Chapter 6

A Northern Lady

Sansa avoided the royal family as much as possible. She insisted on riding astride her horse, Grace, instead of taking up Bainrìgh Cersei's offer of joining her and the royal children in the queen's wheelhouse. Sansa knew that the Southron ladies that traveled with them whispered about how she was unladylike for doing so and that her dresses were "so simple and plain", but she didn't care. She was proud of her Northern dresses that Jon and Mother had helped her make, and a lady riding sidesaddle in the North was at higher risk of falling from their horse because of the ice and snow.

When she wasn't riding, Sansa had to come up with excuses, so she didn't have to spend time with Flath Joffrey, always claiming that she and Arya were going to explore some place or another. Today it was the Ruby Ford, "to look for rubies". Only they never truly explored. They trained.

Sansa sat in the shade of a tree near the bank of the river. Jeyne sat beside her as the two girls enjoyed the beautiful day while relaxing after their previous spar. Lady and Nymeria dozed at their feet.

"Yield! I Yield!" Beth pants from where she and Arya are sparring a short distance away.

Arya withdraws from her handmaiden. "Shall we go again?" she grins.

"Let Beth rest, Arya," Sansa scolds gently. Arya scowls and turns to Mycah, the butcher's boy she and Beth had befriended, who is standing uncertainly off to the side of them.

"Mycah? Will you spar with me?"

"Y-yes, milady," Mycah stammers. "Of course, milady."

Beth hands Mycah one of the sticks they have been using as practice swords and came to sit with Sansa and Jeyne.

He holds the stick uncertainly as he walks toward Arya. Her sister had fallen into a fighting stance and immediately begins whacking Mycah with her stick once he is close enough.

She hits the butcher's son again and again while the poor boy is just trying to fend her off until he seemingly has enough.

"I'll get you!" Mycah declares as he starts swinging his stick at Arya.

Sansa can't help her giggles as she watches the two of them. But she falls silent when she hears someone crashing around in the woods. When Flath Joffrey breaks into their clearing, she wants to scream. He's probably here to try and woo her and call her "his lady". She just wants him to leave her alone and get the message that she didn't want to bond with him.

He smiles at her. "The sun is finally shining," he slurs. "Come walk with me, we'll celebrate the good weather," he holds out the wineskin in his hand and takes a clumsy step toward her. He's drunk, Sansa realizes.

"I probably shouldn't. Father only lets us have one cup at feasts," she tells him.

"My princess can drink as much as she wants."

"What are you doing here?" Arya demands. "Go away!"

"Arya!" Sansa scolds. As much as she wants Flath Joffrey to leave, she knew they still had to act properly with him. She didn't want to anger the king.

"Your sister?" Flath Joffrey asks her, and she nods. "And who are you, boy?" he waves his wineskin at Mycah.

"Mycah, milord."

"He's the butcher's son," Sansa tells Flath Joffrey. Maybe if he realizes they are making company with smallfolk, he'll leave.

"He's my friend!"

"A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, eh?" Joffrey laughs. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are," he draws his own sword, taking a step toward the now trembling boy.

"She asked me to, milord. She asked me to."

"I'm your prince, not your lord, and I said pick up your sword," Flath Joffrey gestures to the stick Mycah had dropped in his fear.

"It's not a sword, miprince. Only a stick."

"And you're not a knight. Only a butcher's boy. That's my lady's sister you were hitting, did you know that?" Joffrey sneers as he presses the tip of his blade to Mycah's cheek hard enough to draw blood.

"Stop it!" Arya demands.

"I won't hurt him…much," Joffrey smiles as he drags his blade down Mycah's face.

Arya leaps at him, hitting him with her stick. Mycah takes off now that Flath Joffrey in no longer focused on him.

"Filthy little bitch!" Joffrey sneers as he swings his sword wildly at a now retreating Arya.

Arya takes another step back, tripping over a rock and falling flat on her back.

"I'll gut you, you little cunt!" Joffrey shrieks as he stands over Arya with his sword aimed at her throat.

"Arya!" Sansa jumps to her feet to defend her sister, but Nymeria beats her to it. The direwolf launches herself into the prince, her jaw clamping down on his wrist until Joffrey drops his sword.

"Nymeria!" Arya calls as she gets to her feet, picking up the prince's sword. Nymeria steps away from her prey as Arya now stands over a cowering Joffrey.

"Please don't," Joffrey whimpers. Arya looks at him for a moment before stepping to the riverbank and throwing his blade into the water. She looks back at Joffrey and then to Sansa before taking off running into the trees. Beth and Nymeria follow behind her.

"Lady, find Arya," Sansa tells her direwolf before turning to Jeyne. "Go back to the inn and get help," the girl nods and takes off back toward the inn.

With Lady and Jeyne gone, Sansa takes a deep, steadying breath before going to Flath Joffrey where he still cowers on the ground clutching his wrist. She might not be a maester, but one of her lessons as a Northern lady was learning how to wrap wounds. She reaches for the injury only for it to be yanked away from her.

"Don't touch me!" Flath Joffrey snarls.

Sansa huffs, annoyed before turning toward the trees to look for any sign of someone coming to get them.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

When Arya is finally found, it's well into the night. Sansa is startled awake by a knocking on her door. She opens it carefully to find a Lannister guard staring down at her.

"The queen requests your presence," his voice rumbles, and before she can protest, he has a tight grip on her arm and is dragging her out of her room.

When she enters the inn's common hall, she sees Arya standing before Rìgh Robert. Sansa makes to stand with her sister, but the Lannister guard tightens his grip on her and leads her to the back of the room.

A few minutes later her father barges into the room, pushing past all of the Lannister mascs in between him and Arya.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Arya cries as soon as Athair reaches her.

"Are you hurt?" he asks as he looks her over before pulling her into his arms.

"No," Arya shakes her head.

"It's alright," Athair tells her before turning to the king. "What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?" he demands.

"How dare you speak to your king in such a manner!" Bainrìgh Cersei sneers.

"Quiet, woman," Rìgh Robert scowls. "Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this business done quickly."

"Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son. That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off." Bainrìgh Cersei accuses. What? If anything, it was the other way around. Sansa thinks.

"That's not true!" Arya defends. "She just…bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah."

"Joff told us what happened," Cersei glares at Arya. "You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set you wolf on him."

"That's not what happened!" Sansa wants to agree with her sister, but Joffrey speaks first.

"Yes, it is!" he whines. "They all attacked me, and she threw my sword in the river."

"Liar!"

"Shut up!"

"Enough!" Rìgh Robert bellows. "He tells me one thing; she tells me another. Seven hells! What am I to make of this?" he pauses. "Where's your other daughter, Ned?"

"In bed, asleep."

"She's not," Bainrìgh Cersei smiles. "Sansa, come here, sweetling."

The Lannister guard that woke her pushes her forward, and Sansa takes hesitant steps to where her father and sister stand. She realizes this is why she was brought here; the queen thinks she will defend Joffrey because she is claimed to him.

"Now, child," Rìgh Robert says to her. "Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king."

Sansa glances at Bainrìgh Cersei. The queen is smiling at her, but Sansa can see a cruel glint in her eyes. She suddenly understands that if she doesn't agree with Joffrey's version of events, the queen will take it out on her family. But Sansa can't place all the blame on Arya either.

"I don't know. I don't remember," she rambles. "Everything happened so fast. I didn't see." It appears as if her neutral account is enough to satisfy the queen, but not Arya.

"Liar!" her sister jumps onto her back and yanks at her hair. "Liar! Liar! Liar!"

"Arya!" Sansa shrieks, trying to get her sister off of her. "Stop it!"

"That's enough of that," Athair scolds. When Arya continues, he becomes firmer, gently prying her wild sister from her back. "Stop! Arya!"

"She's as wild as that animal of hers. I want her punished," Bainrìgh Cersei demands once Arya has calmed down.

"What would you have me do, whip her through the streets?" Rìgh Robert glares at his wife. "Damn it, children fight. It's over."

"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," the queen snarls.

"You let that little girl disarm you?" Rìgh Robert sneers at his son, before turning to Tighearna Stark. "See to it that your daughter is disciplined. I'll do the same with my son."

"Gladly, your grace."

"And what of the direwolf?" Bainrìgh Cersei demands. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

"I'd forgotten the damned wolf," Rìgh sighs.

"We found no trace of either wolf, your grace," a Lannister masc says.

"So be it," the king waves his hand dismissively. "A direwolf's no pet. Let them run wild," he says as he stands and walks from the room.

Bainrìgh Cersei glares at them before she and Flath Joffrey storm from the common hall.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

When they arrive in King's Landing, Sansa can't help but wrinkle her nose at the smell. The odor of piss, shit, and sweat seems to be magnified by the sweltering heat of the capital, and she immediately misses the cool, crisp, clean air of the North.

As they arrive at the gates of the Red Keep, they are met by a man dressed in a lavish dress of black and gold.

"Renly!" Athair exclaims as he pulls the man into a tight embrace. Sansa realizes that this is the king's omega brother as her father pulls away to inspect the fem. "You're looking well."

"And you look tired from the road," Baintighearna Renly smiles. "Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but…" the Southron omega shrugs.

Athair nods before turning to Septa Mordane. "Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper," he pauses. "And, Jory, you go with them."

"Yes, mo tighearna," Caiptein Cassel bows.

Sansa and the others follow a page to the Tower of the Hand as Baintighearna Renly leads Athair in a different direction.

After Sansa is shown to her bedchamber, she and Jeyne take a moment to marvel at how big it is. It's not just one chamber like her and Arya's room at Winterfell. There is a small sitting room, as well as a small bedchamber for Jeyne, and her bedchamber, which seems bigger than Robb and Jon's bedchamber at home.

She and Jeyne take a few minutes to look around the rooms before they begin unpacking their trunks.

•)()()()(•)()()()(•

Athair isn't back in time for supper like he promised. Sansa sits quietly with Arya, Beth, Jeyne, and the rest of their household in the small hall in the Tower of the Hand.

Arya is in a mood this evening. She is stabbing the meat on her plate repeatedly with her knife.

"Enough of that, young lady," Septa Mordane scolds her. "Eat your food."

"I'm practicing," Arya says angerly.

"Practicing for what?" Sansa wonders.

"The prince."

"Arya! Stop!" Septa Mordane orders scandalized.

"He's a liar and a coward, and he killed my friend," Arya snarls.

"You're an idiot," Sansa huffs. No matter how much she agreed with her sister, they shouldn't say such things where others can hear them.

"You're a liar. And if you told the truth, Mycah would be alive," Arya accuses. Sansa blinks back tears. She knew her sister was still angry with her for what happened at the Crossroads Inn, but her words still stung.

"Enough!" Septa Mordane orders.

"What's happening here?" Athair asks as he walks into the hall.

"Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady," Septa Mordane accuses.

"Go to your room. We'll speak later."

Arya runs from the hall, and Athair sighs as he takes his seat at the table.

When they have finished their meal, Athair stands and turns to her. "Come with me, Leannan," she follows him to Arya's chambers. Tighearna Stark knocks on the door.

"Go away!" Arya shouts through the door.

"Arya, open the door," Athair commands.

After a moment the door opens to reveal Arya with Needle in her hand.

"Whose sword is that?" Athair questions.

"Mine," Arya tells him as she lets them into her chambers.

"Give it to me," Athair holds out his hand for Needle and Arya reluctantly hands over her blade. Sansa reaches into her hair and pulls out Winter's Roses. Athair looks at her, startled before he takes the daggers as well. "I know this maker's mark. This is Mikken's work. Where did you get these? These are no toys."

"I wasn't playing," Arya says defiantly.

"Come here," Athair says as he sits on Arya's bed and gestures for them to join him. "Now, what do you want with these?"

"It's called Needle."

"Mine are Winter's Roses."

"Blades with names. And who were you hoping to fight with Needle and Winter's Roses? Each other? Do either of you know the first thing about sword fighting?"

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," Arya parrots Jon's words to him.

"That's the essence of it," Athair laughs.

"I was trying to learn," Arya says glumly. "I asked Mycah to practice with me. I asked him."

"We both were," Sansa admits looking down at her lap.

"It was your fault!" Arya accuses. "I hate you!" Sansa can't stop the tears that streak down her face.

"Sansa was dragged before the king and queen and asked to call the prince a liar," Athair defends her.

"So was I!" Arya argues. "He is a liar."

"Leannan, listen to me," Athair tilts Arya's chin, so she's looking at him. "Sansa will be bonded to Joffrey someday. She cannot betray him. She must take his side even when he's wrong."

"But I don't want to bond him!" Sansa whines.

"Look at me," Athair cups her cheek. "You're a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words."

"Winter is coming."

"You were both born in the long summer. You've never known anything else. But now winter is truly coming. And in the winter, we must protect ourselves, look after one another. You are sisters."

"I don't hate you," Arya tells her. "Not really."

"I don't hate you either," Sansa smiles.

"I don't want to frighten you, but I won't lie to you either," Athair says. "We've come to a dangerous place. We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves. All right?" Both girls nod. "Go on. They're yours," Athair hands them back their weapons.

"We can keep them?" Arya asks in wonder.

"Try not to stab each other," Athair smiles. "If you're going to own your own blades, you'd need to know how to use them."