Chapter Fifteen: The Steward's Daughter.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

Note: I have posted two chapters at once. Please read chapter fourteen before you read this one.

OOOO

Milk…

Blood…

Valyrian Steel…

Red Rose Petals…

White Eyes…

Salt…

When Sansa rose from the waters it was not to find a brilliant, blazing sun, but a glacial sky. Her naked flesh did not shiver. Not because she was a Stark, no matter how the girl might have liked to believe so. No, it was simply due to the fact that this was all a dream. Swirling around in the water, jagged stones biting at her feet, she came face to face with a hooded figure. "Who are you?" She asked in a snarl, "Why do I dream of you so often?"

Instead of disappearing, as he usually did, the figure tossed its hood back. Robes suddenly turning to ravens which flew high into the cold air. Leaving only a red-eyed skeleton behind. Sansa was repulsed by the sight, the arms protecting her nudity from sight tightening ever so slightly. "Your brother would have been powerful, but not too powerful," The voice was dry, and struggled to articulate itself. Like wood passing through a gritty sawmill. Those red eyes honed in on Sansa, "I did not choose you for a reason."

"Choose me for what?" Exasperated, Sansa released her arms. Slipping closer to the revolting figure.

"To do what must be done." He stared firmly at her, "I cannot decide whether to train you, or shun you. There will come a time when you cannot be controlled. Like I could have controlled him." It slipped closer to the river bank. "One slip, one different decision and your brother awoke my sister. Now I must make a decision I never anticipated. Though it has already been set far into motion beyond my control."

"How so?" Sansa goaded him with her inborn gentility. Anger had not given her any answers, anyways.

The skeleton regarded her thoughtfully. "My sister set you beneath the water in her ritual. She blocked it from my eyes, and I saw it too late. The Direwolves were already in your grip before I thought to examine you closer." He stood still for a long while. Sansa followed suit. Unable to even breathe. "I will be in touch, Sansa Stark," He seemed to have come to some sort of realization, "Do not be a hero until then."

She sat up, drenched in sweat. Slipping out of her bed Sansa tried to not let her brain swirl. Knocks sounded loudly against her door. "My Lady. I heard screaming," The guard asked, "Is all well?"

"Y-Yes." Sansa answered loudly, "All is well." With shaky hands she poured herself wine. There was another thing to worry about. Only thirty guards left. Every single last soldier she had plotted so hard to bring into King's Landing gone to engage Tywin Lannister. Quickly the young woman gulped at her goblet. No threats were presently around making it perfectly safe to consume just a bit of the stuff. She only ever drank the fine Butterwell stores which had resumed pouring from the Riverlands beneath her patronage. It was her goal to see them compete with Arbor Gold and Dornish Red again. If Sansa managed to survive King's Landing for one more day it might even be a goal achievable within her lifetime.

Setting the goblet back to the side Sansa glanced at her chambers. Sparse where once they had been filled with Ladies-in-Waiting and the best belongings coin could buy. Now the daughters of her father's most powerful bannermen were hiding in Harrenhal while what little remained behind of her possessions were neatly packed away for travel. Quickly tugging off the white nightshift Sansa dressed herself. Her wardrobe was now limited to front-laced gowns, though that was hardly a concern. People in the capital would call her an oathbreaker soon enough no matter how prettily she dressed on this last day in their presence. Besides, with all of her jewels now back in Harrenhal only so much could be accomplished in the hopes of impressing others.

Feeling presentable Sansa left the chambers to address two of her guards. "Please transport the trunks as discreetly as manageable in the manner we discussed." She eyed a third, "Visit my brother so he may be readied. I shall see to my Lady sister." With that a fourth guard accompanied her as the others began to go about their duties. She did not fear of betrayal. The name Sansa Stark was already a beloved one in most of the Riverlands. Any traitors would be few in number and sure to face horrible consequences for turning on her. Further compounding her confidence was that only her most loyal men had been retained, and only the truest amongst that already small number were tasked with these delicate matters. Elegant movements carried Sansa all the way up to the top of her father's designated quarters. Finally she stopped.

"Lady Stark," One of the oh-so trustworthy Gold Cloaks had been positioned as Arya's prison warden. Mostly because her father's men were all murdered during Cersei Lannister's unjust attempt at imprisoning him. Personally, if Sansa were a man and held the least bit of sway she would have convinced her father to send the Gold Cloaks against Tywin Lannister instead. Even then she doubted it would have worked though. The honorable Ned Stark would have decried holding the royal family hostage as treason. Even though at this moment Robert Baratheon refused to call banners over her mother's abduction and had tried to rape Arya. "You have no grounds to be here. Lady Arya is to receive n-." He gasped as the man at Sansa's side suddenly withdrew a dagger. In seconds it all was over.

Quickly she pushed the door open so that any blood puddles could be hidden from view. Keen on her thoughts the guard thrusted the dead Gold Cloak into Arya's chambers. "Sansa!" Arya exclaimed, rushing forth to embrace her sibling, "Are we leaving?"

"Yes." Sansa spoke stiffly as she stroked at her little sister's purple, bruised cheek. Clearly the girl had offered up a fight at some point against her jailors. "Before King Robert gets drunk again." Only two nights before the Stag King had visited the Tower of the Hand whilst her father was in the city doing Gods knew what. Demanding access to do as he wished with his lawful wife, 'Lyanna Stark.' After several terrifying moments of inaction from the Kingsguard Sansa finally managed to verbally cow Balon Swann into returning the swine of a King to his own chambers. Surprisingly the man put up a good fight having resumed training barely a moon prior to that incident. Any reservations Sansa might have had about spiriting her siblings away were dashed right then. "Grab anything at all you might still have left." The girl did just that. Most of her belongings had been sent off to Harrenhal as well. Sansa noted that her sister brought only a small bag of trousers to change into and Lament.

"I need to fetch Cynthea," The girl spoke firmly as they left the room.

Sansa nodded reluctantly. It would not do to argue with her sister. The girl fled up the winding stairs for several long moments. Finally when Sansa worried she might lose any remaining breathing ability to her anxiety the two girls arrived side-by-side. Lady Cynthea carried a bag which clinked with the distinctive sound of metal on metal. Strapped to her side were two twin swords. All four of them hurried back down to meet with their brother only to find disarray. "He bolted. Shouted something about bringing Princess Myrcella, my Lady. I am sorry." The guard choked this all out through his bloody nose.

"Does he at least know to meet us at the docks?" Sansa demanded sharply.

"Aye, milady." A guard without a bleeding nose answered. He opened his mouth to say more until the doors to the chamber they all stood in were slammed open.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vayon Poole asked as he entered with ten of her father's twenty remaining men.

"We are leaving King's Landing," Arya withdrew Lament prompting all of their guards to do the same with their weapons. Sansa was pressed behind her sister and an equally well-armed Cynthea Frey. "Whether you like it or not."

Vayon Poole merely chuckled in response. "I should not be surprised you would take matters into your own hands." He stared at them all with mirthful eyes. "Your Lord father has tasked me with escorting you all to a waiting ship. It is the Lord's wish that you all travel to White Harbor from there." Behind him stood Jeyne whom Sansa had tasked the prior evening with waking early to sort laundry. Mostly a ploy to keep the girl from catching wind and tattling to the wrong people. Clearly she had run into Winterfell's steward on the way back. If Sansa had any say Jeyne would have been well away from any danger up at Harrenhal. Unfortunately the young woman's father was totally loyal to the Lord Hand, and expected the same obedience of his daughter.

"Why would our father decide such a thing?" Her heart was growing heavy. "What could possibly make him decide the capital is unsafe so suddenly?" At the loud commotion of steel being drawn much of the rest of the household had arrived. Chief among them Septa Mordane. Sansa did not know what was going on at all which troubled her deeply. Her plan was so quiet they might have been able to escape without being noticed in the slightest. Now every politician in King's Landing with a set of ears likely knew what was going on. Then there was the matter of what had finally convinced her father that they all needed to leave. Certainly it was dangerous at the very least.

"Where is Lord Bran?" Vayon Poole ignored her as all men seemed to enjoy doing. "We all must leave the Red Keep at once." Her guards seemed to think nothing was amiss for they put their swords away. Allowing themselves to be shuffled out alongside everyone else. The chatter was deafening. Out of the woodwork Sansa's remaining guards had caught wind. The large group was pressed suddenly into the halls of the Red Keep.

"Sansa," Arya hissed, "Something is wrong." She managed to put the Lady of Harrenhal's concerns into the air with ease. There was a ringing in the air as though they were the only ones aware of what horrors might be coming. "Form ranks," Arya began snarling at the Riverland men around them, "Order yourselves." As the few Northmen present continued to clutter in a discombobulated pattern, Sansa's soldiers suddenly grouped up. That seemed to have been the kick needed to make them notice the danger lingering on the air. Unfortunately, it was barely enough.

Like any surprise the sudden onslaught was marked with a terrifying announcement. From around the corner of the hall came shouts. Sansa could not think as the Stark men bolstered around her better prepared guards. "Under the orders of King Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark is to be arrested for treason. Her siblings shall become wards beneath the safety and protection of the crown." All of these words were bellowed out by Meryn Trant who led a large force of Gold Cloaks. The fighting began immediately. Stark serving women were skewered like pieces of meat. Vayon Poole was murdered as his blood splashed back onto the body of his horrified daughter. A nearby soldier fell allowing Meryn Trant to behead Septa Mordane.

If not for Arya tugging them away Sansa and Jeyne might have been imprisoned thanks to the shock which had descended. At dizzying speeds they raced through the Keep leaving the sounds of battle behind. "We need to stop at Princess Myrcella's chambers to find Bran. You guard the rear, I have the front." Arya called this out at Cynthea with a shockingly calm voice. They fled onward until arriving at the aforementioned destination. It was not as any of them expected though. Myrcella Baratheon stood with a bloody blade and war hammer dangling in her hands. A corpse resting at her feet. Bran nearby, tugging his blade free of a Kingsguard. Boros Blount by the looks of it.

"We all need to leave now." He snapped while standing back straight. Sansa paused to wipe away at the blood on Jeyne's pale face. Whispering sweet words in her ear whilst pulling her old friend into a one-sided hug.

"I know where we can go. You all need to follow me," Cynthea spoke up. None of them had any better ideas so it stood to reason that they would follow the girl. They snuck several floors down until finally the girl stopped before an ancient, shadowy corner. Beyond Sansa's line of sight Cynthea prodded at something causing the stone to creak away. "A passage into the city. I accidentally found it the other day-." She was cut off as they all began to cram through into the narrow tunnel. As they all crawled further into the darkness Cynthea presumably caused it to close behind for a loud thud echoed dully. For what seemed like miles they all crawled. Sansa wondered nervously if they might stumble upon one of Maegor the Cruel's notoriously deadly traps. To that end she would carefully allow flames to spark at her fingertips every so often. Better to be exposed as a sorceress to her siblings than die deep below the Red Keep.

Neither of those things came to pass though. At the head of the group she came to a dead halt in front of what seemed to be solid stone. "Press the lever at the bottom, my Lady," Cynthea called from the back of the procession. Sansa did just that, sighing in relief as the tunnel sprung open to reveal a filthy alleyway. Hoisting herself out she turned to assist the others until finally Cynthea was tugged free. "We are on the Street of Silk," She explained, again closing the trap door behind them. It was late afternoon now, indicating that they had been in those caverns for a long while indeed.

"We are too recognizable." Arya declared in response as they peered at the bustling street from their hiding spot. "We all must meet at the docks. I say we split apart to minimize any of the Gold Cloaks from spotting us." Her grey eyes appraised them all. "Cynthea will take Jeyne. You both are the lowest priority of that cunt Joffrey. It will make up for…" They all knew she was referring to Jeyne's blood splattered body. Given the girl's present state of shock explicitly mentioning it would have been risky and incredibly unwise. "I will escort Sansa and Myrcella," She rummaged in her bag whilst talking, pulling three cuts of fine material into the light. Spare Lyseni silk, from the looks of it. "Bran," The girl nodded at him, "You are too popular amongst the Smallfolk and too difficult to disguise. Stick to the shadows and travel opposite of us through these alleys."

He left immediately, having the longer route. Sansa took the proffered fabric, wrapping it around her head like a shawl, Arya doing the same. Then she allowed herself to be pulled into the dangerous streets of King's Landing.

OOOO

Jeyne Poole had grown much in the previous years. Few people noticed, but that did not prevent her from seeing it in herself. That was only one thing the young woman managed to learn. What others thought worthy of observation did it not necessarily make it so. She no longer judged others through the lens of propriety. Septa Mordane, may she rest in peace, was always a better dancing instructor than politician. Sansa benefited greatly from the further instruction of Shiera Seastar though Jeyne as a lowly steward's daughter found herself instructorless. So she taught herself.

Sansa was Jeyne's only hope for any prosperity. They travelled throughout the North, Vale, and Riverlands. No men of import flocked to her as they did Lord Stark's eldest daughter. Being away from the limelight left Jeyne with only two tasks: Serving Sansa dutifully, as well as to learn. Through observance she did just that. Watching powerful men interact with one another in that infernal dance of political ambition. Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, the Small Council, and even Robert Baratheon to some extent. Different motives, different methods, as well as different morals.

These men made choices. Important ones which caused ripple effects to rattle the entire structure of Westerossi society. Powerful men like the ones Jeyne Poole had met were responsible for the deaths of innocents like her father. Not Meryn Trant, or any other member of the Kingsguard. It was those in charge who employed corrupt fucks before unleashing such viciousness on their 'inferiors.' Already Jeyne was imagining ways to hamstring not only her father's killer, but the newest powerful man she had so recently become acquainted with. Joffrey Baratheon. Perhaps her wrath might never be enough to kill, but she would do anything in her might to hobble the young monster's reign. Bleed him just enough so a more powerful player might one day be able to bash the fucker's skull in.

Her brain was too rational though. Such emotions and rambling plots were not feasible. A lowly Lady from Winterfell could never wield enough influence to act on such desires. She allowed the Frey girl to pull her along towards the docks. Accepting her new fate. As the daughter of a steward to the Lord of Winterfell Jeyne could have wedded well enough. Now she was fatherless, a mere Lady to Sansa Stark, who was no longer set to become a Queen, with a mother back in Winterfell to care for. The woman wondered idly if they would even survive their departure from King's Landing. Cynthea tugged hard suddenly as they grow closer to exiting a busy marketplace. Behind them shouts erupted as the Gold Cloaks began to force violently through the throngs of people. Jeyne choked when a stocky woman rammed into her much smaller body. The peasant gasped in horror at the sight of Jeyne's face. Doubtlessly the pretty features were still splattered in her father's blood.

Still, Cynthea Frey pulled her along. Now free of the crowded streets they broke into a run. Skidding through grimey backpassages like street urchins. Jeyne slipped against a wall during one wild twist, yet somehow found the strength to continue running. Covered in filth she released a fast breath when they finally stopped at the docks. "Bran Stark owns two ships," Despite having fled from Gold Cloaks all day the younger girl betrayed no signs of stress. Jeyne remembered Arya Stark's Blue Roses back in the North. Another lesson she had learned the hard way. Some were still giggling maidens, just ones that could wield blades with deadly proficiency. Others had been hardened, stony women, mostly widows. Rarer still had been the daughters of Noblemen like Meera Reed, or the Mormonts. She had never doubted that just like Lady Arya they were equally as deadly as most Knights. Cynthea Frey, from what her brown eyes had observed, was one of the finest Blue Roses ever trained. From the vicious way the girl fought in the training yards to her response under extreme pressures.

As they hid beneath the shadows Jeyne felt safe for the first time since that afternoon. "You are not like most Freys, Lady Cynthea." She stated this rather than queried.

Cynthea glanced at her wryly. "I imagine you have met many Freys since becoming Lady Sansa's Lady-in-waiting?"

"Three proposed to me when we stopped at the Twins three years ago," Jeyne spoke in a sort of fugue. Her tongue moved of its own accord as though to distract from the horror of being coated in her father's blood. "Though the Freys do tend to wed anyone they can. Nor am I the sort of woman to be easily impressed with such offers."

"Before we left for Ironoaks. After my father drowned." Cynthea's eyes scanned violently across the area for any sight of their companions, "My Lord grandfather said something to me. 'Girl, you will spread my seed deep in the Vale. Let whatever husband your grandmother picks mount you. Say nothing. A quiet wife is a good wife. That is your duty.'" Her dirty, brown hair which had grown streaked with gold from the sun of King's Landing shook defiantly. "I was only five, but I remember asking that mangey, old man a question. 'If the words of House Waynwood are Always Upright, should I allow anyone to mount me?'" Despite her fleeting smile, Jeyne noticed how the other girl's fists tightened. Growing white as snow. "The last time I saw the Lord of the Crossing he had ordered my half-Uncle, Black Walder, take me across the knee. Because little girls who do not have fathers to beat them are known to die pregnant whores."

"That is horrible," Jeyne began to protest. Forgetting her own terror and focusing on Cynthea's story.

"That is the truth of this world." The Frey girl responded morosely. "I cherish the wisdom my Lord grandfather imparted upon me. Even if he did not intend to bestow it in the first place." She glanced at Jeyne with those blazing, blue eyes. "Both of our fathers are dead. We have no men who can speak for us, or guard our fates. That is your responsibility now, Jeyne Poole. The sooner you realize it the better off you will be." Her body tensed suddenly, prior to relaxing once more. "Bran and Princess Myrcella have arrived. They are on the other side of the docks." No pointing occured after that declaration. To do so would have drawn too much attention. "Arya told me they purchased these ships in secrecy. The Gold Cloaks will come to the docks before nightfall though. Bran will likely tell his crew to prepare for sail before then."

They stood together for a while longer. The sun beginning to fade to sunset. A prickling sensation set Jeyne's body on edge. Something was wrong. No sooner had she thought that than Arya and Sansa Stark burst into the harbor courtyard wildly. Arya no longer wore her head covering. Black hair flashing behind her like a river of glossy raven's feathers. A sword in one of her hands. Pursuing them were a party of Gold Cloaks. Jeyne could see that some were horribly wounded even despite being perched from so far away. "Hurry, hurry." Cynthea crowed as they rushed into the dying sunlight. From the tangle of docks Bran Stark had revealed himself, waving violently, auburn crown of curls flashing against the purplish sky.

"To him," Cynthea gasped. They scurried that way, arriving to Bran well before the other two girls. Moments later Arya and Sansa arrived. Given the armour it was unlikely the Gold Cloaks would be able to catch up to them as quickly as they might have liked. Still, Jeyne already knew in the pit of her stomach that escape would not be possible. With a battalion of soldiers pursuing them it would take no time at all for the ships to be stormed as they all tried to flee. From the look in Sansa's eyes she could tell the other girl felt the same way. "Run, now." Cynthea ordered again, "We cannot waste any seconds." This spurred all of them to dash forth again. Except for Sansa. Jeyne did not move, her body attuned to following her dearest friend's orders for so long.

"You must help me, Jeyne," Tears were flowing down her face. "I must make a terrible sacrifice. For them. Tell my mother I love her…" She tugged down her covering revealing that beautiful, distinguishable hair which had always set her apart from other Ladies.

"We will do this together, Sansa. As true friends ought." Braveness soared in Jeyne's throat. Of such an intensity she had never imagined herself capable of experiencing. Was this what men felt before riding into battle? What her own, sweet father had felt as he threw himself onto Meryn Trant's sword for her? She hoped to all the Gods that her hunch was true. In that moment courageousness, though so incredibly, undeniably foolhardy, felt insurmountable to death. For the first time in her life Jeyne sent a prayer to the Stranger.

Then she darted in a direction opposite of the docks. Sansa doing the same towards the right. On a cyvasse move it would have been an unbeatable play. Dragons sacrificing themselves so the King pieces could flee. In real life it was far less elegant an ending.

With a crack the Steward's daughter was launched into jarring darkness.

OOOO

"Sansa Stark has been placed in the Black Cells with the Steward's daughter." A guard announced to the disorganized Small Council. Much disorganization had exploded over the table that day.

Lord Varys sweating profusely from having searched so ardently for the Stark children. "Separate of any male prisoners, I hope." His high voice keened gratingly. "The virtue of Sansa Stark is the only thing protecting us from half of Westeros-." A glass was thrown in that instant, smashing mightily into the wall behind him.

"Let them come," Cersei Lannister snarled. "They took my daughter. If those Northern savages so much as touch my girl I will have Sansa Stark placed in a Fleabottom Brothel. I will send back the North's golden daughter with a bastard in her belly and the worst diseases deep in her cunt."

"Stop with the hysterics, mother." Joffrey Baratheon ordered. "Or I will have you removed from the chamber." His cruel eyes glinted, "Women do not belong sticking their noses in such matters." The boy had become the new King of Westeros that morning when his father died during a hunt. His cruelty had grown bounds in the hours since he settled upon the Iron Throne. "Has that traitor Stark agreed to confess yet? For the lies he has spoken about me?"

"No, your grace," The jailor responded, "My men have told me he refuses to speak-."

"Deny him water. Only give him salted bread to eat." The King spoke imperiously, cold aura flashing ominously upon the occupants of the room. None visibly shuddered though they likely were all unnerved. "When he is delirious tell him I will fuck his daughter's pretty, red cunt. After I have finished with the bitch she will be given to the Mountain as a prize for his service in the Riverlands. Unless he confesses." With a stiff neck the man left the room to bask in the silence of those horrible utterances. "Lord Baelish. Have you sent ships to recover my sister?"

"Yes," The man was smug no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He had brought down the former Hand with a single, decisive betrayal. There was much to be smug about after all. "They fled on two ships. I have hired a reputable group of sellsails to recover Princess Myrcella."

"Your grace," Varys spoke up, drawing King Joffrey's psychotic gaze his own way. "The city is restless. Many witnessed Sansa Stark's arrest in the harbor. She is well loved by the people. They are not taking well to news of the recent, treason committed by Lord Stark." He paused beneath the chilling atmosphere. "I hear of riots breaking out near the Dragonpit."

"Anyone who takes up arms is to be put to the sword," The Queen sniffed indignantly. "Ring the Dragonpit with their heads so others who might be swayed by this air of treason may be quelled."

"I want the Gold Cloaks to empty the Dragonpit of my betrothed's beggars and vagrants. Have them all put to the sword. Tonight." Joffrey suddenly declared. "It shall hold the heads of all traitors to my reign. I will have Renly's head placed next to Ned Stark's on display. So all may see their shame for eternity." All but Joffrey likely noted how his mother's eyes widened momentarily. Even she had not considered having Lord Stark executed in her rage. To do such a thing would condemn them to a brutal war with not only the North, but the Val and Riverlands as well. Perhaps even Lys would be involved as well.

"Yes, your grace." Janos Slynt was a sadist. His cruel features gleamed at the opportunity to attack the weak and innocent. He stood, the rest standing with him. None of them wanted to stay near their new King. The rumours were more truth than falsehood. No one in King's Landing was safe.

"Lord Baelish." Cersei Lannister spoke up briefly before they could flee. "Take care of the Steward's daughter."

He grinned sharply, "I can find a place for her."

OOOO