Sansa II

A white raven soared at the top of the Red Keep towards what she guessed to be the Grand Maester's tower just as the king's party rode through the great bronze gates. Sansa couldn't help but be a little disappointed. The promise of the sight of the candles burning in all those windows of King's Landing had been one of the first things her prince had given her. When she teased him about it, he let out an explosive breath. "It's not my fault we didn't enter the city at nightfall," he said with more annoyance that she expected. I'm being the irritating little sister again, she had felt. In all her dreams, she understood Prince Edwin like no one else could and he did the same for her. But that's not true, he only knows me as a beautiful stranger. A stranger who had spoken against his mother yesterday; Queen Cersei was so annoyed she did not invite Sansa to join her ladies after that. She did not know what had come over her that day, only that Edwin's silver-haired friend had looked at her and the other courtiers with a challenge in his eye, judging her and finding her lacking. When the queen had made Edwin kneel, no one else was looking at Kaeron but a glance told Sansa that his eyes looked strangely helpless. Yet it wasn't helplessness, she knew. It was some other emotion a peek from her could not decipher.

She had avoided her prince since then, afraid of him hating her to the point of breaking the betrothal. 'Family, Duty, Honour', mother had explained to Robb. Sansa may be the least of the Starks but she would do her duty to her family.

But time spent away from Prince Edwin was time spent learning new things, she thought wryly. One example stood above the rest in her mind. Willow, her direwolf had been as cagey as Rickon's Shadow, so the Starks had taken the wolves out for a walk along the bank of a nameless stream of the Blackwater. It was supposed to be deserted so she had allowed her wild brother run alongside his beast—as much as anyone could allow Rickon anything. But two voices rang out in an exclamation, a boy's and a girl's, before quietening again, Sansa as drawn to them as a moth to a flame.

"It is ill-done of her," the first voice rasped, "no matter what your gentle heart says."

"Anything done by the queen cannot be questioned, you fool," the girl replied.

"That is why I stood there silently. That is why I am only saying this to you now," the boy snapped.

"I'd rather you do not say it at all. We are too close to King's Landing for the birds to not eavesdrop." Sansa crouched lower behind the tree, praying to her father's and mother's gods for the wolves to not find her. This conversation alone had more true words than she had heard either Targaryen say since she met them.

"I see," Kaeron said, voice monotone again. "Your heart is not gentle; it is a slave."

"As am I," the golden girl whispered. "As are you."

"Not for appearances," he shot back, tone low and calm. It frightened Sansa more than a shout from her father would, though the latter had been the Warden of the North years before the former had taken his first breath. "When that Mormont slaver sold our claims to the king, we were afforded the courtesy of regaining our nobleborn status, something our mother was stripped of when she chose exile."

"If you think any of the loyalists would stick their neck out for—"

"Then I would be a bigger fool that Patchface," he interrupted. "I would be worse fool than Aemond One-Eye if I did not understand that and so are you, if you do not understand what I specifically refer to."

Sansa risked a peek—she swore she would leave soon, but wasn't it important for someone to inform the king if the Targaryens were planning treason? —and saw Lady Aenyra shake her head with an amused expression on her face. "Aemond has been called a lot of things but 'a fool' isn't what people usually remember him as."

Kaeron shrugged. "If you wanted a lecture, you should've gone to Celaena."

"Why don't we both go to her? The horses must be rested by now."

Kaeron's face remained irked as he stared at Aenyra and then as he followed her to a band of Lannister soldiers Sansa hadn't noticed. Had it been for someone else, Sansa might've called it a glare, but for his sisters, even his angry look was more fond exasperation. She wanted that. She wanted to be looked at like that. She wanted what these Targaryens had, a bond not merely of blood but of family.

She was always the irritating little sister to her older siblings, not wild enough and not old enough to ever join them. She was too old and responsible for Bran and Rickon to invite her in their mischief, even their wolves being more welcomed than their sister.

"Sansa!" She had been as unsuspecting as the Targaryens when Rickon came at her with panic in his eyes. "Have you seen Shadow? He isn't coming when I'm calling and—"

"And you know exactly why that is," she said. "The name he responds to, his true name—"

"Is Shaggydog," her little brother interrupted her in turn. "What sort of name is that? He's a fierce direwolf, not a shaggy dog."

"Well, it is the name you chose," she reminded him.

"It's not fair! I was three and it's a stupid name anyway—" It was Shaggydog itself who interrupted Rickon this time and the two wild wolves set off without a glance backwards at her.

Sansa had sighed and brought her arms close. It was getting cold, the Stark words running through her mind. Winter was coming.

The raven from the Citadel seemed to agree with her, as the Grand Maester was kind enough to inform them. Summer had ended and autumn had begun, though the archmaesters remained unsure of how long it would last. Pycelle tried his best to explain the complexities to her lord father but numbers always seemed to fly over Sansa's head and from his non-committal response, she guessed Lord Stark relied on his steward a tad too much. The Grand Maester was not the only person to greet the Starks when they arrived.

Lord Wyman, the Lord of White Harbour and Master of Whisperers since the rebellion, seemed to forget his courtesies when the Starks intruded upon a gathering he was attending. As most of the knights and lords attending went to pay their respects to Lord Eddard, even charming Lord Renly, the king's own brother, Lord Wyman remained engulfed by the cushions. "You would forgive me, my lord Stark, if I am not able to get up. These old bones….though you would not know that at Winterfell, with all those young people you're fostering."

"I am sure you mean no disrespect to your liege, Lord Wyman. Especially since this is the first I've seen you after close to twenty years," her father said, putting more emphasis on 'liege' than Sansa was comfortable with. Shouldn't Lord Manderly openly show his loyalty to his lord? His son had been most obliging when they had visited White Harbour.

The fat man gave a laugh that was insincere even to her and his five chins quivered over his silks. He wiped his fingers on the doublet, made of Myrish cloth with dyes from Tyrosh before glancing at her father's retinue. "You come with a rather small entourage, my lord Stark. Or should I say Lord Hand now? The last retinue of Stark men to come at a king's command had been twice as large."

Sansa barely held in a gasp as the men who had slowly been filling out stopped to watch. She couldn't be the only one who felt her hair rise, wishing for the comfort of Willow beside her.

"You are mistaken, my lord. The last time a retinue of Stark men came to this city, they were enough to stop the Sack being done by Lannister soldiers," her father left without another word and Sansa rushed to follow. She did not want to be invited into a conversation without understanding what was happening.

The twisting stairs of the Tower of the Hand felt too long as they made their way to her father's new solar. Sansa waited until the other had left before speaking. "Father? About Lord Wyman, he is your vassal—"

"Think nothing of it, sweetling. He has lived twenty years in this rat's nest. He is no longer of the north."

She made to speak again but paused as her father stooped to read a piece of paper. It must've been left at the desk, mayhaps by the mistake of a distracted page. His lordly face fell back by shock as he paled. Sansa reached forward to snatch the paper, reading it before she could be ordered otherwise.

"Old men often die of a chill, or so we're told. The Old Lord of the Vale knew much, but falcons fly too high to see the truth in the hearts of men. It rests on the wolf to save the pack."