Sansa

"Sansa, sweetling, we need to talk." Sansa gathered her needlework and curtsied politely to Septa Mordane to excuse herself before exiting the room. She could feel her little sister's jealous glare as she left. Arya was utterly hopeless. It was obvious to everyone that hers was the worst needlework, yet she did everything in her power to avoid learning from Septa Mordane, sneaking away when Sansa and Jeyne Poole managed to win the kindly old woman's attention with a lovely bit of stitching or a beautiful recitation of poetry or song. Didn't she realize that she would never be able to win the heart of a man if she didn't have a lovely token of her favour to give him? As it was Arya was preparing a kerchief for Jaehaerys for when he next visited Winterfell, but a white dire wolf on a white background barely stood out, and once its outline could be traced the creature looked more like a horse. Sansa sighed as she put the thoughts out of her mind and followed her mother into castle's glass gardens. If her mother had called her away from her lessons with Septa Mordane it must surely have been important.

The gardens themselves were one of the wonders of Winterfell, and one of Sansa's favorite places in the entire castle. During a summer snow she would often go there to get out of the cold and to watch the gardeners tend the flowers with the help of Maester Luwin. Without making a show of it, she allowed herself to bask in the warmth of the sun's rays as they filtered through the glass ceiling and breathed in deeply, enjoying the various scents that hung in the air.

"What is that you have there?" Sansa's mother looked at the kerchief Sansa herself was knitting for Jaehaerys with an expression Sansa did not understand. It almost seemed as though she was unhappy with it.

"It's a kerchief for Jaehaerys!" she replied enthusiastically. "For when he comes to visit! He'll have to take his own sigil now that he's a prince, and I thought this one would be just perfect! It's a grey dragon on a white field! Isn't lovely, mother?" Sansa's mother gave a forced nod and pursed her lips before responding.

"Yes, sweetling, I was hoping I could talk to you about your…cousin, and his family." Her mother sounded as if she had some ill tidings, but Sansa couldn't even begin to guess what they might be. But then again, mother had been acting strangely ever since the King arrived and revealed the truth about Jaehaerys. She should have been happy, Sansa thought. Jaehaerys wasn't a bastard like everyone had believed, he was a prince! He was noble like they were! He wasn't born of passion nor did he crave Robb's seat, he would have one of his own! Sansa knew it was going to be lovely, just as every prince's castle was in the songs. It would probably be somewhere warm, like the Crownlands or the Reach. She could visit whenever she liked, especially if Daeron made good on his promises to invite her to the capital. Much like Bran dreamed of being a great swordsman, she had often dreamed of being a princess. Daeron had been so charming, ever since he had left she had thought on how he might make her one.

"Oh mother, I know you and father have had your quarrels with the King, but he and his family were lovely! The Queen was so beautiful and the King was so handsome, and their children were so charming, especially Daeron! And Jaehaerys will make the perfect prince, I know he will! He'll show the capital how chivalrous the North can be and all this talk of war will be over!" Sansa knew it was unladylike to gush on and on about the Targaryens like that, but she couldn't help herself. The Royal Visit had been much less joyful than it should have been, but for the most part it had been just like something out of the songs. Jaehaerys (she had decided to make a point of calling her cousin by his true name, unlike Arya who insisted on being stubborn and calling him Jon) would bring North and South together and fix everything that had gone wrong since the Rebellion. Mother let out a long sigh.

"Once I thought we were safe here, and it was not my wish to burden you with sad stories from the South, not while you were so young at least," she said. "I see now that was a mistake. Sansa, sweetling, what exactly do you believe happened during the Rebellion?" This question caught Sansa off-guard, and she looked away pensively before managing a response.

"The King, he was the prince back then, fell in love with Aunt Lyanna and they ran away together," she started nervously. Sansa stopped when he realized her mother was in shock at that response, but how could she be? There were many who had said that the King had taken Aunt Lyanna by force, but how could that have been if they had been married and Jaehaerys was a prince?

"That may have been true at the start," mother said sternly, "but Rhaegar already had a wife. Do you not think it was wrong of him to take another, especially if she was betrothed to another man?"

"But Robert Baratheon was a brute, wasn't he?" she asked. "I've heard you and father talk about him before. He would have made an awful husband!"

"It's true not all women are as lucky as I have been with your father, but did the King really prove any better?" mother asked. "For all his faults, Robert Baratheon loved Lyanna. He could have given her a good home and a long life with many children. Instead, your aunt died in childbirth, alone and afraid. When your father found her he said there wasn't even a midwife present to assist in the birthing." Sansa gasped in horror at this. King Rhaegar had seemed so noble. How could he allow that to happen?

"How do you think your grandfathers died, Sansa?" Sansa couldn't bear to look at her mother. There was something hard in her gaze that demanded an answer. Sansa couldn't help but feel like she had failed her mother.

"Grandfather Rickard was killed by the Mad King. Grandfather Hoster died in battle."

"He died defending his keep," mother said, her voice full of emotion. "He died at the hands of Tywin Lannister's pet monster, Gregor Clegane. Sansa, the Targaryens and the Lannisters are the reasons we have no friends in the south! They're the reason you never got to know your grandparents or your cousins or your uncles! They're the reason my family lost everything!" Sansa could see her mother's eyes were welling up with tears, and she wanted to join her. She had learned from her studies with Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane that House Tully had once ruled the entire Riverlands, but that House Darry now held that honor and a Frey sat in their ancestral seat. She had been told never to speak of it to mother, and Sansa had done as she was asked. It wasn't until that moment that she realized how terrible such a loss must truly have been. The South seemed so far away, the Rebellion seemed so long ago, and mother had always seemed happy in Winterfell. Now Sansa found herself on the verge of crying as well. She had just wanted to be a good daughter, and a good lady. She never wanted to hurt anyone, especially not her mother.

"I'm sorry, mother," she said weakly. "I didn't know. I just wanted to be good and make things better." Tears rolled down Sansa's cheeks as her mother turned to her, her face full of a misery and anger and even some fear. Before she spoke, her mother calmed herself.

"It's not your fault, sweetling. You couldn't have understood. But you can't afford to be innocent now, not with another Targaryen soon to take up residence in Winterfell."

"If they're so awful why is father letting Robb marry the princess?" Sansa asked half in a panic. If the Targaryens were the villains, then father couldn't. He just couldn't.

"He has his reasons, as much as I may disagree with them. But this is precisely why I wanted to speak to you, Sansa. Daenerys' influence here must be limited as much as possible."

"But Robb won't listen to her, will he?" Mother sighed.

"One day Sansa you will learn that a wife can hold great sway over her husband's decisions. However, there is something you can do to make sure the princess does not harm our family. But you'll have to keep it a secret, just between us." Sansa nodded eagerly, begging her mother to go on.

"I have asked some of the Northern lords to send their daughters to Winterfell to serve as ladies-in-waiting to Daenerys. When they arrive, they will no doubt approach you first to learn how they should behave in the castle. They will no doubt have a great many questions. Sansa, I need you to tell me which of them take an interest in your brother and our family more than the princess and hers. We need to surround Daenerys Targaryen with those who are loyal to the Starks and the North, so that she understands that she is to be one of us and cannot act as her brother and father have. It's a task I'm sure you'll enjoy Sansa. Haven't you always wished there were more highborn girls your age here at Winterfell?"

"Yes, mother," Sansa answered. She was already looking forward to her new charge, and there was no question in her mind as to its importance. Sansa could make new friends and help her family all at the same time, in a manner truly fitting for a lady.

"So you'll do it, then?"

"Of course, mother!"

"But remember, sweetling, you must keep this a secret between us. If you tell anyone else, anyone at all, word may reach the girls and they may begin to act differently around you. That would ruin everything, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, mother," Sansa whispered conspiratorially. "I promise I'll keep it a secret. I won't even tell father, I swear!"

"Thank you, sweetling,"mother said warmly. "It's moments like these when I know you'll be a great lady. Now return to your lessons. We can't have you setting a bad example for the other girls, can we?" Sansa got up and thanked her mother before heading out of the glass gardens, beaming at the compliment.