Sansa VI
Conflicted

He almost kissed me.

I don't know what to think. What am I feeling right now? Disgust? Yes. Nervous? A little. Afraid? No, not afraid. I feel unsettled, I think. I didn't expect him to get so close so soon.

Then again… why wouldn't he? I had been purposely teasing him all night, sending him flirty looks, laughing at his jokes, and smiling—gods, the smiling— My face hurts. I don't think I've ever smiled so much in this life. Certainly not so much in my last one. Why wouldn't he think I was interested? And that's the whole point, isn't it? Don't I want his attention?

I knew the answer. Of course, I did. But somehow the unforeseen changes of thinking up a plan and the actual execution of said plan was throwing me. This was all happening too fast. I needed some space, some space to think away from him. Dancing was as much space as I could get without causing a scene.

I almost wished Arya was here to cause a diversion. Almost. While on the best day Arya and I were at each other's throats, diversions were her specialty. But that would be running away and I couldn't run away. Not from this.

Get it together. Stick to the plan. Don't let this child make you run. You're better than that shit.

Obviously, I came on too strong. I need to pull back, let him chase. Men like to chase. I did. He's not any different. It's something instinctual, something in our DNA that dates all the way back to the Neanderthals and the hunter-gatherer nomadism of it all, a time when women where the gatherers and men were the hunters.

Except I was no longer a man, I had to remind myself. I didn't know what I was now. Male? Female? Both? Transgender? Fuck—I didn't want to ask myself these kind of question yet. Whatever I am or was, I had never been attracted to young boys or looked favorably on those who were.

That definitely made me a hypocrite now. This whole plan hinged on manipulating the affections of this child, grooming him as if I was a pedophile. It hardly matters that this body is physically younger, I knew the truth that my mind was not that of a child's and so it was no different than if I was a woman grown preying on a toddler. That fact made me hesitant.

Was I doing the right thing? By all accounts, absolutely not. But did such simple terms as right and wrong matter to me anymore? They didn't before and that's what led to my death, isn't it? But no, I was only doing my job. What happened to those girls wasn't my fault, I got involved after the fact. I did nothing wrong; and even if I did, who decides right? Did Terry decide what was right? If so, I'm certain I do not agree with that kind of morality. The kind of morality that punishes disbelief was the sort that allowed no free will. It wasn't like I was taking away his choice. If he falls for my flirtations that's his own damn fault. It's not as if I'm not forcing him to do anything.

I'm not forcing him to do anything...

The prince was watching me intently. We bowed to each other and I smiled at him. The music picked up tempo as the tune of a popular Northern jig began to fill the hall. The dance was a familiar one, the steps of which I could perform blindfolded.

I'm not forcing him to do anything...

I spun in a circle looping my arm through Joffrey's. He's not a bad dancer. Light on his feet if not a little reserved. At least he wasn't constantly stepping on my feet like some other partners I've danced with, my brother Jon included.

"You're good at this," I told him. "Do you dance a lot, Joffrey?"

The blond boy beamed under the praise—

Too easy. This is too easy, but I'm not forcing him...

"Some. At the feasts held at the Red Keep, I'm required to take at least one turn with every eligible lady in attendance."

"I see," I turned to him as he placed his hands at my waist, falling into a natural waltzing position. "You know, I hear that sparring is a lot like dancing. If your dancing is anything to go by, you must be fairly skilled with a sword too."

"I am," he said boasting.

"I surmised as much. With the Demon of the Trident as your father and the Lion of Lannister as your uncle it must come naturally to you," I said the dance drawing me away and around another dancer. I spun and twisted on the balls of my feet, keeping my eyes solely fixed on the prince as we were swept together again.

"You seem to have quite the interest in swordplay and weaponry, my lady," he observed. "Do you practice at all?"

"Gods, no. My mother would never allow it," I told him twisting under his arm and twirling back at the beckoning of his hand. "But I do like studying the weapons themselves, the designs, and smithwork that goes into each blade. A well-crafted weapon has a certain beauty in it. I think it's fascinating, but I wouldn't dare get caught with one in my hands."

It was the truth, mostly. I found that the best lies were the ones with the most truth to them, with only minor details altered or omitted. I knew better than to ever be caught with a sword in my hands, but that didn't mean that I was ignorant on sparring or swords. I couldn't afford to be in this life. I had to be able to defend myself against attacks when they occur, and I had no doubt they would, and when it happened I had but to win or die.

"I see. And what of your other interests? You must have more?"

"My interests are numerous, my prince. I read quite a lot, you see, so whenever I find something that strikes my fancy I cannot help but want to read all the tomes I can find on a particular topic."

"And what have you been reading? Anything good?"

"The word good is entirely subjective, so I don't know if you'd find the same books would appeal to you, however I think they are all objectively interesting. Lately, I've been quite taken with the work of Maester Ryben," I said.

"Maester Ryben?"

Joffrey's expression showed his immediate confusion at the name. He likely hadn't heard of him. The prince didn't strike me as someone who enjoyed the pursuit of reading and even if he did, Maester Ryben was an obscure name to even the most diligent readers. Maester Ryben's area of focus was of the banned, salacious, and obscene; books that were considered too extremist, or immoral, or liable to be released to the general public. Getting ahold of his work was a near-impossible feat for anyone but a maester. Luckily, Maester Luwin had been kind enough to obtain a copy of Maester Ryben's infamous work, ' The Price of Progress ', or so the maesters of the Citadel were led to believe.

"He's a well-known commentator on the banned books of the Citadel. You know the ones they don't let anyone but the measters read," I told him.

That caught the boy's interest instantly. "What book was it? What was it about?"

"It was called 'The Price of Progress: A Commentary on Archmaester Sandeman's Forbidden Journals by Maester Ryben', " I whispered it as if it was a secret and glanced around to make sure no one was paying too close attention to us. I caught the Queen's eyes, however, she was too far to make sense of what we were saying over the merriment of the feast. "It is long commentary on Archmaester Sandeman and his controversial work as a healer. You've heard of Archmaester Sandeman, haven't you?"

Joffrey looked confused again. Definitely not a reader. "No…"

"Oh, well the story goes that Sandeman was one of the greatest healers that ever lived, that he made many great contributions to modern medicine as we now know it, but that his contributions didn't come without a great cost to himself and others. He was eventually tried and executed by one of the Targaryen kings, Baelor the Blessed, when thirteen private journals became public in which he detailed the murders and dismemberment of over four dozen whores and brothel workers that he personally killed and dissected. Some of his journals, which Baelor ordered to have burned, were hidden away by the man before his death and later rediscovered in the annals of the Citadel. Maester Ryben wrote a commentary on Sandeman's journals debating the morality of his actions versus the outcome of his methods. He argued that while Sandeman committed horrendous crimes in the name of medicine, the fruit of his work has saved more lives than it cost."

"Sounds interesting—"

"It is… However, I'm not sure if I fully agree with the philosophy. What do you think? Do the ends justify the means?"

"Umm…" Joffrey hesitated. He seemed unsure, childlike—He was a child, I reminded myself. Perhaps the question was beyond his scope of understanding. In any chase, it became quite obvious that no one had ever asked him such a question. "I think it depends on the situation," he said. "It depends on what your goal is. If your goal improves lives, then I think the means could be justified."

He looked nervous. It was the same look I had seen on my siblings' faces when posed with a question of which they were unsure of the answer. I smiled at him and nodded. "I agree. I think morality is entirely situational. Taken out of context, any action or inaction can be seen as unjust," I said.

"That's a different opinion coming from a Stark," he remarked with raised brows. "I thought your family was all about honor?"

"It is. But what is honor exactly?" I asked. "It's rather difficult to define if you ask me. More often than not, I find that what is honorable depends on the situation. Like you said if you make a dishonorable choice, but it improves people's lives then wouldn't that choice be justified?"

"I suppose so… I think you'd get along with my uncle," he said.

"Which one? You have four, don't you?"

"I do. Stannis, Renly, Jamie, and the Imp. But I think you'd get along with my uncle, Jamie," He leaned down towards my ear, close enough that I could feel the brush of his lips against my ear, lowering his voice. "Do you know they call him the kingslayer?"

"I do," I whispered back.

"Do you know why?"

"I heard he was the one to kill the Mad King. My father doesn't like him much because of it."

"Not many people do," he said.

"Is he your favorite uncle?"

"I can't really say I have a favorite uncle. He's more interesting than Stannis at least, less annoying than his dwarf brother, a better fighter than Renly…"

"I have two uncles. Although I've only ever met one, my uncle Benjin. He's in the Night's Watch and not much of a conversationalist, you know," I said looking around the room for the dark-haired, black-bearded man wearing the black leathers and cloaks of the crows. I found him sitting next to Jon and a group of four other Night's brothers.

"Is that him, sitting with the bastard?" He followed my line of sight. I nodded.

"Yes," I ignored the haughty way Joffrey called Jon a bastard. "I can introduce you later if you wish."

"I'd like to meet more of your family, my lady." The lie flowed easily from his lips, if my mental age had been the same as my physical age, I would've likely believed it. However, there was just a touch of indifference in his eyes that told me, he didn't care much either way. I decided to save him the discomfort of Benjin's withering grey eyes.

"Alright, later then," I kept the answer vague and open-ended knowing as long as I didn't push, he wouldn't insist. The music died down as the song came to a close. "Tomorrow would you like me to show you around the keep?"

"You don't have to do that, my lady."

"Really, I don't mind," I said. "Winterfell is large, it's rather easy to get lost here if you don't know where you're going."

"Well, if my lady insists—"

"Sansa—" I turned and saw my mother coming towards us, in her long grey dress and braided hair. As she reached us, she smiled warmly at the Prince and I. "Pardon me, Prince Joffrey, I need to steal my daughter away for a moment."

"Of course, Lady Stark," he bowed and looked to me. "We'll talk later."

I nodded. Then with a promise to dance with him again before the night was through, mother turned me away and lead me off to the side. She was smiling at me, her blue eyes twinkling in the warm glow of the candlelight. "It's good to see you two getting along," she said.

"Yes, well, he's a very good dancer," I said.

"And?" She looked expectant.

"And what?" I furrowed my brow at the eager expression on her face.

"Do you fancy him?" She asked.

"I just met him. It's still too early to say, mother," I wanted to sigh at the eagerness of which she was questioning me. If I didn't know any better, I would suspect she was already picturing grandchildren in her future. Just a few hours ago, she acted as if she didn't want me to leave Winterfell, but now…

"I've never seen you show such interest in suitors before," she said.

"It was just a dance, mother," I said. Though I was beginning to wonder what it looked like to other people. Did I look like a girl that was tripping over herself to catch the prince's attention? Gods, I hoped not. That would be embarrassing, not to mention more than a little repulsive on my part.

I looked away from her prying eyes, taking stock of the room again. "Why did you pull me aside?" I wondered.

"The King is back at the head table. Your father wanted you to play your vielle," she said. "You brought it didn't you?"

"Yes," I nodded and gestured over the place where I had left it behind the musicians. "It's over there."

"Well, go and get it, so you can play it for the King and the Queen," she said.

I nodded, "Yes, mother." Somehow I couldn't help feeling a bit like a performing circus animal, turning tricks for her supper.

A/N: Thank you for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions, etc. Sorry, this chapter took a little while to get out. Hope everyone had a nice holiday/new year!