Sansa I

The direwolves howling in the Wolfswood told Sansa that the royal party was approaching. She knew it already, her direwolf Willow had been stalking them through the night, aided by Rickon's Shadow. She did not let herself dwell on what the dreams meant. As long as Sansa did not cross that line, she felt safe from the consequences.

All members of House Stark stood to greet the king on his arrival, her lord father flanked on his right by Robb and on his left by mother. Lady Margaery stood between her and Robb, and Sansa gave her a light smile to quiet the fluttering in her stomach. Her goodsister returned it and whispered, "Short of clubbing Queen Cersei with a chair leg, you can't mess it up. Take deep breaths and don't stare too hard." Sansa kept a frown from her face at having to be told that. She was six and ten, a woman grown and flowered, not a squalling babe. "He's likely as nervous to meet you as you are to meet him. Talk to him like a friend." She wasn't sure how she was supposed to do that but before she could ask, Arya pushed her aside to stand beside Margaery. Her skirt was slightly uneven on one side and Margaery's perfect attire on her side only drew one's eye to Arya's. It's not fair that she gets to stand in the front when I've been awake since dawn preparing for this, Sansa protested in her head.But Robb didn't reprimand her and neither did father or mother, as always. Sansa bit her lip to stop from doing it herself. They would all favor Arya's side anyway, saying that they shouldn't fight when such important guests were arriving.

And then the first of the riders were through the gates, banners of black, gold and red fluttering in the cold wind. They were a river of gold, silver, furs and glittering steel, with the crowned stag of Baratheon raised over their heads. Sansa had never seen anything like it. The identities of most were not known to her, but she knew enough to guess. The grey-bearded man in a white cloak adorned with the Tully trout would be her great-uncle Brynden and the stunted little man riding beside him must be the Imp, Tyrion the Elder. The Hound must be the terrible man with the burned face, which meant that Prince Edwin would be riding beside him. Her eyes found another boy before her betrothed, his bright silver hair attracting attention like moths to a flame. His gaze was on her family, and she could see the judgement in his eyes. He's evaluating us and doing it rather obviously at that. A look at the people around her revealed why: with everyone looking at the royal family and the Kingsguard, no one cared to see him. She quickly looked away when his gauging gaze came to rest on her but she feared it was not soon enough.

A giant man on horseback who could only be the king dismounted, and the rest followed. "Your Grace," her father knelt. "Winterfell is yours."

"I never doubted it with you being its lord," the King replied, slapping her father on the back so hard that Sansa feared he would fall down. Father had told Arya tales of the Rebellion when she asked him and Sansa had sat and listened as well. The warrior who had toppled the greatest dynasty the world had seen was gone by now, more than twenty years later. But Sansa could still see glimpses of the man he had been in his strong muscular frame and she would stake that he could still defeat most of Winterfell's guardsmen with ease. Behind him stood the most beautiful woman Sansa had ever seen, save Margaery. From her beautiful golden hair and the tiara on her head, she could only be the Queen. Her striking green eyes made her think of the tales of snakes and lizard lions of the Neck but Sansa pushed the thought form her mind. Queens were always beautiful and kind in the tales. Unless it's a tale sung by Ulf, she thought wryly.

The king embraced mother like a long-lost sister while father knelt in the snow to kiss Queen Cersei's ring. He shook hands with Robb and wished for his marriage to Margaery to be fruitful soon. "Though that won't be a problem, if what I see of you two is true," he remarked as the couple blushed, Margaery just having a rose flush and Robb's entire face going red. Mother and father gave a chuckle and Queen Cersei stepped forward to examine Sansa's goodsister closely, a sour expression on her face. Sansa felt the need to protect Margaery from her, even though she was handling her own against the Queen, courteously welcoming her to Winterfell. The pack protects their own, she remembered. But she never imagined she would have to protect anyone from a beautiful queen, and sent a prayer that Her Grace was as good as she was beautiful.

When the king saw Arya, he paled as if seeing a ghost. "She looks," he said, and his eyes turned misty. "She looks just like her, Ned." He must be talking about Aunt Lyanna, Sansa reasoned. The silver-haired boy, who had been standing as far behind the royal party as he could, stepped back even further and Sansa could no longer see him. The king turned to Arya and told her, "I hope you grow to be as beautiful and fierce as your aunt." Arya grinned at that and father and the king's gaze saddened.

Sansa was the next to receive the king's attention. "Ah, that's a pretty one. You're standing in the wrong place though, my son wasn't even able to see you," he said, calling forth the prince who had been standing near his siblings. The sight of Prince Edwin made her heart beat a little faster. It was the first time she was seeing the man she would marry. He was two years younger than her but one would never know it from his impressive height. There was an easy smile on his lips and his blue eyes were as bright as his father's, and both left Sansa without knowing what to say. Any words seemed to melt in her mouth. Finally, she managed saying, "Prince Edwin, you look so…lovely."

Sansa cursed the words as soon as they left her mouth. Looking lovely? He'll think I'm an imbecile. But her prince only returned her smile. "It is I who should say that," he took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Lady Sansa, you are a vision I shall always treasure."

A flush crept up her neck, climbing as steadily as Bran scaled the towers of Winterfell. Before she could respond—and she did not think she would be able to find any words—Prince Edwin drew back and his siblings were introduced. Princess Elyana who was of age with Sansa but half a head shorter was dressed in gold and blue, and was peering at Robb and Bran curiously, while Sansa's brothers were inspecting her betrothed. Sansa could hear her mother saying something but she was finding it hard to listen while her prince stood there, dressed in furs beside his father. His doublet was black velvet, covered with golden scrollwork that led from his sleeves to the collar. Knee-length boots reminded her that he was likely an avid hunter, like his father was. If this is how the king looked in the Rebellion, it was no wonder that Father and Mother's father and all other lords had sworn their swords to him.

King Robert introduced his two younger children and Sansa had to force herself to tear her gaze away from her prince. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella were both dressed in crimson and gold, their looks as Lannister as their siblings' were Baratheon. Sansa complimented Princess Elyana, who was standing closest to her, on her dress. Queen Cersei turned her sour expression at Sansa, making the smile slip off her face.

"Your Grace, we have prepared rooms for you all," her father was saying.

The queen sniffed and looked as if she was about to reply, before the king interrupted her. "Ned, take me to your crypt. I would be remiss if I did not pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love," Queen Cersei said, sounding very much like she did not love the king at all. "Surely the dead can wait."

Her husband barely spared her a glance. "It's better to deal with the past first. Ned, come."

That was that and all the guests were escorted to their chambers to rest and prepare for the feast. A serving girl filled Sansa's tub and scrubbed her head to toe until she almost glowed pink. Her mother and goodsister brushed and curled her auburn hair until it fell down her back in soft ringlets. They both offered her one of their scents as well, but she chose to use a sharp sweet fragrance Bran had gifted her with a hint of lemon underneath the flowers. Her smallclothes weren't silk—it was far too cold for silks in the North—but the gown was softer than her usual dresses. The long flowing skirt was a pale periwinkle blue and the bodice was ivory, lined with silvery satin with fierce direwolves embroidered on it.

"You look like a princess," her mother said.

"You look like a Stark of Winterfell," Margaery corrected. "Any kingdom would be fortunate to have you as a princess." Sansa gave a giggle that was unbecoming of the six-and-ten year old woman she was and spun, the gown swirling like a whirlpool around her.

They walked to the Great Hall of Winterfell together, which was filled to the brim and then some. Father had led the procession to the dais, with the queen on his arm. The king went next with Mother, followed by Rickon who stopped to visit Jon at one of the lower tables and had to be urged onwards to complete the walk. Robb led Princess Elyana to the table and his wife followed with Prince Tommen. Next went Arya and her betrothed Domeric, before it was finally Sansa's turn. Her prince took her arm and led them towards the seats arranged for them and she could feel the warmth of his hand beneath the silk. Last to come were Bran, with Princess Myrcella on his arm and it was hard for her to tell who was blushing more.

Tyrion the Imp was following behind them, but he seated himself on one of the lower tables that housed her bastard brother Jon. The two girls that followed made Sansa forget what Prince Edwin was saying to her. One of them was fair, fairer even the Queen who looked like the Maiden herself. Long locks of curly hair fell past her waist, like a brilliant waterfall of gold. Her face was porcelain, like a doll's and she walked with a elegance that made her seem a goddess among mortals. Even her smile, which Sansa saw her flash at the Imp as she took a seat at their table, revealed pearly white teeth in perfect symmetry with the rest of her face. The other one was comely, certainly not ugly, but she seemed like a gargoyle beside the beautiful girl. Her hair was dark and only fell to her shoulders, and her face could easily have been that of a boy's. Sansa felt uncharitable in making the observation but it was true, though she suspected nobody could stand a comparison with the golden-haired girl and come out the better. Their gaits were different as well, she saw. One walked with a dancer's grace and the other walked more like Bran, as if she could run off at any minute.

The sound of her prince's light laugh brought her attention back to her table. "Forgive me, my lady. Your face was just too stunned for me to control myself," he said in-between chuckles.

Sansa turned as red as her hair. "It is me who should ask forgiveness, my prince. A lady never stares," she said, risking a discreet peak to where the dark-haired girl was trading japes with the Imp and Jon was unabashedly staring at her companion.

"You needn't worry, Lady Sansa. It is quite the usual reaction to the two sisters walking side-by-side," he said.

"Are they the Targaryen girls?" Sansa whispered more than asked. King Robert's dislike of that family was notorious.

"The golden-haired one is Aenyra and the other one is Celaena. And yes, they are as different as they look."

Sansa glanced at them again. They did not look like sisters at all, let alone twins. Even Sansa and Arya, who were as different as sisters could be, shared more similarities then the two. Arya had the traditional beauty of the Starks, with her brown hair and grey eyes and men frequently compared her to their aunt, while Sansa favoured their mother.

"And their brother?" She had not seen the signature silver hair when they had entered and she could not see it now.

Edwin's face darkened. "Kaeron? He is as different from his sweet sisters as winter is from summer."

"He didn't arrive with his sisters," she noted.

"No, he wouldn't, would he?" Her prince seemed to be saying the words to himself more than to her and his hand was tight around his spoon. "He'll be here though," he almost spat out after a moment. "The Cloaked Lord would never disobey my father's words."

"The Cloaked Lord?" Sansa asked, curious despite herself.

Edwin didn't give her an answer and took a gulp of his drink. Margaery had advised Sansa not to continue on a topic that made her betrothed angry and to do it carefully if she had to. "I saw him this morning during your arrival, my prince. The princess' gown was magnificent, as is the one she is wearing now," she said, trying to steer away the topic of the Targaryen boy who enraged him so.

"Elyana's? Well, you should be careful not to say that to my mother. She'll start believing that you meant it as an insult."

Sansa's face must've betrayed her confusion because her prince gallantly elaborated. "My mother and my elder sister get along like wildfire and the Others. You'd be wise to not take either one's side in the mind of the other," he counselled.

"I will remember not to, my prince," she assured him. Sansa did not want him to think her unworthy of being his queen.

"Please, my lady, we are to be wed. It would please me if you called me by my name," he said, his good humour returning like the sun from beneath the clouds.

"I would be honoured to do so, my p—Edwin. But only if you would swear to call me by mine."

He gave a warm laugh. "Then we have a bargain, Sansa."