Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction using characters from Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire. I do not claim any ownership. I only claim ownership of any OCs.

There are certain sensitive issues explored including violence, explicit language, sexual content and references.

Extended Summary

When Henrik Farman was called in place of his Lord Father to swear fealty to the new King, he was excited to visit the capital, longing for a life outside the walls of Faircastle. Soon, he becomes swept up in the excitement, danger, and chaos that King's Landing brings.

But what he didn't expect to encounter was the beautiful eldest daughter of the Starks, the Key to the North herself - now proclaimed a traitor by lords and ladies alike of the court.

Henrik is fascinated by the enigma that was Sansa Stark. How she declared hollow words of loyalty to the Crown aloud, and yet the deep sorrow that shone in her bewitching eyes reflected another truth. A sadder one.

And, the more he spends in the presence of Lady Sansa, the more Henrik questions how far he's willing to go, and how far he can twist his morals in favour of a girl that causes his heart to soar.

EPIGRAPH

❝Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care;

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.❞

― William Blake, The Clod And The Pebble

Henrik I

King's Landing was different to what Henrik imagined. From his journey on the Goldroad, he'd pictured gold-painted floors and walls of the Red Keep and shiny breastplates of Knights. The reality was much more disappointing.

They had been riding for two days. From the outside, the rolling hills and the warm breeze had quickened his excitement and his longing to arrive quicker.

"Steady your house, Master Henrik," said Rubin, his Lord father's most trusted guard, from his seat on his horse. "The city's not going anywhere."

"Where's your sense of adventure," laughed Henrik, eyes crinkling as he grinned. "It's the capital, Rubin! It's King's Landing – the seat of Kings and home to knights and Princesses. I mean doesn't it strike your fancy?"

Rubin sighed though his lips tilted to the side. "So, you've mentioned a dozen times on the road."

"Come on, Rubin, I mean, aren't you excited to be back?" asked Henrik curiously. "Surely you must miss something from here."

"If I'm being honest, not particularly. I was too busy with half my face in the mud and wounds across my body to hardly notice the city," remarked Rubin drily before his face turned solemn. "It wasn't a pretty sight. We should have stayed in Fair Isle – you'd have been safer there. King's Landing is no place for a child."

Henrik let out a dissatisfied noise, a tiny scowl on his face. "I'm hardly a child, Rubin. I'm almost a man grown," he groused. And why don't you just go home, if it bothers you that much? I'll meet his Grace myself."

Rubin shot him a look that slightly had him feeling contrite. "You know I can't do that. I promised your Lord Father I'd be here when you swear fealty."

"Then support me," said Henrik with a shrug, then took a glance back. "Reckon we can ditch the rest of them." He motioned with his head as some of the household and one or two guards rolled up behind them. He couldn't take all of them, but some had been instructed to accompany him.

"That wouldn't be wise."

"Oh, come on. When are you going to stop being such a stickler for the rules? It wouldn't kill you once to let go of all good and proper."

"When you've grown a full beard, Master Henrik," teased Rubin gruffly, though it was said with a most serious expression. Henrik knew Rubin better, however, having grown with him ever since he was a babe.

"That'll be any day now," defended Henrik, raising a hand to his face and feeling soft prickles beneath his fingers.

"If you say so, little lord."

The closer Henrik drew to the gates of the city, the bigger the pool of excitement grew in his chest. A raven had arrived a few days earlier from the Maester of the city informing them that his Grace, King Robert had passed away and his first son and heir, Prince – well, King now, Henrik supposed – had been crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

His father, Lord Sebaston Farman and Lord of Faircastle, had been invited to the Red Keep to swear fealty to the new King. The Hand of the King had been a traitor, seemingly, declaring the prince as a bastard. Henrik remembered the shock that rippled across all of Fair Isle at the news. It had been the talk on every man and maid's tongue.

But Lord Stark had been executed, and every Lord had been called upon to swear obedience to the new King to dampen the fervent rumours.

His Lord father had sent his only son and heir, Henrik, in his stead as he was a bit preoccupied with fighting alongside Lord Tywin, as one of his most loyal and sworn bannermen.

Henrik's father couldn't refuse, of course. He'd been called to arms by Lord Tywin as Robb Stark had declared war on the Royal Family. The whole of the castle had been talking about it. It was an affront to House Lannister, and everyone knew Lord Tywin wouldn't stand for it.

Henrik's father was off near the borders of the Riverlands while Henrik was going the opposite way to the capital city. He wasn't happy at first, furious that his father would deny him the opportunity to fight in a real battle, with real soldiers, instead of playing at it in the courtyard.

He'd sulked in his rooms for a few days, refusing to come out for meals. What was the point of training with a sword if he couldn't even use it when the time came for it? He was better than most of the boys in Fair Castle – Rubin had said so. Why couldn't his father see that? He was no longer a green boy. He was a man of five and ten.

Rubin claimed that his father didn't want to see him hurt. It would be the thing that would rip his heart out. Henrik remarked with hidden bitterness that he was surprised that his father could feel anything much less for him. Rubin had smacked him across the head with a hard stare and said to never catch him saying that again.

Henrik, however, secretly couldn't help thinking that it was true.

Nowadays, his Lord father didn't see anything that wasn't the inside of his bed chambers. He had shut himself up there ever since Henrik's Lady mother had died. He only came out when his sister and her husband visited the castle.

Henrik didn't like going inside his father's chambers. Once, when he'd been playing with one of his cousins, his ball had landed inside. Henrik had shivered as goosebumps rose on his arm while he stood near the doorway. He hadn't liked the feeling very much. It was cold and bare, with the windows wide open and the bed made properly. The door creaked ever so loud, and ever since, he avoided it.

So, while his father was preparing for battle, Henrik had been instructed to go to King's Landing and swear to King Joffrey in honour of House Farman. But it hadn't all been bad he supposed.

Henrik had always wanted to see the capital. Fair Isle, while considered his home, had become too familiar. He longed to see the world beyond the many safe turrets and towers of Faircastle; to see what the Westeros had to offer – the high mountains of the Vale and the snow-covered region of the North. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in Faircastle, no matter how much he liked the people there.

Sometimes, in the middle of his dreams, Henrik set his sights on Essos. He wondered with smothered delight what it would feel like to be bound on a ship to any of the free cities, with nothing but a sword on his hip, the clothes on his back and the taste of freedom in his mouth.

Then the freedom turned into the bitter image of his father looming over him with a stern look, Rubin standing behind him. It was a good dream, he thought, sighing into his pillow, but that's all it would remain. His father would never allow it.

But Henrik had been given this one tiny bit of repose. He was the head of his Head right now, and he couldn't help puffing out his chest at the thought.

As the city guards waved them inside the wall, Henrik was suddenly struck with a pungent aroma. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, feeling his stomach churn.

"Best not to breath too deeply, Master Henrik, or you'll make yourself sick," Rubin commented, a thin piece of cloth loosely tied around his lower face.

The more they rode inside the city, towards the Red Keep, it wasn't just the smell that attracted his attention. All around, people's haggard and hungry expressions were visible. Their eyes were sunken with a deep sense of hunger within them. Shock ran through him, and he noticed most of them were children, years younger than him, while they pleaded with their eyes as they rode in.

"Go on, off with you," sneered one of the city guards, shoving along a group of them with a wave of his sword as they lingered too long. "Shoo."

"Rubin, what –" he began with a note of shock in his voice.

"Don't think about it too much, Master Henrik. The capital's a much different place. We'll reach the Red Keep soon enough."

As they approached the Red Keep, a massive structure of a massive red stone that sat on Aegon's Hill and overlooked the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, the number of well-fed nobles in opulent clothes lengthened. Their chattering gossip filled all around the towns and streets.

So, he was finally here then. Henrik fought to keep the smile off his face.

Let me know what you think. Apologies for any mistakes or inconsistencies - I do not live in the world of Westeros.

This fic is rather to satisfy my self-indulgence. Sansa Stark deserved someone better, okay! Someone brave, gentle and strong, and I'm going to give that to her.

This chapter mostly introduced our main character, Henrik, but I'm confident we will progress.