AN: I edited the previous chapters in the way that i wanted to format them: namely, longer chapters, and come compact development, which is better i think than shorter chapters that seem to go nowhere. Anyway, i was left with this spot that i have to leave empty because if I delete it, i risk losing teh reviwes that this chapter got, and I'd rather not do that.

So, Im taking the time here to let everyone know that if you like, I have drawn some schetches of Robb and Myrcella toghether, and that you may find them on my deviantart account, a link of which is in my profile. Some are finished drawings, most are just schetches I have yet to complete, like some portraits of Myrcella, of her wedding gown, of her and Robb in various moments of the story etc. I hope you like

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Small Sidenote… (a scene i wrote and then cut out because it didnt fit in any of the chapters from before, but i am leaving it here, as a missing scene, if you like)

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The hard expression etched into her mother's features had scarcely changed, and as soon as she saw that, Sansa felt something quicken in her breast. It reminded her that there are some wounds that never heal, and her mother had never been a woman to easily forgive.

Sansa had grown up with the proof of that before her very eyes: Jon Snow… Her bastard brother, once. Half-brother, Sansa used to call him.

Jon had not had anything to do with father's infidelity; the only thing he could have been begrudged was his life and even so, Catelyn Tully, her beloved, fierce mother had ever treated him with a coldness to rival the deepest heart of winter. She had forgiven father, but not Jon - even though Jon was the blameless one. Sansa did not care for judging her mother's imperfections – we are all human and we all must have faults, she thought, and compared to what other faults she had found in other people, her mother's seems so utterly inconsequential sometimes that it was hard to resent her for them. But this time, Sansa had the very strong suspicion that Jon's case was the rule and not the exception when it came to Catelyn Tully's vision of justice, blame and forgiveness. Which made it very likely that, for Myrcella, it would most probably go the way it had gone for Jon, where her mother was concerned. Nevermind that Myrcella had no fault in anything that had befallen the Starks, Sansa still doubted that her mother would ever look at her with anything resembling worth. She could not, for a thousand and one reasons - just as Arya could not. People were quick to point out how very much like a Stark her little sister looked, but in her stubbornness, Arya was very much their mother.

But the princess and her brother were almost in their midst now, and their words drew Sansa out of her thoughts altogether.

"And you think that is a sensible way to judge character?" Her brother inquired, but Sansa had been too wrapped around her own thoughts – she did not know which was the way that her brother was asking after.

"Sensible? Your grace, the only sensible person I have ever met is my tailor."

Sansa felt her brows rise and she saw the same expression mirrored in her brother, though on him it was accompanied by a smile and managed to look both amused and impatient.

"Your tailor? Do speak sense princess." Robb cut short, and Sansa only barely stopped herself from gasping out his name in that reprimanding tone that always made her sound like her mother when she used to scold them for lack of manners.

But the princess's smile only grew more amused.

"Well, she is the only one that takes my measurements anew every time she sees me, while the world goes on with the old ones and expects me to fit them.[1]"

Sansa turned her face away to hide her smile, but her ears didn't miss Robb's low chuckle even though she didn't see it. And by now her brother had brought the princess back to the tent and he bid good morning to both Sansa and mother as he saw them, and Myrcella did the same. To her credit, the princess's eyes did not linger for more than a breath on her mother's face (even though Sansa was sure that Myrcella she had read the expression immediately), instead choosing to keep her eyes on Sansa, and ask her if she had a restful sleep, to which Sansa replied good naturally that 'yes, I did, thank you' even though Arya had never gotten over her habit of kicking in her sleep. Her mother said nothing at all beyond inclining her head to Robb when he wished her a good morning.

"Thank you for the walk princess." He said then, and after hastily taking off her glove, Myrcella put her hand in his so that he could kiss the back of her fingers lightly.

"Thank you, your grace. Have a good day."

As usual Robb completely sidestepped with a smile the small pleasantries that he had never had time for, and left them. Myrcella watched him for a short moment and then, catching herself, she instantly looked away, busying herself with putting her glove back on. Sansa didn't waste a second. She was immediately at the princess's side, hooking an arm around hers.

"Well!" she said, looking at Myrcella conspiratorially. But Myrcella only smiled, and it was bright and content. A smile of a calm sort of happiness that brought relief. But before Sansa could needle some details out of the princess, a reassurance that her brother had proved the man she could be proud of, her mother spoke, drawing the attention of both girls to herself.

"We will be arriving in Riverrun in perhaps a few more days. I'm sure you're both looking forward to a proper bed and bath."

Sansa met her mother's smile with relief that she did not try to hide. "Yes I very much am. I could soak in hot water for a week, the way I'm feeling right now." Hoping that her enthusiasm could thaw her mother's sudden frosty demeanour.

"And you will get to meet Rose, if you like, princess Myrcella."

Sansa froze at the mention of the name, and not because she did not want to meet her little niece (gods, she still couldn't believe that she was an aunt!) but because the mention of the child had not been remotely casual. Her mother was probing the princess and she was not even bothering to be delicate about it.

"Yes. I should like to meet the little princess." Myrcella said with a smile, her tone not wavering for a moment and a note of subtle, but easily distinguishable sincerity in her voice. Of course it would be; and of course she would not hesitate. Sansa had no reason to believe that Myrcella was lying, but even if she had been, the lie would have been flawless. If her mother had been looking for an obvious reaction she would be disappointed; Myrcella was much too used to these kinds of games and a consummate liar besides. In comparison to the intrigue she had to endure in the Red Keep and more probably in Dorne as well, this was nothing, childsplay, mostly because her mother's intention was so transparent and her probe very much expected.

The true question here was about the motive behind this.

"Robb has spoken to you about his daughter?" there was no mistaking the note of surprise in her mother's voice; nor that slight emphasis she put on the 'you' in that question, as if Myrcella would be the last person on earth Robb would speak to about his daughter… Which, admittedly was a sensible deduction - or it would have been, if her mother had only implied a breach in manners - since to speak to your betrothed about a daughter you had with a previous wife was… well, it was borderline indelicate.

But then again, this was Robb they were speaking of. He was used to addressing men of war, not princesses. Perhaps he had forgotten the difference.

"No, his grace did not. But everyone knows the princess' name." and something like amusement flickered in Myrcella's eyes as she said that, but it was so subtle that Sansa doubted her mother noticed it. Sansa herself caught the flicker only because she was much more familiar with the princess' genuine expressions than her mother probably ever would be.

"Yes, of course. Little Rose was named after her mother, queen Roslyn. It broke Robb's heart when she died in the birthing bed." Catelyn said with no little amount of sadness. Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat with considerable difficulty. She did not doubt that her mother truly was sad that her good-daughter had passed in such unfortunate circumstances, but that did not mean she was not using honest feelings to do dishonest work[2] here. Just what was her mother playing at? Every moment that passed Sansa became more tense at this strange exchange and she was now looking around for something, anything, to break this senseless dialogue!

Myrcella however seemed so very undisturbed. Irritatingly so, one might say. She had not tensed for a moment, not even the smallest change in her breathing patter gave a hint that she knew the direction this conversation was taking. Sansa was not stupid enough to think that was the case; she knew better.

What are you doing mother?

"Perhaps that is why he dotes on that little girl so very much." Catelyn said as she fixed her gloves. "It would do you both good to meet. After all, you'll be the only mother the princess will ever know."

Myrcella nodded. "I will do my very best to love the little princess well, your grace. I'm sure it will be an easy thing, Dacey tells me she is the sweetest child."

Sansa could not detect even the smallest trace of insincerity in the Myrcella's voice. But her mother only hummed in response.

"I would rather you did not call me 'your grace', princess." Her mother said then, using that definite tone she always used when she wanted something done, one that could set the teeth of grown men on edge when her mother spoke as harshly as she had now. But Sansa found, to a certain degree of surprise, that after being exposed to Cercei Lannister's tempers and bluntness in all things, the effect of her mother's abruptness was much different than it once had been.

If Princess Myrcella's calmness was what she was to be judged by, than it was the same for her.

"I will address you as you most prefer, my lady." Myrcella said ever so serenely.

"Lady Stark will do. It is what all call me." and it was said with the finality of an order.

"As you wish, lady Stark."

If Sansa had not been so tense, she would have smiled at how neatly this folded at its close: Myrcella's tone was of such tranquillity, placid almost, that had anyone been listening and been a stranger to the character of the two women, this stranger would have thought her mother quite stern (or petulant, at worst) and Myrcella the perfect lady. Sansa had to be much more naïve than she was to think this was unintentional. Her mother may have missed this strange bend of the discussion in the beginning, but that did not last for long. She raised one eyebrow at the princess before she wished her good day and came to kiss Sansa's cheek - remembering to tell her that it was high time that she woke Arya.

It was then that Sansa understood the last part of the conversation had been perhaps the only part when her mother had demonstrated the slightest inclination towards Myrcella. That blue assessing gaze of hers had not softened, but there had been a relenting there, in the same moment that she realized that the princess was no fool to play with. Perhaps it had been the tiniest grain of respect for that, perhaps an even further hardening for the same reason. Sansa could not know.

Myrcella didn't comment on her mother's behaviour though, even once she and Sansa were alone, choosing instead to walk the diplomatic route and wait patiently outside as Sansa set upon the painful duty of waking her sister. With regret Sansa decided that she must have a talk with her mother, lest she make the mistake of making an enemy out of a potential allay. And if there was one thing they could all be sorry for in the future, in Sansa's opinion, would be to treat Myrcella as if she was Cercei Lannister, until she finally became so just to spite them. Her brother especially, would suffer for it.

[1] Inspired by a G. Bernard Shaw quote that goes almost exactly like that.

[2] Couldn't help myself, i just love that expression. GOT reference, of course – Tyrion says it about Cercei.