed, his movement mirroring hers.

We're dancing, a swell of warmth filled her chest at the intimacy she was sharing with him, savoring the closeness and the touches shared between her and Domeric. To others who may pass by to see them, they must've looked odd or foolish, dancing in a river without music or sound to guide them, but not to her.

To Sansa it was perfect.

She nuzzled her head to his chest as they continued to enjoy their quiet dance. "Thank you." She felt his lips press a kiss into her hair and when he spoke, Sansa could feel the vibrations within his chest with each word.

"Anything for you, my lady."

Lady was restless.

She had been ever since they neared the capital. She was agitated. The noises, the smells, the people, Lady didn't seem to care for any of it. Even now in their room, Lady had not settled down. She paced furiously; her hackles were up, eyes constantly moving around the room.

"I don't think Lady likes it here."

"I don't think anyone likes it here."

Sansa had to admit Dom had a point. She had been disappointed and underwhelmed by the city. It was hot and smelled foul. There were some impressive sights to behold within the capital, but most of it did not match the images her imagination had conjured from the stories she was told growing up.

"Lady," Dom strummed a few strings from his harp to bring a soothing sound into the room.

The direwolf turned to him. She padded over towards where he was lounging on a sofa by the open window. Dom rewarded her by continuing to pluck at his harp eliciting sweet music that seemed to calm Lady's nerves. She curled up by his feet.

Sansa smiled at the scene that had unfolded before her. She then moved to join them. She took up a spot beside Domeric on the couch, cozying up to him. He moved to wrap his arm around her. She nestled her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, and humming softly while he continued to play.

She didn't know how tired she was until she found herself in his arms. Sansa had been helping to oversee a smooth transition of the Stark household settling into the Tower of the Hand. Her father had left almost immediately upon arriving to the Keep to attend a Small Council meeting. Sansa had taken it upon herself to make sure the household was established within the Tower as to ease the burden off of her father.

"The Queen invited me to tea tomorrow," Sansa's eyes remained closed. The invitation had come from one of the Queen's handmaidens while she had been overseeing the unpacking.

Domeric squeezed her shoulder. He gave her no words.

She expected this response. He had warned her that the King's Landing had many spies, and that even in the Red Keep, there would be eyes and ears snooping and listening to all their conversations. Only their thoughts were safe from being stolen.

They needed to be careful with what they said even in the privacy of their rooms or anywhere within the Tower of the Hand. That was what Sansa disliked the most. She cherished her time talking with Domeric and to think of those precious, private conversations being listened in on by strangers made her sick and angry.

Not for the first time did she wish she was back home at Winterfell with Robb, Arya, Jon, and Bran. She could be helping mother tend to Bran. Sansa wanted to be there when her brother woke up. So she could try to keep his spirits up. She wanted to be able to go to the Godswood with Domeric where they often went for peace and privacy.

She missed it all. She missed them all.

Sansa sighed.

As if knowing what she was feeling and thinking Domeric kissed the top of her head to comfort her.

She couldn't help but smile at his intimate response. Sansa stirred in his arms. She knew that if her Septa came across them, they'd be in for an earful of scolding and warnings, but in this moment, Sansa didn't find it in herself to care. She didn't mind that this wasn't seen as proper.

To Sansa she thought nothing could be more proper. She was in the arms of the man who would one day be her husband. What they felt for one another was genuine. To hide it or to pretend it didn't exist between them was the improper thing to do, Sansa thought. The feelings of affection that had her heart singing in these quiet moments were a stronger argument then any lecture the Septa could give to them.

She could get use to this: being in Domeric's arms. His hold was gentle, but strong. Her head nestled against his chest, his pulse a soothing beat that calmed her thoughts. One of his hands was twirling a strand of her hair, while the other smoothly rubbed her shoulder.

A knock came to Sansa's closed door that broke through her thoughts and their peaceful moment. She frowned. Hesitantly, sitting up, finding herself cold now that she wasn't in his arms.

Lady moved to her feet. Hackles raised, growling low as her eyes were fixed on the closed door.

"Who is it?" Sansa called.

"Ser Arys Oakheart," came the polished voice from behind the door, "With the Princess, Myrcella Baratheon."

Sansa got to her feet at once. Her hand going through her curls before smoothing out her dress to make sure she looked presentable to the Princess. She was nearly at the door when she looked over her shoulder to see Domeric too had gotten up. Stretching, he had moved quickly take a seat at the small table by the open window to try to be in a more innocent, less compromising position. He had drunken a large measure of the lemon water to help present the illusion that he had been sitting there for a while.

Satisfied, that they didn't look guilty of anything; Not that they were, she thought. She opened the door to see Ser Arys Oakheart. He stood tall, dressed in his white-enameled scales, his equally white cloak was pinned by a golden leaf, a tribute to his house.

"Lady Sansa," He dipped his head.

"Ser Arys," she returned the greeting with a polite smile before her eyes moved towards the quiet princess. Sansa was quick to drop to a curtsey. "Princess Myrcella."

"My mother isn't here, Sansa," Myrcella smiled. "So please no bowing." Her green eyes looked past Sansa, and her smile turned mischievous, "I didn't know you had company."

Sansa willed herself not to blush at the princess' mischievous smile and insinuation. Though, she wasn't sure if she was successful or not. She was spared the need of a defense as Domeric arrived to her side.

"Princess," He offered the princess an eloquent bow. "I was helping the Lady Sansa to unpack."

Lady too had moved towards the visitor; sniffing the air, before coming to stop in front of the Princess. Arys tensed in his spot. He had gone up with the royal party to Winterfell and had been in the presence of the other direwolves, but it was clear he was still wary of them. Lady put his mind at ease when she tilted head to the side in greeting before licking the princess' outstretched hand.

Myrcella giggled. She then patted the direwolf affectionately. "I was hoping to give you a tour of the Godswood." She revealed, "To show you one of the nicer parts of the Red Keep."

"That would be wonderful," Sansa accepted the invitation without hesitation. She could enjoy some time outside of the Tower. She turned to Domeric who looked agreeable to the plan.

Myrcella looked pleased. "Then let's be off."

Domeric stepped forward to offer Sansa his arm which she took with a smile. Myrcella led them forward with Ser Arys and Lady walking behind them, the two protectors making for quite a sight.

The Godswood of the Red Keep was nothing like the one in Winterfell. There it was three acres that mostly consisted of sentinels, oaks, and ironwoods, untouched for thousands of years. Trees so large and old their branches stretched out towards the sky and all but smothered any sunlight that tried to slip through. It was a dark, primal place that was hauntingly beautiful and radiated a sort of ken that was comforting to those familiar with the old gods and unsettling to those who were not.

This Godswood was smaller and younger, an acre of elm, alder, and black cottonwood trees that allowed for plenty of sunlight to stream through. It had stone paths that strewn through welcoming guests to stroll its pathways or rest on benches and tables that took in the Blackwater Rush. It was bright and bustling, a complete contrast to Winterfell's.

Sansa was disappointed to discover that the heart tree was a great oak covered in smokeberry vines. There was no weirwood tree. The old gods could not see or protect them from here. That unsettled her more then she thought it ever would.

She was pulled from her reflections at the sound of voices, blinking to see their small party had been approached by two well dressed men. Sansa had recognized one of them immediately as Lord Renly, Robert's youngest brother, Lord of Storm's End, and Master of Laws on his brother's small council. She had met him on the road to the capital, as well as the famous Ser Barristan.

It was the other man that Sansa didn't recognize. Dressed in green finery with golden trimming, golden roses were sewn onto his doublet. He was handsome, she thought casually. But she felt no stir in her heart or heat to her face when his golden eyes met hers. He bowed his head when their eyes met his long brown hair tussled at the movement.

"Lady Sansa," Lord Renly greeted her with a smile that she was quick to note didn't seem entirely genuine.

A smile, she had come to realize in the south was a most useful mask for the people at Court. It was a way to disarm you and for you to believe that they could be a confidant, a friend, an ally. She could play that game too. She knew her etiquette and her curtseys. When to smile and when to look meek; to them, they'd think her a naïve northern girl that would be their mistake.

"Lord Renly," she curtseyed on cue. Allowing him to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles. She watched a cordial greeting between Domeric and Renly, before she turned her attention to the stranger with him, "And who is your companion?"

"Forgive my rudeness," Renly apologized, "This is Ser Loras Tyrell," he introduced, "son of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden."

"A pleasure," his eyes on her, "I must say they didn't do your beauty justice."

She smiled at the compliment. That was what he'd expect for his flattering words. Sansa knew who the they that he was referring to was-the court. "You're too kind, Ser Loras," Going into a curtsey for the son of the Warden of the South.

Like with Lord Renly, he kissed the back of her hand. "The court is blessed to be graced with such beauty."

"You flatter me," she could practically imagine Domeric rolling his eyes from beside her. Thankfully, she knew her betrothed was too restrained to make such an expression so openly. She also knew him well enough to know he would be more amused than annoyed at Loras' words.

"Ser Loras," Domeric stepped forward to meet him.

Loras looked him over with an inquisitive appraisal, his eyes resting on the Bolton brooch that clasped his cloak. "Lord Bolton," His lips curved into a smile.

Sansa didn't like that look one bit. The smirk, the condescending glance as his eyes fell on the Bolton sigil. She felt a surge of protectiveness swell in her tummy like a rising flame. She tempered it quickly enough, knowing that his reaction was to be expected.

"So Uncle Renly is the tournament official?" The princess was practically brimming with anticipation.

Renly sent his niece a warm smile. "It is. The preparations have already started."

Myrcella responded to the news with a bright smile. "I must have a new dress for the tournament," she rambled, eyes gleaming as she looked to be considering what sort of dress she should wear, she then turned to Sansa, "Have you ever been to a tournament?"

"No," Sansa was caught off guard by the princess' enthusiasm for them.

"We don't really have much need of them in the north," Domeric added, honest and blunt.

"Oh, but they're wonderful!" Myrcella seemed surprised of her and Domeric having never attended one. "The pageantry, the knights, the jousting, the crowds," the princess continued to gush for her adoration of the festivities.

It was in this light that Sansa saw a different side of the Princess. Revealing her southern roots, that may not take told hold in the north. Where tournaments were not held, and knights were sparse in the great northern expanse. She hoped Myrcella understood this. She seemed bright and knowledgeable of her future home when they talked during the travel to the capital.

Yet, seeing the princess like this brought with it a sense of concern in Sansa. Did Myrcella expect the same lavish southern styles when she married her brother and became Lady of Winterfell? Sansa's family was not one to spend frivolously. For the longest time, Sansa thought it was a flaw in her family, but now she understood the strength and wisdom in restraint and considered it a great quality to have, especially as she saw the extravagance of the southern families.

Sansa made a note to bring this up with the princess. Hoping to temper her expectations and prepare her for the reality that she'd attend few if any tournaments when she became the Lady of Winterfell.

"Will you be riding in the tournament, Uncle?" Myrcella asked, excitement punctuated her every word.

"I plan to, and if I win I will crown you my Queen of love and beauty," he declared.

Myrcella beamed and blushed at this. Her eyes went distant as if imaging the spectacle of her Uncle winning and then crowning her. "Oh thank you, Uncle!" She kissed his cheek.

"What of you, Ser Loras?" Sansa asked politely, noticing the shy look that the princess sent towards

"Of course he will," Myrcella answered with such emphatic confidence the question could well have been: would the sun rise tomorrow? "They call him the Knight of Flowers."

Sansa was certain she heard a snort from Domeric at the mention of the name. Thankfully, the others didn't seem to notice, he and Renly were still focusing on the Princess, who continued in her praise of the knight. "He's won many tournaments throughout the south."

"You sound quite accomplished, Ser Loras," Sansa's tone conveyed more sincerity then she felt. She also couldn't help but notice the high esteem, that the princess had for him.

Something else, Sansa made a note to herself, to bring up with the princess. The last thing she wanted for her brother was for him to marry a woman who loved someone else.

"As a third son, I've had to make my own way," He deflected her praise with a smile that didn't quite belay his pride at his skill. His eyes then moved towards Domeric, "I suppose we won't see you out there, Bolton." His tone became dismissive, "These sorts of tournaments are no place for amateurs."

Sansa put her hand on Domeric's arm. Her eyes remained on the Knight of Flowers, her opinion of the southern knight deteriorating at his boorish manners and haughty attitude. She wondered if it was some sort of prerequisite for the young men of the south, to be rude and arrogant. In front of her, she didn't see a handsome knight, but a spoiled man.

"Indeed, these tournaments seem a bit too amateurish for my tastes," Domeric remarked casually, almost sounding bored and dismissive of Loras' presumed insults. "Maybe it's the north in me, but when I draw my sword it isn't for the praise of a fickle crowd, but the roar of battle."

His tone had become as hard and cold as the northern weather they left behind, "and my sword isn't a tool to entertain, but as a weapon to kill."

Sansa squeezed her betrothed's arm, reminding him that she was with him. She was always with him. She wanted to both chide and praise him for how he stood up to the knight of flowers. She nearly smiled, feeling both proud and satisfied with how her betrothed's words had taken hold of the southern knight.

His flushed face and confusion transformed into outrage, his face darkened, mouth moving, but he was fumbling for any sort of coherent response. It never came as Renly's laughter cut through the tense moment. The Lord of Storm's End's sudden laughter surprised and confused everyone.

"I can see why my brother always spoke so fondly of Lord Stark and his northern bannermen," Renly remarked when he stopped laughing. "You're unrelenting bluntness," he then clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come Loras we must return to the tiltyard to practice." He used his hand to steer Loras away, "I promised my niece a crown! And I'm afraid I must raise my skill in order to accomplish such a feat."

"I'd like to come to," Myrcella moved to follow, taking several steps in their direction before turning to stop. As if just remembering Sansa and Domeric were still there, "Do you want to come?"

"Thank you for the invitation, but we'll have to pass," Sansa declined smoothly, patting Domeric's arm as her hand remained on top of his. "My father is expecting us back at the Tower for supper."

Myrcella didn't seem too disappointed that they wouldn't be joining. With a wave and a promise to talk to her again, the Princess went with her uncle and Ser Loras with the silent Ser Aerys following close behind.

"Others take him," Domeric muttered darkly.

"I fear that won't be the last spoiled southerner we deal with in the capital," Sansa observed lightly, before kissing his cheek.

"No, I suppose not," Domeric admitted reluctantly.

"Will you participate?" Sansa hadn't ignored what he had said about the tournament, but she knew that was more of a response to Loras' insults and less about his own opinion on them.

"I will, my father has already expressed his desire to have me participate," Domeric shrugged, "A way to further enhance our family's name."

"What about you?" Sansa didn't like how it seemed to always go back to Lord Bolton and Domeric's attempts at trying to meet his father's expectations. Even in the capital the shadow of Lord Bolton loomed over his son and heir. "What would you like to do?"

"What I'd like?" He frowned as if caught off guard by the question. His lips then tugged upwards into a smile while his brown eyes turned to her. "I'd very much like to crown you my Queen of Love and Beauty."