Father permitted her to order a new gown for the tourney the King was hosting to honour Father's appointment, and grumbled when the dressmakers the Queen sent tried to convince her to choose something as low and sultry as the Queen wore.
Overbearingly warm and humid though King's Landing was, Sansa did not think she would ever wear the sort of gowns the Queen favoured, with their low backs and low fronts and bare arms. She said as much to Jeyne, who agreed, and to Father, who was visibly relieved, and sent a note to the Princess asking after a seamstress.
What she got in return was a summons to Princess Myrcella's solar, in the maidenvault, home to the busiest corner of court. That had struck Sansa as strange from the off, but she felt it best to keep that to herself. There would have been questions asked at Winterfell, had Sansa kept a larger company that her lady mother, but no one seemed to find it odd that the princess had a whole towerful of maidens while the Queen seemed to want only the Kingslayer's company.
Jeyne clutched at Sansa's elbow as they were ushered into the huge, round room, pressing close in the face of the whirlwind of colour and laughter that greeted them. It was utterly, utterly overwhelming, wild in a way Sansa would never have expected of the southron court, and they remained planted carefully on the fringes until the Princess emerged, dressed in dawn pink and flushed in the cheeks.
"My lady, how lovely to see you!" she said cheerfully, taking Sansa by the hand and pulling her into the melée. "Please, this way, come and meet my ladies!"
Lady Myrielle and Lady Rosamund she already knew - the one she disliked and held in deepest suspicion, the other she liked, even if she did not trust Lady Rosamund's distant reserve and cool, pale eyes - but the rest were peculiar, in their way.
Margaery Tyrell was every bit the beauty the Lannister girls had claimed on the road, lovely and delicate with intelligent golden-brown eyes that looked Sansa over from crown to heel and seemed pleased when they had completed their journey. She matched Sansa's curtsy, one daughter of a Lord Paramount to another, and when Sansa withdrew her hand she found that Lady Margaery had pressed a slip of parchment into her palm - she hid it in her pocket for later perusal, back itching with discomfort at having already been swept into the court games Father warned her of - before waving and disappearing into the tangle once more.
She thought she might be able to become friends with Lady Margaery, though, given the chance - if only because Lady Margaery shut Lady Myrielle up with a precise little remark, droll as any of the Lannister Imp's storied jests, that left everyone else giggling. Sansa had never had that sort of talent with her words, and she saw something of Arya's sharp tongue in Lady Margaery's witticisms.
Lady Margaery's cousins rushed by in a blur of curling hair and coquettish smiles, all sumptuously dressed and all pretty in the same wholesome, full way of Lady Margaery. There was an Alla and a Megga, and she thought an Elinor, but she couldn't swear to it. They seemed pleasant enough, though, so she supposed they couldn't be as bad as the Lannister girls.
There were more of them, too - Lady Myrielle's sister, Cerenna, was meek as Myrielle was haughty, but prettier to such an obvious degree that it was likely part of the reason for Lady Myrielle's lack of manners. There's a Lady Lanna Jast who was also obviously a Lannister, with dark green eyes and over-styled hair. She seemed older than everyone else, perhaps a matron set to watch them, and had less interest in Sansa than even Myrielle did.
Was she there on the Queen's orders, Sansa wondered? For she seemed to watch the Tyrell girls far more intently than she did the other Lannisters.
It seemed strange that there were no ladies from elsewhere but the Westerlands and the Reach, but again, Sansa said nothing. She would ask Father if there was any significance to that tonight at dinner, and if he had no advice to give her, she would write to Mother.
"Come, my lady," the princess said, appearing again with a slight, dark-haired girl at her side. "This is my dearest friend, Elisa of House Santagar - Elisa will help yourself and Mistress Poole navigate these choppy waters of mine."
Lady Elisa curtsied deeply, and Sansa hesitated before not-quite equalling it. Santagar is a Dornish name, of middling rank, but Sansa couldn't be sure how Lady Elisa's position as the princess' closet companion might change her rank within the court.
"Don't mind her, my lady," Lady Elisa said. "It's not usually so wild as this here - come along, my lady, Mistress Poole, there are fitting stools waiting for you just over her."
Lady Elisa, Sansa noticed, walked with a heavy limp, and took a pair of elegant crutches from a waiting attendant with fervent thanks as soon as Sansa and Jeyne were within reach of the empty stools.
"Forgive me, my lady, Mistress Poole," she said, smile a little rueful. "My father thinks it rude when I use my crutches about court, but I simply cannot spend the whole day without them - do you mind?"
"Not at all," Sansa said, wondering just why a young lady should even need crutches. "Are you in pain, my lady?"
"Nay, Lady Sansa, just tired," Lady Elisa assured her. "My foot and ankle are a little weak, and the crutches ease the strain, that is all - now, if you will excuse me, I suspect I will be summoned any moment to Cella's side. My ladies."
She somehow managed a curtsy on her crutches, and Sansa caught Jeyne's eye as soon as they were alone. Jeyne shrugged, as baffled as Sansa, and then jumped when two seamstresses appeared suddenly with huge baskets of supplies.
Dinner with Father that evening was a subdued affair.
"There was a letter from Robb this morning," he said, pouring her a cup of honey milk. "Bran is awake."
"That is good news, isn't it?" she asked, unsure why he looked so unhappy about it - Sansa had worn out her skirts praying for Bran to wake! "How is he? Does he know what caused him to fall?"
"No, he says he doesn't remember," Father said. "And I could not be more thankful that he is awake, but the circumstances of it are… Less than ideal."
"Father?"
"An assassin broke into Bran's rooms," he said, looking her straight in the eye to be sure she was listening. "Your mother was injured before Bran's wolf could kill the man - Ser Rodrick plans to investigate, but this does mean that we must be more careful than ever, sweetling. I am not sure if you should spend more time with the princess and her ladies, unless it cannot be avoided."
"I don't think I mind that overmuch," she admitted. "The maidenvault was very… Busy. I am unused to such a place."
She had no intention of becoming used to it, either - Winterfell had never been so unruly, and Last Hearth would be quieter again. Sansa belonged in those places though, and never would here.
The Lannister ladies had made sure she and Jeyne knew that, at least.
"I thought you would enjoy it," Father said, sounding surprised. "You have always wanted to come south, to see court - is it not to your liking?"
"Well," she said, considering. "It is not as I imagined it would be, I suppose. It will take a little while for me to become accustomed to it, that is all. I promise."
Father seemed satisfied with that, and waved the servants forward with their food. She managed to turn the conversation to the happier parts of Robb's letter - that Bran had named his wolf, that Arya had struck up something of an apprenticeship with Maester Luwin which let her escape Septa Mordane for at least part of the day, that Rickon had managed to finagle a horse out of the stables right under Hullen's nose - and so Father did not even notice her feeding her mutton to Lady under the table.
Bran was awake - no matter all her prayers, Sansa had begun to doubt that he would ever rise from his sickbed and so the worries Robb had shared mattered little, for tonight at least.
She could worry over Lady Margaery's note instead. When help is required, do not be afraid to seek it among the roses.
"I apologise for the other day," the princess said, guiding Sansa once more into the maidenvault. "We are never so mad as when the seamstresses visit, and it was unkind of me to introduce you to everyone on such a day."
When Sansa stepped into the great round room, there were only three ladies present - Lady Margaery, Lady Elisa, and Lady Rosamund. Arrayed around a small round table as they were, Sansa felt they looked like some sort of council, with the princess as their head. Curious. Everything about King's Landing was curious.
"Come, sit a while with us," Lady Margaery said, blinking her doe's eyes slowly, acknowledging Sansa's questioning brow with a demure little smile. "I promise we won't scandalise you too horribly, Lady Sansa."
"Unless you should like to scandalise us in return," Lady Rosamund said over her shoulder. "Your betrothed is quite handsome enough to scandalise half the realm, I think."
They were playing cards, Sansa realised. Lady Rosamund was shuffling, and dealt Sansa in without asking as soon as she sat down. They were pretty cards, with Queen Cersei as the Queen and King Robert as the King and-
"Uncle Jaime makes a fine knave, doesn't he?" Princess Myrcella asked mildly, with something of a razor's edge in her faint smile. "So everyone says - or so I'm told. No one would dare say it where it might reach the princess' delicate ears."
"Be kind, Cella," Lady Elisa said warningly. "It is not Lady Sansa's fault that your parents have quarrelled again. It is not anyone's fault at all."
"Do your parents quarrell, Lady Sansa?" the princess asked, still showing that hint of a smile that set Sansa all on edge. "Do they fight at night when they think you all are sleeping? Or do they-"
"Enough, Myrcella," Lady Rosamund said sharply. "You do yourself and Lady Sansa both a great dishonour by treating her so meanly. She is to be your sister - act like it."
The princess flushed, but looked cowed rather than angry. Sansa was thankful for that.
"Forgive me, Lady Sansa," she said. "It has been a trying morning, and I am ashamed to have behaved so poorly."
"It is forgotten, and we are all friends again," Lady Margaery said easily, casting Sansa a sidelong glance while the others were frowning at one another. "Come, let us play, and afterwards we might show Lady Sansa the gardens. Would that they were more than passable."
"Snob," Lady Rosamund said fondly. "We can't all come from Highgarden, Marg, no more than we all can ask for such history as the Rock or Winterfell - don't you agree, Sansa?"
Sansa was startled at being addressed so directly, but she mustered up her best smile.
"I cannot comment on either Highgarden or Casterly Rock," she said, as diplomatically as she could, "but I cannot imagine anywhere quite like Winterfell, it is true."
All four hooted as though she'd made some clever jape, and Lady Margaery gave her another of those demure smiles.
"You'll do quite well here, I think," she said, patting Sansa's hand. "Stay close by us, and you'll never have to worry about anyone else."
Lady Elisa said nothing, but she was looking at Lady Margaery's hand on Sansa's with open concern. That worried Sansa almost as much as Father's fears had, although she couldn't have said why.