AN; Shortly you'll read about Joffrey sending out a dish to Sansa. Now usually when this happens it is by the host. Taking as royal guests would receive seats of honor that would befit their status, I think they would be above the Lord or Lady of the House. I can't quite remember if this is evidenced by GRRM so I'm just going on my understanding of Westerosi courtesy.

Also, thanks to everyone who has put up with my reshuffling of content. It's so very much appreciated!

Sansa

Jeyne had begged her to visit the springs.

"The water is so warm and we can wash each others hair." She'd said. Sansa did not want to wash Jeyne's hair. She wanted to sit beside prince Joffrey and see him smile upon her again.

Last night there had been another feast the likes Sansa had never seen at Winterfell and the Prince had been especially gallant with her. The night began with a hearty split pea soup with great pieces of haunch and root vegetable and a smoked fish stew with a side of fresh sourdough bread. There were mounds of cored cabbage stuffed with fire spice, and creamed potatoes and sweet pork dumplings with applesauce too. After which came the salmon roasted on cedar wood with black salt from the Iron Islands that watered the mouth, followed by the leg of lamb that had been basted in rosemary and Arbor wine and wrapped with flakes of pastry so thin that they fell apart at the slightest touch. But best of all were the desserts. There were great heaps of clotted cream on blueberry tarts and Sansa's favorite, lemon cakes, along with apple blossoms that oozed with cinnamon and cloves, crisp molasses bark and sweetbreads baked in honey and sugar and anise.

Joffrey had sent her down the first choice of the apple blossoms and Sansa had been ever so happy. She beamed her thanks with a demure smile, a blush creeping up her neck that Jeyne was quick to point out behind unquiet hands. But the treat proved a task as every time her knife cut in, a gush of sticky juices splattered onto her gown and hands and even cheek. Arya laughed beside her as Sansa tried her best to manage as daintily as she could, stopping after every bite to dab at her mouth with fresh linen like a true lady.

The rest of the evening had been splendid, she did recall. There was music, which Winterfell was oft without, as it was rare that bards would travel so far. The harpist was comely, his voice so clear and beautiful. He sang songs familiar throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and ones only known in the North. After the tale of Bael the Bard that left her much mesmerized he started in on the Bear and the Fair Maiden. The guests, so aptly plied with wine and beer, joined in the chorus. The King had been flushed by the red he was sucking down, a deep colour blooming in his cheeks like a proper maid. He sat with belly etched into the table and soup and wine running down his big bushy beard and his voice boomed greatest of all. His laugh was heard all about the hall as the song came to an end. He'd called for the cupbearer twice as often as he came, and Sansa saw her father finding reason to lead the poor boy elsewhere.

Her mother had come to her afterwards, to unwind her hair before bed. She learned then that the king had proposed a match between her and Prince Joffrey. Her heart felt full to bursting, and, to Lady Catelyn's surprise, Sansa turned and hugged her mother fiercely. She saw reflected in the twin pools that were her mother's eyes a dreamy expression across her own face. My song. Sansa thought. It is starting.

Lady Catelyn told her daughter of their plans to move her South with her Father. There she would learn the ways of a Southron court, as would befit a future Queen. And, upon her first blood she would marry Prince Joffrey and sit by his side. She would dress in cloth of gold with braids woven in her crown and Joffrey on the Iron throne so statuesque would be the very picture of a King.

She would make him love her, she promised. Sansa had been less fearful to smile at her prince. I am happy. She tried to say with her smiles. I cannot wait to wed you. I will be the perfect wife. In her minds eye she could already see their golden sons and daughters resplendent in crimson. A girl with bright Tully eyes to match her own and boys that would be twins to Joffrey.

And although Sansa would spend her day dreaming, Jeyne had convinced her to forsake their lessons and take one last swim. It was most unlike Sansa to be so willful, that was Arya's nature. But, to be fair, it would serve as one of their last moments as girls. They would rise from the steamy pools as women, Sansa was sure of it. And she would look to the future in delight and expectation.

Jeyne stripped to her smallclothes and dove. Sansa laughed and hurriedly tried to shrug her dress. She fiddled awkwardly, her hands grasping at the laces on her back.

"The water's warm!" Jeyne called, grinning. In the heart of the North where Summer still saw snow the Starks had been blessed with hot springs that never froze and made mist of melting frost. Jeyne floated on her back, stroking the steaming water with pale limbs to drive her farther off.

"I can't get out of these laces." Sansa complained.

"Sansa, you're helpless."

"Don't say that!" But Jeyne was already wading her way towards the edge of the pool. Dripping she motioned for Sansa to turn and quickly tugged her dress down.

"Come on already!"

The summer air was cold but the water was warm and Jeyne and she laughed as they bathed. They splashed and played filling the air with the sounds of childhood, for childhood was truly at an end now with Sansa's betrothal.

They played a game of come-into-my-castle which went rather poorly, given the players were only two.

"Lady Stark, my bannermen are weary and must be fed" Jeyne said, and waved her hand over the array of sticks pressed into the warm mud at the pools edge. Her toy sentinels all dressed in bark. "Pray, shelter and feed us and my swords are yours."

"I shall take you and yours, Lady Poole." A silly sentiment. Sansa thought. Jeyne will never be a lady, and neither will she have the bannermen. For true she was but a stewards daughter, but her friend besides. And so they played. "I should be honored to feed and arm and shelter you for winter is coming." Soon she would say the words of another great house, and it swelled her with pride to think on such things.

Without added players though they soon tired of the game. Instead Sansa untangled her friends braids gently and, in its newly wet state wove an intricate pattern that did all but hold.

"You would be a terrible handmaiden, Sansa Stark." Jeyne teased as she swam around her.

"I am not going to be a handmaiden. I am going to be a Queen." And as she said the words her eyes grew bright as jewels.

"Will I come with you?" Jeyne asked, her head tilting to one side. The laughter had receded.

Sansa did not know if they would part, the uncertainty being half the reason she had given in to their exploit so quickly. "I don't know." Sansa said. She began to make for the pools edge. "Perhaps you may." She said, as she climbed from the water. She reached for the blankets Jeyne had snuck and took one to her hair.

"I would like that." She admitted quietly, ringing her auburn tresses gently. "It would be nice to have a friend I already know."

She and Jeyne hurried back to the castle, after drying and changing. Truly it had been a foolish thing, to act so unbecoming. The regret grew ever worse as they neared the walls.

"Sansa! Jeyne!" She heard the septa call. Her face was flushed but not of shame like hers and Jeyne's. Jeyne at least had the decency to admit her guilt.

"To celebrate." She had protested. But Septa Mordane had none of their excuses.

AN; This chapter came out quite dear to me, as I love Jeyne so. I realize now that it can be read as a one-shot Jeyne x Sansa, though platonically I should think. GRRM often writes of girls and women having bed-maids and sleeping with their friends for comfort. I think what he paints is accurate of a medieval world where women tend to rely on each other for friendly intimacy, as they are all but a separate species (in the eyes of society) from men. I hope that was made clear by me, I know fandom (ahem, me) is often guilty of shipping anything that breathes.