Sansa sighed as she ran her needle through the silk in her lap as Septa Mordane watched on sewing her piece of embroidery. The red-headed girl had spent the last few weeks soaking in her ennui, and the sudden arrival of her half-brother and new sister did little to help her mood. She loved Myria for certain, but ever since their appearance the Queen had been keeping her darling prince. The fact that he was still upset with her did not help, and she had been trying to think of ways to apologize to Joffrey.
"You wear your hair like a real Southern lady now," And there was the Septa.
Sansa scoffed, "Well why shouldn't I?"
The faithful woman adjusted in her seat, "It's important to remember where you come from," She glanced at the 13-year-old girl with a sharp look. "I'm not sure your mother would not like these new styles."
"My mother is from the South."
"I am aware of that, but-"
"Why do you even care?" The girl interrupted. "Do you even have hair under there?" She gestured to the shawl all Septas of the Seven wore.
Mordane continued to stitch her pattern, "Yes, I have hair."
"I've never seen it."
"Would you like to?"
"No." The two females let silence fall over them as they resumed their embroidery.
Sansa glanced at the older woman, "Where are you from anyway? The North or the South?"
The Septa smiled, "I come from a very small village near-"
"I just realized I don't care."
"Sansa," she scolded. "You are being rude."
Before Sansa could rebuff the woman sitting across from her footsteps sounded from the hall outside the sitting room the occupied. The Stark girl's smile widened when she caught the emerald green eyes of the crown prince.
She quickly rose from her seat as he approached and bowed, "My prince."
Joffrey smirked at the girl and bowed toward her after she had risen, "My lady. I fear I have behaved monstrously the past few weeks." He lifted his hand and Sansa lightly gasped at the sight of a solid gold lion pendant resting in his palm. "With your permission?" She quickly turned around and blushed as she felt his hands brush the back of her neck as he attached the clasp of the necklace.
"It's beautiful!" She turned to face her fiance. "Like the one your mother wears."
"You'll be Queen someday it's only fitting you should look the part," The teenaged boy glanced at the floor. "Will you forgive me for my rudeness?"
Sansa's pale blue eyes gleamed, "There's nothing to forgive."
The prince nodded, "You're my lady. One day we'll be married in the Great Sept of Baelor. Lords and Ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come; from the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore in the South and you will be Queen of all of them." He gently grasped her hand. "I'll never disrespect you again. I'll never be cruel to you again, do you understand me?"
She nodded and the blonde prince placed his hand upon her cheek, "You're my lady now from this day until my last day." He leaned in and lightly kissed her and the Septa glanced away from the intimate act.
The prince then bowed to the noble lady and swept from the room with a gleeful smile, his mother was certainly correct about the foolish mindset of the stupid girl.
Sansa blushed as her prince left and wandered back to her chair. She continued to sew her design into the lovely silk and the Septa eyed her as she also quietly resumed her own project. The two women continued to work for a time until they once again were drawn away from their work by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Sansa perked up, hoping Joffrey had returned but furrowed her brows when Jon came rushing into the room.
"Sansa, Septa. Father needs to speak with you right away."
Sansa glared at her half-brother but rose from her seat gracefully while the older woman frowned at the worried look in the man's eyes.
"Whatever is the matter, Lord Stark?" Sansa scoffed at her family name being spoken towards the bastard.
"Father has been attacked, not even ten minutes ago."
Sansa's blood froze at the dark tone in Jon's voice and she quickly rushed after him as he led the two females through the Tower of the Hand and into Lord Eddard's bedchamber. Sansa caught sight of her injured father in bed with Arya and Myria on the right-hand side of the large piece of furniture.
"Father! What happened?" Eddard smiled at the sight of his oldest daughter.
"He was attacked by Jamie Lannister in the lower streets of King's Landing," Myria muttered with a grim expression on her face. "The Maester says his leg will survive, but he will walk with a limp."
"Nevermind that," Ned waved off the worried looks his daughters gave him. "Pack up your things girls, you are leaving today with Myria and Jon."
"What!?"
"Why!?"
The adults cringed at the high pitched whines from both girls, "Can we take Syrio with us? I've just started getting good!"
"Oh, who cares about your stupid dancing teacher!" Sansa wailed. "I can't leave my darling Joffrey!"
"Sansa, I promise when we are back in the North I will find you a kind Lord for a husband-"
"I don't want a Lord! I want my prince!"
Myria moved around the room and placed a hand on the 13-year-old's shoulder, "I know you care for the crown prince, but this is your family. And family always comes first."
Sansa shook her head, "But I'm supposed to be Queen! And I'll give Joffrey little lion babies."
"Their family's sigil is the stag," the youngest Stark pointed out.
Her sister sneered, "My Joffrey is nothing like that drunk old stag, he is a proud and fierce lion and I will give him little golden-haired babes."
Arya's eyes widen, "Seven Hells."
Sansa opened her mouth to argue more, but her father sat up in bed and shot both of his daughters a disappointed look. "Both of you are going to return to your rooms and pack immediately." Both girls sighed but followed the quiet Septa as she led them back to their own personal chambers. Jon and Myria turned to Lord Stark after the girls had left and observed the confused look upon his face.
"What is it?"
Eddard glanced at Jon, "Bring me that book will you." Jon turned and picked up a large book from the table on the other end of the room.
"Lineage and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms?" Jon handed the large tome over to his uncle and watched as the older man flipped through the book until he reached the section on the Baratheon family.
"Lord Orys Baratheon, Black of hair. Axel Baratheon, black of hair. Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair. Joffrey Baratheon, golden-haired." Eddard's face paled as he realized the gravity of the situation and he turned to his nephew and Myria, "You both need to take the girls and get far from this place."
"We already know Lord Stark, but you must come with us," The Dornish woman frowned when her liege lord shook his head. "The Queen will have you killed before you can even get close to informing the King of her treachery."
"Is that what happened to your uncle, Jon Arryn?"
Myria sighed, "I do not know, but I know for certain the Queen was truly shocked to learn of his sudden illness and even more sudden death. And if we suddenly leave with both of your daughters, especially Sansa, the whole Keep will want an explanation."
Jon raised his brow, "But they are our family."
Ned sighed, "But she is still engaged to Joffrey, Myria is correct. The Queen will want to know why I insist she leaves, but you can take Arya. Then I will leave later with Sansa." Jon nodded at Lord Stark's words and then started to leave the room to collect his little sister.
"You will have to hold your knowledge until this little skirmish with the Lannister family is over."
Ned raised his brows at the Dayne, "Why is that? Robert has a right to know his children are not legitimate or even his."
"Because," The Dornish woman sat on the side of the bed. "Your words will be twisted into a political grab for power, Cersei will make it seem like you are a traitor to the crown. So, you must wait until Tyrion is back with his family and the Lannisters have been appeased before you rip them apart."
"And allow my honor to be besmirched by allowing this to stay quiet?"
"Lord Stark, when you play the game of thrones: you win or you die."
"You're still alive."
Myria chuckled and rose from the bed, "Yes, but I have been playing my whole life and have no intention to stop unless I want myself and my family to wither into dust." With her statement, she swept from the room and headed towards Arya's bedchambers. She reached the door and knocked lightly and waited until Arya creaked the door open.
"Did father say we could bring Syrio? I don't care about what Sansa says he's an amazing teacher."
The woman giggled, "yes, I know my old master is quite skilled, but no. We are leaving today."
Arya huffed but moved to let Myria enter the room and picked up another dress to toss into her chest. "Sansa's not going to like that."
"It just you, me, and Jon going. Sansa and your father will leave later."
Arya smiled, "Then we will have far more fun, don't you think Ria?"
"Perhaps," The black-haired woman turned to leave the room. "Will you be ready soon?" The eleven-year-old girl nodded. Myria stepped towards the doorway but stopped when she noticed Jon walking up to the room with their bags in his arms. "Guess we are leaving now Arya."
Jon and a Stark guard entered the room, collected the bags, and led the way to the outer courtyard of the Red Keep. The small group of Stark members wandered to the royal stables and Myria placed her bag onto the back of her honey-colored mare. Then she attached Arya's bags to a smaller white-haired stallion and helped the girl onto the horse. She turned and let a sad smile form onto her face as she glanced up at the keep only letting Jon's hand encompassing hers snap her out of her nostalgia.
"Ready?" Jon whispered into her ear.
"Yes, but there is something I must do first."
Jon pulled back and helped his wife onto her horse before getting on his own and followed her with Arya next to him as she led them through the city's roads. The small group of horses halted outside a blacksmith's shop on Steel Street, and the black-haired woman hopped off her horse and smoothed out her skirt before entering the shop. The smell of soot and molten metal filled the air as she made her way to an older man sitting at a table looking over scratched over sums scattered onto a crumpled piece of parchment. Myria had never enjoyed the company of Tolbo Mott, the owner of the smithery, but she knew she would have to appear amicable to the man.
Mott's eyes stuck to the scribbles until he caught sight of pale blue silk slippers on the ground and his eyes trailed upward to the sight of Lady Myria, a common visitor to his shop. "Ah m'lady, how may I help you on this fine day?" The dark-haired woman smiled at the false positivity laced in his voice.
"I came to see Gendry," She sighed as Mott tensed at her request. "I know he visited a few days ago, but I am heading out of the city and wished to say goodbye."
Tolbo raised his brow at the highborn, "Heading back North are you?" He watched as the petite woman nodded her head. "Perhaps you could take the bastard with you, I fired him this morning and he was planning on heading to the Night's Watch with some man, Yoren? I believe." Myria frowned at his words but concealed it well when she saw the black hair of her friend as he stepped into the front room with a knapsack over his shoulder and his bull helmet in his hand.
"Myria? What are you doing here?" Gendry asked.
"Looking for you Gendry, and since you are planning on heading North you can come with me as I make my way back to Winterfell." The thirteen-year-old opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from his old friend silenced his thoughts. "I won't take no for an answer. If you are heading to the Wall then you should do it with the Starks."
The Dornish woman let a small smile fall onto her face when she received a nod of agreement from the blue-eyed boy. Once they both had exited the shop and claimed horses from the small travel group they raced through the city to the Old Gate. Myria let out a sigh of relief as they rode away from the mess of King's Landing, and let her harsh grip on her sheathed sword lessen.
At least she had these small victories, but she knew their luck would not last forever.