They had only just passed the halfway point of their journey, and Sansa found that the further they traveled from Winterfell the more her heart ached. The weather had warmed and the trees were sparse, and it all felt so strange and foreign. She had wanted nothing more than to see the south as a child and now she cursed herself a fool.
She missed the rolling hills of the north, the vast open spaces where you could travel for days without seeing another soul. The further south they went the more villages they passed, and it felt more and more crowded. She missed the crisp, clean air and the summer snows that would leave her nose and cheeks flushed with cold, here the air was thick and the villages smelled. She would trade the warm rains of the south and the harsh sun for the cold, dreary north anyday. Sansa had been forced to set aside her favorite dresses, finding them much too warm for the south. The dresses and cloaks she and Alysanne had worked so hard on. It felt like she was packing away a part of herself.
Alysanne. Her sister, not in blood but in name now that she was married to Robb. They had never been separated in this manner, and Sansa still had not grown accustomed to it. More than once she had found herself turning to comment on something she had seen or seek Alysanne's thoughts on a matter, only to find her absent. She had Jeyne and Arya, but it wasn't the same. And neither of them could give her advice on the Queen and Joffrey.
She and Alysanne had shared a bed the night before she left, as they often had when they were children. Robb had pouted, complaining that she was stealing his wife away from him. Sansa and Alysanne had only laughed, claiming that he was more than welcome to join them if he was so inclined. He had only wrinkled his nose and waved them off, retreating to his own rooms in defeat.
They had spent the first few hours giggling and telling stories as they once had as children, taking turns picturing what their futures would look like. They took turns naming imaginary children, planning out elaborate tourneys and feasts, laughing at their past selves for thinking that they would both have children by this point. Those futures no longer seemed so distant now, and it had frightened Sansa a bit.
Late in the night, after they had near exhausted themselves with gossip and tears, Alysanne had grown serious. She had quieted, staring up at the top of the canopy before she rolled on her side to face Sansa. "You must listen to me, Sans. You don't know what it's like there," Alysanne said.
"Where?" Sansa had questioned, forgetting for a moment that she was to leave Winterfell come morning.
"The Red Keep, King's Landing," Alysanne explained. "Your mother has tried, I'm sure. And so has your father. But neither of them know how it is, who Robert has turned into."
"Then tell me," Sansa urged.
Alysanne studied her face. "Everyone wants something from someone, and they care not who they walk over to obtain it. You can't trust any of them, don't trust anyone who is not a Stark," she warned.
"No one? What of your father?" Sansa asked.
"They're all liars, even my father," Alysanne whispered. She shifted closer. "Promise me. Promise me you won't marry Joffrey. He hurt me, he hurts Myrcella and Tommen, and he will hurt you. Promise me, Sansa," she begged. Alysanne had never begged her for anything before.
Sansa was slightly shaken by the severity of Alysanne's tone, but she promised anyway. "Aye, I promise."
Alysanne pulled her close and rested her forehead against hers. "Be safe, sister."
Her mother had pulled her aside the morning of her departure for a similar conversation, but one nowhere near as honest Sansa suspected. Or perhaps she does not truly know. Sansa had nodded and listened to her mother as she went over southron courtesies and expectations, telling her stories of her limited time at court and the tourneys at Riverrun.
"The next time I see you, perhaps you'll be marrying the prince," her mother said, clasping her hands.
Sansa had only given her a placating smile. "Perhaps, mother."
Leaving her mother, Robb, and Rickon had been the most painful of them all. She could hardly stand her mother's tears, as they made it all the more difficult to hold in her own. She had expected that farewell to hurt, and had prepared herself for it as best she could. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, it would come down to Robb or Rickon. How long has it been since mother has seen her own family? Her father, brother, and sister? Is that my future? The thought that she may not see her mother and brothers again until her wedding had rendered an ache deep in her chest as she wondered just when that would be.
In all her preparation for her departure, out of all the farewells she made to those around the keep, it had never crossed her mind that she would also be leaving Theon. That sting had been entirely unexpected. Sansa knew he was a hostage in truth, and the likelihood of her seeing him again anytime soon was slim, if at all. He would be unable to leave Winterfell to see her wed, let alone whichever keep she would someday call home.
As much as her mother hated it, cautioned against it, Sansa had grown quite close to Theon. Her mother said he was arrogant at best, and at his worst was coarse and scornful and impetuous. True as that may be, Theon was rarely any of those things with her. He was surprisingly patient and kind, even when she fumbled with her bow and missed the target by several yards. He had been ever so gentle with correcting her form and had never once taken liberties with her, much to Robb and Jon's disbelief. He was considerate of her time, and had made great efforts to be on time for their agreed upon meetings. Once, after putting up what Sansa suspected to be a half-hearted fight, Theon had even agreed to accompany her to the markets in Wintertown.
Aside from Alys and Arya, Jeyne and Beth, Theon was perhaps who she spent the most time with in Winterfell. Perhaps, then, I should not be so shocked that leaving him behind hurts. He had grown to be a dear friend, and they both knew that their time together was drawing to a close. Theon had grown more curt in the days leading up to her departure, making snide comments about Prince Joffrey and the South. He so rarely is unkind to me, perhaps he was only lonely, with Robb recently married and Bran and I leaving, Sansa reasoned. She regretted that they had not departed on a better note, a short goodbye being all she had received. There was naught to do for it now, and she did her best to put those regrets from her mind.
The days of travel were monotonous and repetitive, and she tried to cure her boredom as best she could. She had begged out of riding in the wheelhouse for the majority of the trip, save for days where there was ill weather, in favor of riding on horseback. Arya and Bran joined her, and Jeyne on occasion, and Sansa was reminded of all the times she would ride in the Wolfswood with her siblings and Alysanne. She could almost laugh now at her past self and the reluctance she'd had towards such activities, thinking them not befitting of a lady. How terribly dull that must be, and to think of all the fun I would have missed out on, she thought to herself.
She found herself sore after long days on horseback, but at least riding on horseback she could keep Lady by her side. The direwolves frightened the Queen, and were made to travel away from her children. Many of the horses were unused to the large wolves, and so Arya, Bran, and herself often rode where they would cause less disturbance. Their horses had long grown used to Summer, Nymeria, and Lady, and only shied away when they ran too close.
Lady was never far from Sansa when they made camp, and she felt all the better for it. She knew her father's men, the men who had traveled from Winterfell. It was the men who had traveled with the King who gave her pause, the Lannister men in particular. Were these the same men who sacked King's Landing? The same men who stood aside as Elia Martell was murdered? She suspected her father preferred her to keep Lady by her side as well.
The few times she'd been forced to ride wheelhouse had been painfully dull, and had made the journey feel thrice as long. The Queen was kind on the surface, but there was something about her smile, the tone she used when speaking to her, that set Sansa's teeth on edge. She found herself once more sending a silent thanks to Alysanne for her warning. Myrcella and Tommen were the only redeeming aspects about the days she spent in the wheelhouse, but Cersei was never far from them.
It was during their stop at the Inn at the Crossroads that Joffrey approached her, insisting that she take a walk along the ruby ford with him. He was the crown prince, and she couldn't very well say no, as much as she had tried to avoid him thus far. They still had at least a moon's turn until they reached King's Landing, and she couldn't continue to avoid him forever. And so she had agreed and they strolled along the Trident, her arm in his, Lady trailing after them at a distance.
Joffrey had protested Lady's presence at first, looking at her in askance. Sansa had been quick on her feet, not wanting to be alone with the Prince after hearing Alysanne's stories. "She's so sweet and kind, your grace. I would never let any harm come to you, and imagine how fearsome you will look with a direwolf at your side!" she had simpered.
That had placated Joffrey for the time being, and he'd soon forgotten his earlier protests. They had made a leisurely pace, passing a wine skin back and forth. Sansa only took small sips, as she wanted to keep her wits about her. Joffrey gestured to the river that roared next to them. "This is where my father smashed in Rhaegar Targaryen's chest. They were all mad, the lot of them," Joffrey said. How charming, Sansa silently mocked.
Sansa hid her displeasure at his statement behind a smile. Alysanne is not mad, and neither was her mother. "Yes my prince, I've heard the stories. Your father was a fierce warrior," Sansa said.
Joffrey looked down at her. "Is, not was. My father isn't dead," he retorted.
"Yes, how silly of me, I meant no offense my prince," Sansa apologized.
Joffrey ignored her apology. "Father says we are to be married. You'll be my princess, and then the queen. Does that please you, my lady?"
She plastered a sweet smile on her face. "Yes, my prince. I've dreamt of this day since I was a child. It would be a great honor," she said what she suspected he wanted to hear.
It worked, and seemed to please Joffrey. He preened under her words and puffed out his chest. He continued prattling on about his sword, Lion's Tooth he called it. But you're not a lion, you're a stag, she had wanted to say. She only smiled and nodded instead, feigning polite interest.
As they continued along the Trident, they heard the clashing of wooden swords and Joffrey turned to her. "Don't worry my lady, you're safe with me," he boasted. Not likely. My brother Rickon could better protect me, and he's only nine, Sansa thought to herself. They came around the bend to see Arya and a boy, sparring with wooden swords. Bran watched on, Nymeria and Summer at his side, shouting instruction at the two of them. The boy caught Arya's wrist, smacking the sword out of her hand.
"What's this?" Joffrey pushed the wineskin into Sansa's hands and slowly walked towards the young boy. Bran watched on and moved his hand to the hilt of his own sword, sheathed safely at his side. "Who are you?"
"Mycah, milord," the boy stammered. "I'm the butcher's boy." Arya scowled towards Joffrey, and Bran watched them all warily. What have you done now, Arya?
Joffrey drew his own sword, live steel, Sansa noted. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy." Joffrey sneered. It did not escape Sansa's notice that poor Mycah only had a wooden sword, and she knew from Alys that Joffrey was not inclined towards mercy. "You think to hit my ladies sister? Let's see how good you really are."
"I asked him too!" Arya defended him, and Joffrey turned his attention briefly to her. Please Arya, do not provoke him. You know not what he is capable of.
"It's true milord, she asked me to. I didn't mean to hurt her, I swear it!" Mycah pleaded.
"And you should know better than to spar with the Hand's daughter," Joffrey retorted and refocused his attention on Mycah. "And I'm not your lord, I'm your prince. Go on then, pick it up!" he ordered.
Mycah shakily grabbed the sword off the ground and looked pleadingly to Arya and then to Bran. Sansa joined Arya at her side, putting a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving forwards. Bran only looked on, panic in his eyes. Nymeria growled from where she stood behind Bran. "Arya, control Nymeria," Sansa whispered, but Arya ignored her.
"Please my prince, it's only a wooden sword," Mycah pleaded once more.
"And you're only a butcher's boy," Joffrey mocked, running the sharp end of his blade against Mycah's cheek. He pressed it harder, drawing blood.
Arya went to jump forward, wooden sword in hand, but Sansa grasped her by the shoulder before she could. "Please! My prince!" she shouted, and Joffrey spared her a glance. "It's as you said, he's only a butcher's boy. Surely he didn't mean any harm," she pleaded.
"Whether he meant harm or not, he should learn his place," Joffrey sneered.
Sansa stepped forward, and heard Nymeria creeping up behind her with a low growl. Please Arya, just this once. Control your temper. "I know you've a heart for justice, my prince," she lied. "But is this not beneath you? Perhaps this is best left to his father, or mayhap the Lord Hand, as it was his daughter Mycah harmed," she suggested, voice soft and sweet.
Joffrey took a step back and lowered his sword. Sansa sagged her shoulders in relief but tensed once more as Joffrey said, "or Ser Ilyn Payne. He is the King's Justice, after all," Joffrey looked at Mycah once more. "Go," he spat. Mycah backed up before turning and running towards the inn. If he's smart he won't stop running.
Sansa spared a look at her siblings to find Arya scowling at her and Bran looking on apprehensively, a hand placed on Summer's back. Nymeria had continued to creep forward and Sansa gave Arya a pointed look, one which she ignored. "Come, my lady. Before your wild little sister spoils our afternoon more," Joffrey offered his arm to her.
"If it pleases your grace, I might have a word with her. Perhaps we could meet again back at the Inn?" Sansa said.
"Very well," Joffrey said. He went to leave, but Nymeria stood in his path. She growled, hackles raised and teeth bared. Joffrey raised his sword. "Call off your beast," he demanded. Nymeria took a step forward, and Joffrey a step back. Nymeria leaped forward once more and snapped at the air. Joffrey stumbled, almost losing his balance. "Call her off, I said!"
Arya let it continue a moment longer before she gave a short whistle. "Nymeria, to me," she finally commanded.
Joffrey hurried off, not sparing them another glance. Sansa watched him retreat, waiting until he disappeared around the bend to move. She rounded on Arya. "You should have called off Nymeria from the start," she snapped.
"And you should have let me stand up for Mycah!" Arya snapped back
Sansa rolled her eyes. "And what would you have done, Arya? Beat him with your wooden sword?" Sansa shot back.
"You've seen me train! I could have easily disarmed him!" Arya shouted
"Aye, I have! And what do you think would have happened then? Do you think he would have let this all go, laughed it off as Jon or Robb would?"
Arya had the decency to look chided, but only for a moment. She abandoned that argument and picked another. "Why are you defending Joffrey? Do you really want to be Queen that badly?" Arya accused.
"Defending him?" Sansa said incredulously. "I saved Mycah's life! Joffrey would have butchered him had it not been for me! What were you doing with him anyway?"
"He's my friend, and he wanted to learn! But he's only the butcher's boy, so why do you care?" Arya sneered back. Nymeria growled, and Lady snipped at her.
"Would you please control Nymeria for once?" Sansa begged. "You don't know Joffrey, he would have-"
"And how do you know him so well?" Arya interrupted.
"Arya, please-" Sansa was interrupted again.
"Stop it! Stop it both of you!" Bran shouted and Sansa started, having forgotten he was still there. "Gods you're both infuriating to listen to," Bran complained and scowled at them.
"Had Nymeria even moved to attack Joffrey, he would have had her killed," Sansa said, working to keep her voice calm.
"I know," Arya spat out. "But she didn't, she wouldn't have hurt him unless he hurt me," Arya defended.
"That wouldn't have mattered. He's the crown prince," Sansa said.
Arya gave a sigh of defeat and sat on the ground next to Nymeria. "I know that," she admitted.
Sansa sat down next to her and waved Bran over. Bran sat across from them and began pulling at the grass absentmindedly. "He's cruel, beyond what either of you know." Sansa said.
Bran looked up at her in alarm. "And how do you know? Has he done something to you?"
Sansa looked at Bran and Arya. I suppose they should be warned. Today could have been so much worse. "Alysanne has…knows him better than any of us," she admitted.
"He hurt Alysanne, didn't he?" Arya said quietly.
"I… it's not for me to say," Sansa answered. "He hasn't been kind to her. She said he hurt's Myrcella, that he's truly cruel to her. And that he's killed Tommen's cats. Butchered them, really. "
"And father wants you to marry him?" Bran asked in disbelief.
"Father said he wouldn't make me marry him if I didn't want to," Sansa furrowed her brows. "But I think mother wants me to be Queen," she finished.
"Does mother not know?" Arya asked.
"I don't know how much mother and father know," Sansa stood and brushed off her skirts.
"Well if he tries to force you, I'll help you run," Arya japed, and Sansa gave her a tired smile. She extended her hand and helped her sister off the ground.
"Nymeria threatened Joffrey," Bran said as he clambered to his feet.
Arya snorted. "That was hardly a threat, she wouldn't have done anything. Not truly."
Sansa reached over and brushed the dirt off Arya's skirts. "He's held a grudge against Alys since childhood, he doesn't easily forget slights. Alysanne warned me. You know that Nymeria did not truly intend to hurt him, but does he?" Sansa pointed out. "I'm not a fool, I know he did not threaten Mycah to defend my honor or yours."
Arya shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "I'd like to see him try to hurt Nymeria. She'd rip his arm off."
"Then what kind of mess would we be in?" Sansa asked. "And what of when we get to King's Landing? Cersei won't let them roam around the Red Keep, she hardly tolerates them now."
"What are we to do, then?" Bran asked.
Sansa looked at each of the wolves: Nymeria, grey furred and golden eyed, Summer, with his yellow eyes and silvery soft fur and then sweet Lady with matching yellow eyes, and grey fur like Nymeria's. They were never meant to come so far south, she realized, they cannot protect us here, not truly.
"Home, they must go home."