Arya's not blind, nor has she ever been btw, I changed it. Also, I will update this story weekly, on a Thursday or Friday. If I happen to have enough chapter pre-written I may update twice a week. Don't hold your breath though, I'm still writing chapter eight :3 Additionally, thanks for follows/faves/reviews.

Chapter Six

Sansa

Nervous and still shaken from her confrontation with Daenerys, it was with extreme trepidation that Sansa waited for Jon to arrive at her chambers. She had heard that he'd scolded his aunt for frightening her, and Sansa had then hoped he'd have Dry Sand removed from her service too, but alas, the soldier still remained the only member of her personal guard. Maybe Her Grace truly was trying to protect me, Sansa thought hopefully. It is not as if he has mistreated me in any way, he does not even speak unless giving me messages from the king. Despite the fear he inspired in her, Sansa did rather like having Dry Sand around. She felt much safer walking around the grounds with him by her side, and less scared whenever she heard the dragons, as she knew they favoured the Queen's Unsullied guard much more so than the pale-skinned citizens of King's Landing. Still, I'd feel much safer with Lady by my side.

A knock at Sansa's door indicated that Jon had arrived. "Come in," she called shakily.

Jon entered with two of his kingsguard, and Ghost; Sansa ached to reach for the direwolf's rich, white fur. Stop, he is not Lady, he is not mine. "Sansa," Jon greeted her with a warm, if a tad tight, smile. "I have good news."

"Really, Your Grace?" She was happy to see that Jon had chosen Northernmen as part of his kingsuard. They will keep him safe.

"Aye, but first, let us walk?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

"I've already told you it's Jon when we're alone."

"Sorry, Jon," she smiled impishly. Why is he so kind to me?

"You've not met Ghost yet, have you?" He asked as they walked.

"I have heard of him."

"Well, here he is," he ruffled his fur. "In all his glory. Here Ghost, this is Princess Sansa, my cousin."

The wolf sniffed at Sansa's outstretched hand suspiciously. "Go on," Jon urged. "She won't bite." Albeit reluctantly, the wolf allowed Sansa to touch him. His bright fur made her uneasy at first, so unlike Lady's, but she soon overcame it and began stroking him.

"He's like that with everyone," Jon assured her.

"So was Lady," Sansa said.

"I was so sorry to hear what Joffrey did," Jon said. "To think, they were all brothers and sisters."

"Yes," scattered and dead, like us Starks.

"So, how are you, Sansa?"

"I am fine, Your—Jon."

"Honestly?"

"Yes," she bit her lip. If only he was Robb, I might tell him how scared I am that one day I'll wake up and realise this was all a dream, and find Cersei and Joffrey waiting for me. But he is only Jon, my cousin who doesn't really care for me.

"You know you could tell me if you weren't," he said softly. "We aren't close, but I look after my family."

"I—" she clutched Ghost's fur a little tighter. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It's what older brother's are for."

"But we're cousins, Jon."

"Maybe in name, but in my head, you'll always be my snobby sister."

She froze until he stated that he was joking. "Oh," she smiled. "Thank you."

"Only don't tell Dany, she'll go mad," he winked.

She wanted to wink back, but all Sansa could think was that he called the scary dragon queen Dany, that he'd once called Arya 'little sister', and even Rickon had earned a nickname whereas she would always be 'my snobby sister'. Half sister, she corrected bitterly in her head.

"She doesn't like me," Sansa blurted.

Jon only laughed. "She doesn't like anyone, really."

"Oh," I think this is the first Jon's laughed with me since I got here.

"Don't let her scare you too much."

"She is quite scary, though."

"Well, yes, she is. But she loves me, so if I tell her not to, she won't hurt you."

Sansa could think of no reply, so she continued to stroke an unwilling Ghost's fur, and watched Jon exchange jokes with his lord commander of the kingsguard. Smalljon, I think he's called. I wish I had a friend whom I could jest with. She had Margaery, of course, but the girl was much older than her, in experience if not years, and though they'd become close companions, Sansa couldn't help but feel unwanted and stupid when she heard how Margaery often dined with the king, or went on walks with the Dragon Queen. the news had Sansa began longing for her sister. Even if Arya were here, she'd probably prefer Queen Daenerys to me . . .

"I miss my mother," Sansa said without realising, her hands instantly flying to cover her mouth.

Smalljon turned to the girl, as if he'd only just realised she was there, and Jon gave her a look filled with pity. That was stupid to say. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Smalljon, Rice and Dry Sand," the king said, not looking away from Sansa. "Find Lady Margaery and escort her here."

"Your Grace," they all said.

"There's no rush," Jon added.

"I'm sorry for saying that," she apologised quickly once they left. "My mother was a traitor and—"

"Sansa," he said softly. "She wasn't a traitor."

"But she treated you horribly, and so did I and—" tears filled her eyes, she wiped at them angrily. Why am I crying? I'm a weak little girl again, just like I was all those moons ago. Suddenly, she felt herself being encircled in a pair of warm arms, with Ghost nuzzling them jealously.

"Your mother wasn't a traitor for disliking her husband's bastard," he said. "Sure, I would've liked if she hadn't hated me. And I obviously don't miss or love her, but she was your mother."

"But—"

"She only ever gave me hard stares and the cold shoulder. It could've been worse; I could've had Cersei."

Sansa and Jon both shuddered at the thought. He is not wrong, Cersei would've had him strangled in his sleep.

"You know, the good news I was speaking of earlier was that Dany has found Arya and Rickon is only days away from King's Landing."

For a few moments, Sansa stayed still. She'd heard rumours of Rickon arriving a while ago, but hadn't thought they could be true, else Jon would've told her. I guess he must've forgotten. I suppose it'll take a while for him to truly like me or want to seek out my company, as he does Queen Daenerys or Arya. I will have to get used to it. Though Sansa was excited that she could now confirm her brother's arrival, the last she'd seen Rickon he'd been a boy of five or six, and she'd barely ever spent any time with him. He won't even remember me. But Arya, she'd known Arya, argued and been ashamed of her, but known and loved her nonetheless. I will have a friend again, surely she won't still be a reckless child. I still cannot believe she isn't dead, Cersei had Varys looking for her. Sansa mused over this before quickly coming to the conclusion that Daenerys was a much better Queen than Cersei, and much scarier.

"Is Arya not coming?"

"You know what she's like," Jon said, simultaneously releasing her. "Apparently she's still resisting, but if she doesn't agree to come back with Dany's knights, I'll go to Braavos myself for her."

Braavos? Arya's in Braavos? My, how things have changed.

"You could come too."

"If you want me to."

"No, if you want to. Sansa, you're not a prisoner anymore. I won't have my guards beat you. You can speak freely."

"I er . . . I would like to travel."

"Then you will," Jon said. "I plan to sail with Lady Margaery and her grandmother to Highgarden in a fortnight, and then to Dorne. Do you wish to come?"

Dorne! Oh how I would love to see Dorne! They say the food is simply to die for . . . And Highgarden, too! I might see Ser Loras. She shook her head. Loras is a queer, I am not his type. I must stop this fantasising. Sansa had grown considerably, but deep down, she was still a girl whose dream was to marry a kind knight and raise his children. Only now, she did not care whether he was handsome and fair for she knew that looks could be terribly deceiving.

"Would—Would Her Grace be coming too?"

"Who? Dany?"

Sansa nodded.

"Yes, I believe so. At least to Dorne she will be, I'm not sure about Highgarden."

"Oh."

"Don't let her stop you from coming. The Queen will be too busy to scare you, Sansa. Even if she does, you have Dry Sand to protect you."

"He is loyal to Her Grace, though."

"He is loyal to you now, she gave him orders to protect you."

"But she hates me."

"Maybe, but you're my family and I want you safe, therefore she'll keep you safe until you do something unforgivable to her. Which I don't think you will."

"No, Your Grace."

"Jon."

"Sorry, again."

"It's fine. Look, there's Margaery. Would you like to come walking with us?"

"In Flea Bottom?" Sansa wrinkled her nose, thinking of how those people had flung dung and shit and piss at her last time she'd been there.

"Maybe not today. We'll probably go to the Blackwater and speak with a few of the sailors."

"Oh," Sansa said in relief. "Then of course. If you'll have me."

"Come on, then. Margaery hates waiting," he walked towards the maid briskly, leaving Sansa with Ghost watching the couple, bemused.

I wonder if he loves her. It would be cute if he did, but I don't know if she truly loves him. She pretended to love Joffrey. And Tommen, and look how those marriages turned out. Maybe I should warn Jon somehow, to be wary. Or I could tell Margaery—no, I couldn't tell her anything. Then a thought occurred to Sansa. But I am a Princess now, and she's just a slightly disgraced lady, I could tell her to stay away from Jon and she'd have to listen. Right?

III

Margaery

She heard the rumours, saw the pointed looks, and knew exactly what they were all thinking. Even Sansa thinks it true, Margaery watched the young Stark girl stood uncomfortably by her new personal guard, Dry Something I think it was. She's been silent the entire trip, at first Margaery had thought it was due to fear of her newly royalcousin, but had soon realised it was not so when Jon excused himself to speak with a few sailors and Sansa still remained stiff and distant. Only a week ago we were braiding one another's hair. What will I have to do to convince them I have no intentions of marrying the king? Her mood only soured when she realised the best way of stopping the rumours would be to stop fuelling them and return back to Highgarden. Without Jon. The thought saddened Margaery greatly, as over the past weeks, she had come to like Jon, love him even. Not in that way, she told herself, like I love Loras, but a little less . . . brotherly. She knew that Jon liked her, in what way she wasn't sure, but she was almost certain that he liked her very much. He knows the real me, no false charm, or plastic smiles, just me. Margaery.

"Lady Margaery," the girl looked up to see Sansa stood before her, head held unnaturally high.

She tries too hard, and wears her feelings far too obviously. If only she would bring down her walls, I could help her.

"Princess Sansa," Margaery said brightly. "I see you've gotten used to having your own guard."

"Yes, I am quite glad the Queen gave him to me," Sansa said haughtily.

So she is trying to intimidate me by insinuating she is on friendly terms with the Dragon Queen, Margaery almost laughed at the poor girls transparency, Daenerys hates her, or at the very least, likes me much better. Of course, Margaery wasn't fooled by Daenerys' friendship act, an obvious attempt to keep an eye on her, but she had found that the Queen had a rather wicked sense of humour, and unlike Cersei, used her femininity and beauty to her advantage rather than trying to scare everyone into doing her will. Yes, she is infinitely better than Cersei was, and kinder too. Though she's wasting her time watching me; for once I am up to nothing. Yet despite the Queen's blatant distrust of her, Margaery couldn't help but admire and like her. She is fearless, and she loves deeply. Especially Jon.

"As am I."

"Lady Margaery—" she hesitated. "I think you should go back to Highgarden."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Princess—"

"I think you do, Lady Margaery. I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing with Jon."

"You do? Enlighten me, His Grace is only a good friend ."

"I like you, Margaery, I really do but I can't let you do to Jon what you did to Joffrey."

"I see," so the Starks do really look out for one another. . . at least he is finally one of them, what he always wanted.

"I think you should go back to Highgarden, and marry someone there."

"I think I'll wait a few years till I re-marry."

"Jon has annulled all your previous marriages, so technically, you're no longer a widow or a divorcée."

"I remember," Margaery said fondly. How can I leave him? He has become my best friend.

"So you'll have no trouble finding other suitors."

"I guess I should tell him that I'm leaving, then."

"I think it would be best. You can always send ravens."

But never visit . . . And I so wanted to meet Rickon and Arya. Tears welled in her eyes before she remembered that she couldn't cry for a man that wasn't hers. Sansa will probably think they are fake, anyhow.

"Very well, Princess."

Sansa smiled a very small and tight smile that Margaery was on the verge of returning when Jon returned to them, a bag of what smelled like fresh fish in his hands. He threw one to Ghost, who devoured it hungrily.

"I think we're going to have to go home, ladies," Jon said regretfully. "I need to take Ghost hunting."

"That's fine, Your Grace," Sansa said. "It was nice to see the outside."

"Jon, Sansa," her cousin said. "And it was a pleasure to take you," he glanced at Margaery. "You don't mind if I send you home with Dry Sand and Rice, do you?"

Sansa sent a hard look towards Margaery before answering, "Of course not."

"Good," Jon smiled, offering his arm to Margaery who took it reluctantly. "Come Lady Margaery, I still have something to show you."

The two walked for roughly half an hour, all the while Margaery allowing Jon to talk and only giving slight nods of her head as her participation of the conversation. Idly, she wondered why Jon liked her, exactly. She was nothing like the girls in the North, her personality—in her opinion and compared to the other more interesting girls Jon had known—was mostly generic and exceedingly hard to swallow sometimes, and what beauty she had now would soon fade with the years. I would hate it if he only liked me for my appearance. Plus, nearly everyone at the Red Keep had warned him to stay well away from her.

"Margaery?"

"Yes?"

"You're not saying anything."

"Sorry, Yo—"

"Stop that," he said. "Stop the simpering and the Your Grace, and the incessant apologies and tell me why you're so quiet all of a sudden."

Because I have to leave you, that's why. "I just—seeing you with Princess Sansa just made me long for Loras, is all."

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing to indicate that he didn't believe her. "I told you he's always welcome."

"I don't think my father wants him too far from home, anymore."

"Well, you're going home soon, no?"

"Yes. Within the week."

"The week?" Jon repeated.

"Yes. Grandmother, she is feeling unwell and wishes to return and I promised I'd go with her."

"I see," he said. "And Taena?"

"She'll come home with us too," oh Taena must hate me, I've barely spent a day with her since she came.

"That's a bit sooner than I'd have liked," Jon admitted. "I suppose Tyrion can manage for a few weeks, though."

"Pardon?" Margaery choked. He can't still mean to come with me, surely. . .

"Have I misspoke?"

"No, I just—" why do I always falter around him? I'm no stranger to kings. "Didn't know you still meant to come with us."

"I promised, didn't I? And I'm not sure your grandmother will let me refuse," he chuckled.

"I know, but I think I've forgotten that you have a kingdom to rule, and Her Grace has told me you were supposed to go to Dorne with her."

"We plan to go to Dorne afterwards."

"I don't want to inconvenience you, Jon."

"You're not. What's the matter, Margaery?"

A large part of Margaery desperately wanted to crumble, and bawl, and tell Jon everything, how even walking through the grounds with her grandmother was a trial because everyone either hated her, wanted her gone, or distrusted her intentions; that nobody, not even her own family, believed she could ever just care for someone anymore, especially a king, because of her past actions. Gods, I've truly ruined my life . . . But instead, Margaery banished away any tears, painted a smile on her face and told the king a lie.

"I miss home," just another one, make it believable Margaery, "There are so many bad memories here, and it's hard walking past Tommen each day and not remembering everything."

"I can have Tyrion send Tommen away, if that would make you feel better," Jon offered.

"No, I couldn't do that. Lord Tyrion is the only Lannister you should trust those children with."

"I wouldn't send them back to Casterly Rock."

"No, I know it wouldn't sit well with you to separate them from their uncle just to please me."

"Then what would you have me do? I don't like having you upset."

"It will pass once I go home," lies, lies, lies.

"I apologise for keeping you here so long, then," his eyes filled with guilt, and Margaery felt something in her chest clench.

"It, it—" she paused. "It is an honour to fulfil the wishes of my king."

III

Jon

The king's good mood was slowly beginning to fade. A few days had passed in what seemed like a blur, and now he was only a few hours away from losing Margaery, forever. I was a fool to think she loved me. Jon had received ravens from one of his little birds, all of them revolving around Margaery and her conversations. He'd assumed they'd be filled with words trying to warn him away from the girl, painting her as a scheming witch. Shock couldn't even begin to explain how he'd felt after reading that Lady Margaery insisted that she had no eyes or plans to charm the king, that she wished to marry for love and not political standing, that she spent her days laughing with his cousin, or being supervised by his aunt. It should've come as good news, Jon knew, but that fact didn't stop him from being slightly disappointed that the girl wasn't even slightly interested in him. Maybe all those simpers were just disguising her disinterest in me, not some tactic to bewitch me. I know I couldn't really have wed her but . . . but I really wanted to.

"Your Grace," said The Spider as he appeared from some shadow.

"Lord Varys," Jon returned wearily. "How might I help you?"

"I hear Lady Margaery and her entourage return back to Highgarden on the morrow."

"Your little birds tell you that?"

"No, I spoke with Lady Olenna yesterday," the eunuch replied cheerily.

"Mm, very nice."

"The news doesn't seem to please you. I thought you were set to sail with them?"

"No, Lady Margaery decided to leave earlier than I could manage."

"You don't think Tyrion could manage without you?"

"Yes but I planned to fix the problems with the Freys and at Riverrun before leaving."

"Your Grace is a very cautious man."

"Was there anything else, Lord Varys?"

"I only wished to tell Your Grace that the Tyrell's are having a small dinner party later tonight to say goodbye."

Thoroughly tired with the word games Varys enjoyed playing, Jon sighed, "Yes?"

"That your presence would make a certain maid very happy."

"What are you insinuating, my lord?"

"Having little birds is good and well, Your Grace, but you cannot trust every thing they say word for word."

"Lord Varys?"

"Birds sing, but it is up to the listener to interpret exactly what the song means."

Jon couldn't help but laugh. "It is times like this when I miss the simplicity of the Wall."

Varys tittered along. "I am no fan of Lady Margaery, but she has no cruelty or ill will in her heart. She is only smarter than the usual hoard of ladies we get at court."

"Trust me, I know."

"Yet you mope and ignore her."

"She is not meant for me, Lord Varys. I know who I'm expected to marry."

"And who is that?"

"I—"

Who is it?

III

Arya

Arya had just managed to escape the watchful eye of Ser Barristan. He's much easier to confuse, he never suspects much of me. Her time in Braavos had taught Arya many things, one of them being that rather than forcing people to acknowledge her as a worthy fighter and opponent, use her very deceiving looks to fool her enemies. Ser Jorah is harder though, he sees right through me.

Quickly and silently, Arya sped through the streets. It had been two weeks since the two knights had found her, bearing news that she was now a royal; a princess; which had sickened her at first. I never even wanted to be a Lady never mind some prissy Princess. But slowly, after retrieving Needle from her hiding place and forcing Ser Barristan to train with her, Arya had begun to accept her new title. At least this time around, I won't be some weak child with a big mouth and ugly face, I'll be smarter, better than last time. She hadn't yet agreed to sail back to King's Landing with them, but she was nearly there. The thought of seeing Jon once more was the only thing strong enough to make her want to leave the comfortable-ish life she'd found with the Faceless Men. I'll have to give up my training. Though the old man insists that I can apply what I've learnt anywhere. Plus I'll have my family back. They say Sansa is with Jon, too. And the allure of the Dragon Queen that Ser Jorah almost worshipped was quite a big push for Arya to return to King's Landing.

I wonder if she would let me ride them, the way Jon did.