Three Tully Daughters

by ProcrastinationIsMyCrime

The Others breached the Wall and conquered Westeros, slaughtering its people in their wake. Some escaped to Essos, including Arya and Sansa. However, when Arya goes missing and Sansa later learns what happened, Sansa is flung into a past her parents had rarely talked about. The reign of Aerys II Targaryen. Experience in politics, wit, and looks is all she's got. Time travel, Jaimsa

12. Family

SANSA STARK

Day 2, 12th Moon, 275 AC

Seated near the end of Mother's bed, Sansa embroidered a forest green and white mummer's gown with her unique style. Mother's belly seemed as though her babe would come into the world any day now.

A quiet opening of the door drew Sansa's eye. Grandmother entered, cradling an old book, and sat beside Sansa. Grandmother's whisper broke the peace. "Had you been sent to me, to Harrenhal, I would've taught you this," she said, dusting the old cover.

Sansa tied off her needlework and moved to look closer. It took a moment. "Valyrian of some kind," she murmured, sure it wasn't bastard Valyrian of Braavos.

"High Valyrian," Grandmother replied.

Sansa met her hazel eyes. "Why?"

"I taught all of my children, including your mother. High Valyrian fell out of favour when the dragons died out, but that makes it useful for more than pretty poetry," Grandmother said, opening the tome. "Writing your ravens and whispering secrets in this language protects them. Barely anyone bothers to learn it, and thus won't understand your words. Not even most maesters."

Sansa blinked at the mention of maesters but listened to Grandmother and nodded. The realm would expect Sansa to understand High Valyrian. "We won't wake Mother?" she asked.

"If we're quiet."

Sansa nodded and gestured to the tome. Her grandmother smiled and began.

In murmurs and whispers, Sansa learned that the rules of High Valyrian matched those of bastard Valyrian; such as how a word altered for man, woman, or a group. As their impromptu lesson continued, she struggled with correct pronunciation as she tried to break away from her ingrained Braavosi Valyrian habits. The similarity in some words made her stumble as she avoided uttering bastard Valyrian.

When Grandmother turned to a chapter of short poems and nodded to it, Sansa murmured them. The fluid words softly filled Mother's bedchamber. After the first poem Grandmother briefly stroked the crown of Sansa's head, so she continued.

A rustle of sheets drew her eye to Mother's bed, who watched with a soft smile, warm brown gaze, and a hand resting on her swollen belly. "Morrow, Sansa, Mother. My sweet girl, you speak it beautifully. Would you read one to me?"

Warmth filled Sansa at Mother's words. "I'm delighted you think so, Mother. Is there a poem you like in particular?"

Her mother smiled fondly. "Surprise me, sweetling."

Searching the chapter for one she liked, Sansa took a breath and poured her love for Mother into the words about strength and adversity.

Mother gestured for Sansa to join her on the bed, gazing with gentle brown eyes. "That was lovely, my girl," she said, pecking Sansa's forehead, but lightly tucked a finger under her chin so their eyes met. "There's something we need to discuss, though. Little over a moon's time is you and your twin's twelfth nameday. With Cat betrothed to Brandon Stark, the riverlords will assume your father also intends to arrange a betrothal for you. So they'll ask him for your hand. Do you want your father to choose, or is there someone you remember as a good and smart man?"

SHELLA WHENT

Shella watched Sansa stare at Minisa with subtle shock before quickly collecting herself. "Not Houses Frey or Bolton," the child immediately answered, grief flashing across her face. Shella raised an eyebrow that neither noticed. "They're treacherous and would break Guest Right to become more powerful houses, Mother…I need time to properly think this through."

I won't force the poor girl to speak of it, but what motivated Walder Frey and House Bolton to betray Starks or Tullys? Walder Frey is a known craven.

"Of course, my daughter," Minisa said and pecked Sansa's temple; the sight made Shella nostalgic. "Take your time," Minisa continued. "I'll encourage your father to pursue the match you ask me to suggest, but you must be sure about the house you choose."

Sansa simply nodded. "…because he'll doubt you're serious if I change my recommended house," she finished before closing her eyes and apparently diving into the depths of her mind with a furrowed brow.

Shella, intrigued by Sansa's understanding of the severity, brought a stool to Minisa's side of the bed. "Daughter," she murmured, drawing Minisa's attention.

"Mother," she said. "Do you have thoughts about an ideal house? I haven't spoken with my husband yet."

"No, love, but Sansa was surprised." Shella glanced over at the pondering child. "Am I right to believe you haven't broached anything of the sort to her before?"

Minisa nodded. "You believe right, Mother. It simply seemed prudent to ask Sansa her thoughts. She's likely to at least have heard talk of the heirs as grown lords. If someone was a fool or brutish, she wouldn't suggest them."

Shella lightly hummed and glanced at her adopted granddaughter, spotting her brow now a little less furrowed. "I doubt she ever anticipated an opportunity or even a choice about this," she murmured to her daughter.

"I agree, Mother. But I'm glad she's taking the time to be thorough about it. Since meeting her, Sansa has always been committed or thorough in what she does."

Curious to whether the child was ambitious or a romantic at heart, Shella turned to watch when a deep exhale came from Sansa.

Sansa met Minisa's eyes. "Jaime Lannister," she answered but continued while gazing upon an unseen obstacle. "However, Tywin Lannister will suspect ambition, at the bare minimum, if Father approaches Lord Tywin first about me. If the Lannisters believe the idea is theirs, Father will have a better chance of Lord Tywin agreeing to a betrothal. Jaime Lannister is their treasured heir and future Warden of the West, known about for years by all. I lack any appealing prospect as a bride. A formerly concealed twin of Catelyn, and one who's fought illness since my first breath."

Minisa's fond expression, unseen by the distracted girl, turned a little sad. "You're more than Harrenhal, Sansa, and I know you know that," Minisa disagreed gently, stroking Sansa's loose, rich red hair. "Not only do you tend to me and your little brother, but you successfully help Cat manage Riverrun. A true feat," she said and gave a lingering peck to the girl's temple.

Rising and coming around the bed, Shella sat on the other side of her daughter's newest child. Sansa's head snapped up and met Shella's eyes, who grasped Sansa's fidgeting fingers and gently stilled them within hers. "A lord paramount or warden needs to be more cautious than most when choosing the betrothed for their heir," Shella murmured. "Their responsibilities, which will become their heir's, include managing their kingdom ably. Therefore, such lords would meet possible brides for an heir at least once before dismissing consideration of said lady."

Sansa took a breath and nodded. "And after a father like Tytos Lannister, Lord Tywin, will be hard to persuade…," Sansa trailed off and shook her head. "So long as Father doesn't propose the match outright, Lord Lannister might consider me. If a Lannister approaches Father though, we'd have a better chance and I'd happily become Jaime Lannister's betrothed."

Shella smiled at her granddaughter but glanced up at Minisa on Sansa's other side with a questioning look. Her daughter seemed optimistic and mouthed silently, 'Chance next year.'

She minutely nodded to Minisa and spoke to her granddaughter. "And if the Lannisters don't, Sansa?"

"Either the heir or second in line for House Arryn, Ser Elbert or Jasper Arryn, respectively." She took a breath, distraction creeping onto her face. "Never Jon Arryn, though; he had three wives and no child from his seed. His third wife accidentally got with a child when young, years before marrying him, but Lord Arryn never succeeded with even her."

Had Sansa known the poor woman?Shella wondered.

"I know Father wants influential matches. However, Rhaegar Targaryen is a rash, impulsive, humiliating idiot that got his wife and children killed through political stupidity," Sansa almost snarled. "Another bad heir, Robert Baratheon, was practically useless as an overlord. All the while he constantly shamed his wife by openly pining about a dead former betrothed and bedding every whore in his vicinity. Not to forget, despite his marriage, that he sired bastards wherever he went. Mya Stone, Edric Storm, Gendry Waters and dozens more. An unfaithful husband."

Shella exchanged a look with Minisa at Sansa's fierce abhorrence of Robert Baratheon and Prince Rhaegar. Someone certainly wanted to stay well away from House Targaryen and its aged cadet branch, House Baratheon, with apparent good cause.

Her daughter gently drew Sansa into a loose hug. "Well, Prince Rhaegar will need a wife soon, so I doubt you'll suffer that lady's fate. You're too young to safely bear children, my sweet girl," Minisa murmured, to which Shella nodded. "Robert Baratheon will be more difficult to deter your father from, but I promise to try."

With the topic turning severe again, Shella intervened quickly. "I recall at court that Tywin Lannister had cut quite the dashing figure as a young man, Sansa," she said as though speculating it, drawing the eye of her daughter and granddaughter. Minisa smiled, amused, but said nothing. "Dear granddaughter, did you encounter Jaime Lannister as a man grown? Strong and resplendent in his armour?" Shella teased.

"Grandmother!" Sansa spluttered with indignation. "He is the future Warden of the West. For the Riverlands, it's a strategic choice. Also, he valued innocent lives over his reputation and kept to one bed with no alleged visitors. Loved his children. Appearances mean nothing to me," she said confidently.

Shella smirked. "So his handsome features have nothing to do with your choice? Lean of body, emeralds for eyes, and beaten gold for hair. A comely face."

"Better than a Frey!" Sansa shot back, exasperated, yet the faintest of pink dusting slowly stained her cheeks.

Shella broke into laughter, and Minisa's chuckling reached her ears as well. "Too true, sweetling. And I only jape," she conceded.

Her daughter cleared her throat with the trace of a chuckle. "But he is a match you'd be happy and safe with, my love? An able lord and loyal man?"

Her granddaughter straightened on the bed, and briefly tilted her head but nodded. "The West followed him without playing 'Rains of Castamere' to his banners or vassals, as far as I knew. That is something I don't know more about. However, I do know they respected him as a soldier. He fought alongside his men, unlike his father. Outside of battle, he was devoted to his family and loved his children."

Beside Sansa, Shella looked at her daughter; her eyes twinkled with contained mirth. She smirked while Minisa smiled. Denying it or not, their Sansa, in the least, admired the man Tywin Lannister's heir had become.

What is Jaime Lannister like as a boy, though? There's no guarantee he'll become the same man our little wolf knew.

Minisa dropped her eyes and turned back to her adopted child. "He sounds dreamy," Minisa said mischievously, which caused Sansa to faintly blush again and quickly took a controlled breath to suppress it.

Inside, Shella laughed.Oh, there is no denying it, little Sansa. We know you were at least attracted to Jaime Lannister as a man grown.She took a breath and gently smiled at her granddaughter.

"Sweetling," Minisa said. "Mother and I will have our answers in the future, but do you know much of him as a child?"

Sansa lightly inhaled and met Minisa's eyes. "Not much. Only a few facts." Shella leaned close, wrapping an arm around her granddaughter.

Minisa nodded. "Go on."

"He was always protective of Tyrion from Cersei, despite Cersei's and Lord Tywin's hatred toward Tyrion. His twin blamed Tyrion for Lady Joanna's death, but Jaime didn't," Sansa said, her face sympathetic momentarily. "As a boy, he deeply wanted to be a knight and what they stood for, particularly protecting the weak. I guess Tyrion's suffering from Cersei's hand influenced that a fair amount. I know that Jaime is close to his sister and followed her lead as a boy."

Shella exhaled and glanced at her daughter, who mirrored it. They shared a smile. It sounded like the boy carried his mother's kindness more than his father's harshness.

"I don't know if this will happen, but he visited here once as a squire and was more interested in Uncle Brynden's war stories than girls. I'm led to believe he squired for a Westerman lord because there were no stories of him serving a famous knight," Sansa said and looked at them a little apologetically. "That's all I know, Mother, Grandmother."

Minisa stroked Sansa's cheek. "Thank you, Sansa, you've given much for your father and me to discuss, and hopefully he will consider House Lannister a possible match for you. A match Lord Lannister will accept," she murmured and kissed Sansa's hair.

SANSA STARK

"Sweetling," Mother said and took Sansa's hand into a gentle grip. "Can you do something for me?"

"Of course, Mother," Sansa said and scooted closer. "Anything."

Mother gave Grandmother an amused look over Sansa's shoulder and chuckled. "Go for a ride and enjoy the daylight. When I could watch your lessons on Grace with Henric, you were at ease and happy," Mother said, thumb rubbing the back of Sansa's hand. "For me, if you must. I don't think you've ridden for a while."

Perplexed, Sansa attempted to read Mother's eyes to understand why. "You've never asked that of me," she said, resting a hand on Mother's. "What about you?"

"Grandmother is with me, my girl," Mother said, expression gentle and caring. "Six weeks here at Riverrun and hardly a day spent for your own pleasure? Go on, Sansa. Go outside. Have a ride in the open air," she insisted. "I want this for you."

From behind, fingers lightly stroked Sansa's tresses. "As do I, little one," Grandmother agreed.

Duty and pleasure battled within. Last time, Mother died in childbed with this babe; why Sansa never met her in the past. She wanted Mother to survive, and she committed her time to provide anything Mother needed to make this pregnancy less stressful.

Heavy with child, Mother needed tending to. Sansa leaned close with sincerity. "You're not a burden, Mother."

Mother's lips quirked but smoothed into a smile, while Grandmother lightly chuckled behind Sansa. "I love you too, sweetling," she replied, gesturing towards Sansa's finished green and white mummer's gown, abandoned at the end of the bed, which Grandmother went and retrieved. "Put it on and ride for a few hours. No one will think poorly of you."

Sansa pecked Mother's temple, and light warmth grew within when Mother smiled at Sansa's silent surrender. If going for a ride would make Mother happy, she would. Accepting her gown from Grandmother with a quick hug, she glanced to Mother again, who fondly nodded.

Mother wanted this, as well as Grandmother, so Sansa squared her shoulders. "I'll find Catelyn and ask her to attend to you," she said. Sansa rarely was absent from Mother's bedchamber, so Cat would grasp the opportunity to be with Mother and Grandmother.

Within the bed, Mother gave a smile. "Have some fun, Sansa."

When she reached the closed door, Sansa turned and met Mother's gentle brown eyes. "Would you like me to collect some flowers?"

A laugh came from both ladies. "Just go, my girl." Mother pulled a face of mock-threatening. "I'm telling your father if you're back in here before the midday meal."

Chuckling, Sansa bowed her head. With her gown in hand, she left and ventured to her bedchamber. Hours likely meant Mother wanted her to ride beyond the walls of Riverrun, so she strapped on her daggers. Dusk was tied to the side of her arm; her best and sharpest blade. Her thin cotton skirt, once upon her shoulders, would conceal Lady Daena's gift.

Hair quickly in a single braid, Sansa retrieved her riding gloves and made for the stables and godswood bailey, however, she would need to pass through the sept and gardens bailey first. In the gardens sat Catelyn talking amicably with Lysa and the septa of Riverrun. Sansa disliked that septa and spent minimal time around her.

Lysa noticed her first and stiffened. "Good morrow, Sansa," she said, likely still displeased about Petyr being sent away two weeks ago.

Sansa reacted as though Lysa greeted her peacefully. "Good morrow, Lysa," she said calmly. "Good morrow, Cat. Septa."

Catelyn's eyes tightened when she repeated the greeting back. "Good morrow, Sansa."

The septa said nothing and gave a short nod before walking into the sept with a stiff gait. Sansa barely prayed in the sept, possibly offending the septa. Sansa prayed in the gardens instead of the godswood when the septa supposedly roamed Riverrun.

"Our mother and grandmother have asked something of me, and I was wondering, Catelyn, if you would watch over Mother?" she asked. Catelyn was horrible, but if Cat became more diplomatic, it could pass off as growing up. Catelyn and herself were one-and-ten, and Lysa nine. Ages where some matters were brushed aside. Unfortunately, that truth applied to all children, including Petyr.

Sansa shook off the dark thoughts, while Catelyn rose holding the bookThe Seven-Pointed Starof the Faith. "I shall," Catelyn said politely, but her eyes were hard. "And what requires riding? I can see your gloves."

"Flowers to brighten Mother's bedchambers," Sansa improvised, well-accustomed to producing believable answers since King's Landing. "Vibrant colours that grow along the river."

In the gardens, the two sisters, her sisters, exchanged glances. Lysa nodded to Sansa and walked away towards the inner gatehouse to the keep. Catelyn, on the other hand, remained. She stepped closer and whispered. "Being in my mother's good graces means nothing to me,bastard."

The aggression pierced Sansa, but she refused to let it show. "Mother desires peace between us, my twin. Would you deny her that?" she said, watching Catelyn. "Mother and Father told you where I grew up. The only difference between us is which castle."

Catelyn narrowed her eyes. "You're not my sister. An intruder masquerading as a Tully. That's what you are."

Sansa stood firm. "Sansa, intruder, or bastard, I don't care what you call me in private," she said. "What I care about is our mother, her happiness." Sansa halved the gap between them. "Her body is growing weak, I assure you. It's a painful truth. Ask Maester Kym if you must, but she may not be amongst us for much longer," Sansa warned her. "You know that is no lie."

Her older twin said nothing andhardened her expression.

In King's Landing, Sansa had used a shell to hide her feelings; Cat could be doing the same now. Instead, she seized the moment and spoke of her own fears. "It pains her to see us at odds, Catelyn," she said in her attempt to appeal to Cat's love for their mother. "Is that what you want for Mother? Needless pain so near what could be her end?"

She had Cat in a figurative corner, but the girl sneered and backed away. "Pretty words, bastard. Mother was happy before you came here."

Sansa's frown grew at the pettiness. This girl had been her mother once. "If I were to leave Riverrun, it would sadden Mother," she said, eyes on Cat. "Life is what we make it. Please, make the best of this situation so Mother can have closure, Catelyn. I am trying to give her that, but we need to work together."

Catelyn glared and left towards the inner gatehouse to enter the courtyard of the keep.

Her exhale slow, Sansa watched her leave before turning away and entering the stables bailey alone, where she smiled at Henric, who gave a questioning look, to which she nodded. The master of horse snapped out orders to the stableboys, and they brought out Grace; Sansa's gift from Mother. Mother's own horse.

About to assist them, Sansa faltered when a page boy dashed past to Henric, who gestured for her to sit on a stone bench, and the stableboys brought out another two horses; both from the family stable, but their riders unknown to her. A guard normally accompanied her from a distance, but none of them rode these tall, strong horses; one brown, the other black.

Sansa stood, relacing her skirt into a cloak, thus her flowing green breeches mimicking a true skirt. Swiftly done, her idle glance at the gatehouse she'd come from snapped Sansa into paying attention; Father approached her, donned in a Tully cloak and jerkin.

"Good morrow, Sansa," he greeted, sitting down.

"And you too, Father. Are you riding for pleasure, or something else? Mother told me to ride, and to make sure it's for a while; she knows I enjoy it," she added to avoid silence.

Father glanced at her with a thoughtful look and shook his head fondly. "Your mother...," he murmured but cleared his throat. "I'm going to Riverside for a while, daughter, however, come with me before you explore. It's time we've spent time together privately," he uttered, shooting her a serious expression that vanished. He turned towards the master of horse. "Henric!" he called, and the man turned.

"Yes, my Lord Tully?"

"Four horses for guards as well please."

"Understood, my lord," Henric replied and called orders that sent half the stableboys to the guards' stables.

With Henric occupied, Sansa demurely cleared her throat and Father looked her way. "Father," she said. "Is Riverside on the southern portion of River Road? I've only ever ridden east of home. The only thing I know of River Road south of Riverrun is Wayfarer's Rest near our border with the West; one of two branches of House Vance in our lands."

He nodded with apparent satisfaction. "That is accurate, daughter, but a couple of miles from Riverrun south along River Road is a town. If your twin has mentioned anything of her future home, you might have heard of Winter Town; it's close to Winterfell. Riverside is several times larger than Winter Town, due to more merciful winters in the Riverlands than the North."

Sansa resisted linking her fingers and fidgeting but took a breath and released it. Never would she withhold the truth from her father, unless matters were dire. "Cat and I...," she whispered and took one of his hands. "I'm trying, Father, but she's cold with me," she said and breathed a chuckle. "Fitting she will marry a ruling Northman...," Sansa mumbled and squeezed Father's hand for his full attention. "Please don't intercede and try to force matters between us. It's my hope we will get along with some time."

He squeezed her hand back. "Very well, Sansa. As you wish."

A thought struck her. "Father, the septa and The Faith's book," she said quickly. "Has Catelyn learnt anything of the Old Gods? The gods of the Starks? Of the North?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Sansa wetted her lips and dropping her gaze, she took a risk. "Would the North better accept her if she knew their customs, at the least? So she doesn't offend anyone by accident? And...I wish not to speak ill of Riverrun's septa, but that woman is rigid. Openly resents that I'm not heavily pious with The Faith. If word reached her, and I wouldn't be surprised either if it did, of Catelyn learning Northern ways, including their gods, she'd discourage Cat in the name of loyalty to the Faith of the Seven."

A slow inhale, Sansa dared to once again meet Father's eyes and blinked at his observant expression; simply watching and listening.

His calloused hand lightly squeezed hers, before he let go and stood up. "You raise an interesting point, Sansa. I'll give it more consideration later. Come along," he said, leading them to their horses and hoisting her onto Grace's saddle before he mounted the brown gelding. Sansa glanced at the black horse, which Henric seemed to be holding ready for someone yet to appear.

Four guards ahead of them, likewise mounting and, at Father's nod, trotted through the baileys of Riverrun towards the southwestern drawbridge. Upon reaching the continuation of River Road, the guards broke into pairs and rode ahead out of earshot unless someone shouted.

As she passed yet another group of blooming flowers, Sansa couldn't deny that the Riverlands was a fertile region; rolling hills, the Red Fork's flow, everything bursting with life. However, she turned her attention to Father instead, for the guards maintained their distance, thus privacy to both Father and her. Mentally bracing as they cantered, her horse almost prancing in its stride, she awaited for Father to broach whatever topic he wanted to discuss outside the castle walls. Absolute privacy.

After a mile from Riverrun, Father levelled their horses and slowed them to a walk. "Sansa, after yours and Cat's nameday, riverlords will be coming for Cat's betrothal feast to Brandon Stark. Do you understand what a betrothal is?"

She nodded. "It's a promise of marriage between two noble houses. No one breaks a betrothal without slighting the other house, unless there's a genuine reason to justify it...or the house breaking it is idiotic enough to believe there are no consequences, to their detriment."

Father barked a laugh and shook his head, falling silent. "Quite, Sansa Stark, quite," he murmured, nodding when Sansa's eyes shot to his in alarm before she could stop herself. "However, Sansa Tully, daughter," Father said as though he'd said nothing startling. "When a riverlord introduces you to their heir at Cat's betrothal feast, know that you're yet to be promised to a lord's heir. You need only to be a polite hostess as a daughter of House Tully, like Lysa."

"Naturally, Father," she said, her pounding heart slowing down. After a silent moment of contemplation, Sansa took the plunge and voiced her thoughts. "My lord-"

"Father," he cut in firmly. "You are my daughter, Sansa; my blood. That hasn't changed, and never will. I'm quite aware of your Stark blood, but needn't know details of what occurred unless you believe I must. Despite everything, you're Sansa Tully to me and our family."

Throat tight, she swallowed through a building knot and nodded. "That means more to me than you could know, Father," she whispered, blinking back tears.

"Mayhaps, but remember our words, daughter."

"Family. Duty. Honour."

"Precisely, Sansa. Family first. And I've the distinct impression we never knew each other, including my wife," he half stated. "Your gaze held no recognition the day you arrived."

She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I wasn't blessed with the chance to meet you or Mother. Or Grandmother and Grandfather Whent."

Father squeezed her hand. "A pity, but acknowledge the good of a matter as well; you won't have conflicting memories, daughter. And to waylay any uncertainty, Sansa, the little you've told Mother is now known by Uncle Brynden and your grandparents; all swore absolute secrecy. To our family, you are Cat's younger twin raised by your grandparents in Harrenhal; just as we've told Westeros."

"I understand, Father."

"Now, about Oberyn Martell, Sansa. What does he know?"

"I've told him nothing about House Stark; never spoken about the North. It didn't seem pragmatic. I've only insisted on being a trueborn Tully of yours and Mother's. Whether he believes it, he's kept that to himself. Frankly, he doesn't seem to care whether I'm trueborn or bastard."

"Well, you're a trueborn daughter, Sansa. Particularly to your mother and grandmother," he said.

"Understood, Father," she said quietly and accepted a small drawstring bag Father held out to her. He took her reins, bringing their horses to a halt.

"That," he said as she opened the bag. "Is a hairpiece of your mother's which should distinguish you from Cat in Riverside. If you ever met Varys and heard about his 'little birds', random smallfolk reporting to him, there's probably one in Riverside awaiting your eventual first appearance."

Sansa nodded her understanding and added what she knew. "Master of Whispers of the Small Council. Sometimes called 'The Spider'; a bald, plump, eunuch from Lys, if Tyrion Lannister spoke true in his drunken mutterings. Regardless of his origins, I do know he has a vast smallfolk spy network, powders himself, smells like flowers, always hid his hands in his bell sleeves as though holding secrets to his chest," she whispered, gently spreading Mother's hairpiece until she could see it properly.

Father quietly chuckled. "Sounds like Varys."

Across her saddle sat nine onyx bats, inlaid gold for eyes; the top row held four bats, the next below three, and the last held two, forming an inverted triangle. The sigil of House Whent without its yellow field, using fine strands of silver for support instead. Positioning the central bat with her riding braid, Sansa pinned Mother's hairpiece in firmly; each bat included a concealed pin. Difficult alone, but not impossible. Finished, she took her reins from Father and nudged Grace to start walking, which he copied.

"Father? Is it staying in place?"

He touched her hair. "Look forward." After a moment of gentle pulling, and testing the pinning, he hummed. "Your mother has ridden with it and it feels secure. You'll be fine, daughter. Let's go to Riverside."

She mimicked Father's new hold of his reins as he quickened into a canter. She'd almost caught up to Father when a galloping rhythm neared them from behind, so Sansa gripped a dagger and braced to draw it. However, glancing at Father's expectant face made her falter. "Father?" She asked, easing her hand back to her reins.

"Worry not, daughter. Your grandfather said he'd accompany us at Riverside, but delayed himself at my request."

Peering over her shoulder, Grandfather, in a regal Whent cloak and jerkin, rode that black horse and galloped past her and Father, but slowed until they all rode abreast with Sansa in the middle.

"Goodson," Grandfather said, nodding to Father before giving her a warm smile. "Sansa, you look lovely."

"Thank you, and good morrow, Grandfather."

Fingers brushed her hair. "Appropriate," he added and turned to Father. "Anticipating eyes from King's Landing, are we, Hoster?"

"At least one bird, but truly people from my lords," Father said and briefly smiled at Sansa then at Grandfather, who nodded in understanding. "Sansa is unmatched, however, if lords approach with proposals for you after Cat's betrothal feast, it won't surprise me." He met her eyes with a thoughtful gaze. "Like your twin and later Lysa, I'll find you a worthy match, Sansa. You are Tully blood; family," Father promised.

She nodded, hoping Lysa wouldn't fall out of Father's good graces this time. "I trust you will."

Together they crested a hill and within a valley nestled row upon row of homes, patches of crops, a bakery, and the occasional smith and tanner. Yet near River Road and slightly out from the heart of Riverside stood a large inn; organised, clearly aged but clean and appeared sturdy. Father hadn't exaggerated about Riverside's size compared to Winter Town.

At a gesture from Father, the four guards waiting on the hilltop rejoined them, and together they rode to the inn and dismounted, tying their horses to a simple fence. Father said something to the guards while Grandfather wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulders. Catching the eyes of Sers Olyvar and Elmar, Sansa smiled to her usual guards before following Father through Riverside and quickly picked the occasional bloom that Mother would like so as not to keep him or Grandfather waiting.

"Father," she said curiously, and he turned at her tone. "Riverside seems well cared for. Do you have a patrol deterring bandits?"

He nodded. "Indeed. And a bell here for when Riverside needs help."

Sansa smiled. Riverside had protection like Winter Town, despite being a couple of miles from Riverrun.

Continuing through Riverside, meeting smallfolk Father needed to speak with, and when he occasionally vanished to find somebody elsewhere in town, she remained in Grandfather's hold and smiling gently while asking smallfolk about their families, along with giving offers of help if they needed it, earning Sansa thankful smiles. Most of the people seemed happy to converse briefly before needing to attend to one task or another; children enjoyed chattering about the antics of that friend or this sibling, darting away at the impatient shouts of another child.

Father emerged from the direction of a distant forge, and rejoined her and Grandfather, offering his elbow to her, which she quickly accepted. "Walter," he murmured, drawing his eye and holding it for a moment. Grandfather merely hummed and nodded, before dropping back as they walked, yet remained close to Sansa's other side. Father lightly squeezed Sansa's tensed hand holding his elbow. "All's well, Sansa. Spotted one of Frey's many weasels in Riverside," he whispered against her temple and pulled back.

She kept her sigh light and pressed into his side while they walked. "The patriarch. He'd do anything for status or power," she breathed, pressing her fingernail into his arm to spell out 'betrays' and 'Tully'. "The bridge has made the man moderately wealthy in coin. Ambition too wouldn't shock me." She straightened up, walking properly once more and pretended to brush stray hair out of her face.

He softly hummed and tapped his thumb twice on the finger she'd used. "Let's see the waterfront, dear daughter," he said, clear and casual. "Your mother always enjoyed visiting it."

After a time they finally reached the Red Fork, and couldn't help her smile at the bustling yet beautiful sight on their side of the broad river. A father taught a son how to swim, young girls in the trees' shade cheerfully chattered near the river's edge, a small boat's crew unloaded crates onto Riverside's short pier, before carting it away into the town along a clear footpath. And tucked away in a quieter area beside the river, wildflowers and shrubbery grew around wooden benches.

"It's beautiful here," she said softly. "Peaceful."

A boat smaller than the previous one emerged from a bend in the Red Fork and approached the pier. Aboard it sat a man rowing, while mayhaps his son of roughly five years had a grip on the boat's bow with an eager grin towards Riverside, his reddish brown curls rustled by the breeze.

Sansa smiled, watching the little boy give his father on the pier a pair of fishing rods from within the boat.Had things gone differently before, thiscould have been Rickon and…his father…spending time together. Would Rickon have remained interested or mayhaps exasperated…his father…with boundless toddler energy?Swallowing, Sansa blinked and forced the thoughts away.Blank canvas, Sansa, blank canvas. Just like Mother warned.

Climbing out onto the pier and looking up, the young boy's black eyes met Sansa's and he cocked his head to the side as he gazed at Sansa standing with Father and Grandfather. His father turned around and gave Father a quick bow from the pier and resumed emptying the boat. However, the little boy toddled to a blue and purple flower nearby, pulled it free, came over to Sansa and held it up to her with a cheery smile.

"Flower for the flower lady," he chirped, his eyes bright and curious.

"That's sweet." Lowering herself to his height, Sansa gratefully smiled. "It's a very pretty flower. Thank you," she said, tucking it into her bouquet. "There. Right in the middle for the best one."

The little boy's giggle warmed her heart and she blinked when soft fingers took the flowers from her. "Mama always says 'keep together or have never', flower lady," he said, pulling a brown string out of his pocket and tying her flowers together firmly. "Papa teach me that, flower lady," he told her, holding her flowers out to her with a proud grin.

Accepting them, Sansa chuckled softly. "That's a strong knot, sir. Thank you. And my name is Sansa. Lady Sansa Tully."

His eyes widened in realisation. "You from the castle? Tully people live there."

Muffled laughter came from Grandfather while Father quietly chuckled and came to Sansa's side. "Indeed we do, young man. The castle is mine, and Lady Sansa is my youngest twin daughter," he said and offered Sansa a hand up. "Run along back to your father; he's waiting for you."

A glance over his shoulder to the pier, where the man stood holding a full bag, the boy bit his lip and nodded. "Goodbye, Tully people," he said with a cute wave and dashed to his father, who led him into Riverside proper.

What an adorable little boy.

A moment later, Sansa walked Riverside's streets on her father's arm followed by Grandfather, making for the inn, where Father once again lifted Sansa up onto Grace's saddle. Shortly afterwards both Father and Grandfather mounted their steeds, as did the four guards who'd discreetly shadowed Sansa and her family.

At a gesture from Father, two guards led them towards River Road while the other two rode behind. Thirty seconds from River Road, Sansa jumped a little when a black horse thundered by towards Riverrun. Its rider had a glinting partisan strapped to the saddle; their horse's fiery red mane and tail whipped from the speed.

Sansa resisted uttering who she believed it was in precaution for listening ears. Who knew what that could result in.

Halfway to the castle after dropping back from the leading guards, Father sent Sers Olyvar and Elmar ahead to join them. With only Grandfather in earshot, Father stroked her shoulder, thumb bumping Dusk's pommel through her cloak and Sansa looked up, meeting his eyes. "Father? What is it?"

He dropped his hand away and glanced at where Dusk rested, hidden by her cloak. "It's frequently well-concealed, and you're rarely without it. There's undoubtedly a reason, Sansa," he mumbled.

Sansa took a shaky breath, fighting off unpleasant memories. "I don't want to be helpless, Father. Never," she whispered and stared into his eyes. "Please...Allow me this, Father."

After a moment, Father turned inquisitive, furrowing his eyebrows.

She swallowed, maintaining their eye contact. "Please...It's not a fleeting fancy." She squeezed her eyes shut but snapped them open again. "An attacker wouldn't anticipate a lady to have a dagger...My skill is lacking, but it's better than nothing."

"Calm, Sansa," he said and turned contemplative for a moment. He took a breath and slowly exhaled before meeting her eyes again. "Be cautious," he warned, nodding to her shoulder. "Find another means to conceal it than cloaks, because a strong wind will reveal your dagger."

The heaviness within her melted away, and she began to lightly smile. "I will, Father." Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined hearing this from a lord; let alone a Southron lord. Yet, here and now, the Lord Paramount of the Trident granted her wish to always carry a dagger. Unbelievable, but nonetheless happening.

"Good. And any practise I want done privately, not the training yard. So long as it's kept secret, you may keep bearing your dagger," he said, brooking no argument but eased at Sansa's obedient nod. "I will make time to help you improve, Sansa, otherwise your dagger is pointless."

Sansa's jaw dropped, but she quickly swallowed.He intends to sacrifice time to teach me himself? Not somebody else or leave me alone without an expert's help?"Father...I-I-I...thank you, Father. I won't waste that time. Thank you so much."

He gave a kind smile and squeezed her nearest hand. "You are my daughter, Sansa. My blood. When you need my help, I will help."

"As will I, granddaughter," Grandfather added sincerely from Father's other side.

Her throat was too tight for voicing even her gratitude, so she could only nod with moistening eyes, her smile wide.

Grandfather softly smiled and hummed. "Dab your eyes and gather your breath, sweetling, we're almost in view of the battlements, and Riverrun may have a visitor to greet with Guest Right."

She gave Father another thankful smile, heart almost bursting, and recovered her breath. "Of course, Grandfather...I'm just...stunned...that Father said what he did," she said slowly and focused on Father. "Few lords would have...said what you did, Father. Permit what you have. Particularly a Southron lord."

He released a frustrated sigh, and Sansa tensed which he shook his head to. "The situation, Sansa, not you," he reassured. "I won't encourage my daughters to be helpless decorations like the Faith teaches. The necessity of hiding your lessons, dagger, and eventual skill from other houses is irritating because they expect defenceless ladies as influenced by the Faith. Whether your sisters are interested in learning is another matter, however, I won't force them."

Her mind leapt to her sisters and Riverrun's septa. "I fear the Faith already has a rather tight hold on Cat, Father. Lysa…not nearly as much though."

Both Father and Grandfather grimaced, but Father pinched the bridge of his nose too. "That doesn't surprise me. Cat is older than Lysa, thus taught more by the septa," he said and took the lead into Riverrun, entering the inner courtyard where his page approached while Father helped Sansa dismount Grace.

"My Lord Tully, steward Utherydes Wayn has told the maids to prepare Guest Right. Prince Oberyn has asked to stay until a little before Lord Lannister's tourney. He's practising in the training yard right now," he told Father. "What should I say to the head maid about chambers, my lord?"

Quiet for a moment while three stableboys took the horses away, Father seemed to come to a decision. "Lyonel, have chambers prepared in the guest wing, including a tub. For Guest Right, tell Utherydes to retrieve a 225 Dornish strongwine," he said, starting to walk Sansa and Grandfather towards the keep. "Have maids sent to find my family and inform them to come to the Great Hall, except Lady Tully. Send a maid to attend her."

"Aye, Lord Tully." And Lyonel hurried inside.

So it was Oberyn, yet why race here as he had from the very place he would return to?She pushed her pondering aside. There'd likely be answers to that question later.

Sansa turned to Father as they traversed the halls. "I asked Cat to look after Mother while I was riding," she said and hesitated for a second. "Grandmother could be with them, but I can't be sure. She's occasionally with Edmure instead."

He nodded with a thankful smile. "I'll go to Edmure, and you can give your mother those flowers," he said, wrapping her empty hand below the one holding her bouquet. "If Cat is there, tell your sister to come to the Great Hall and why...And keep wearing your mother's hairpiece, daughter."

"Yes, Father, I will," she murmured, bringing her flowers close to her chest and smiling at what she'd gathered. His steps turned a corner, but Grandfather remained and walked beside her.

"Your mother will love these, Sansa," he said, gently brushing the colourful array of vibrant petals before pecking her temple. "I'll see you soon for Guest Right after I've found your little sister."

"Thank you, Grandfather," she murmured and made for Mother's bedchamber while Grandfather turned a different corner.

Quick strides to the Lady's solar, Sansa continued through it into the bedchamber after a gentle knock and Mother's voice calling 'enter'. On the featherbed, of course, rested Mother while Cat sat beside it. Her sister held a sewing ring but frowned when her eyes landed on Sansa. Playing blind to Cat's mood, she approached Mother and sat partly on the featherbed before handing Mother the bouquet.

"Oh, sweetling," she marvelled, reaching for Sansa. "They're beautiful...A gorgeous gift, daughter mine," she said and kissed Sansa's forehead. "You didn't have to, Sansa."

Leaning in and hugging Mother, Sansa pulled back only to smile when Mother cupped her cheek. "I wanted to, Mother," she said and turned to Cat. "Sister, Father wants you and I in the Great Hall for Guest Right. We're to host Prince Oberyn for quite a time."

"Well, my twin girls," Mother said, and looked at them both. "Quickly refresh yourselves and show Prince Oberyn together what it means to be our guest."

Sansa resisted the urge to peer at Cat after those words because Cat would hate her more than she already did if she caught Sansa looking right now, as though accusing Cat of causing problems. How she longed for love and not hate from her sisters. Pushing the troubled thoughts away, Sansa kissed Mother on the cheek and promised to do her proud.

In the Great Hall on Father's right, stood Cat, then her in a fresh dress, and Lysa, their hair perfectly tidy. On Father's left were Uncle Brynden, Grandfather, and Grandmother with Edmure in her arms. Standing before Father, Oberyn also appeared clean of road dust and any smell from his apparent arms training.

Maids presented and held trays of bread and salt with small bowls of oil, as custom, along with goblets containing a little wine. Presumably, the aged Dornish strongwine Father ordered. Lightly squeezing Cat and Lysa's elbows for their attention, Sansa quickly whispered her warning. "Sip the wine. Father ordered an old Dornish strongwine. Sweet but rich."

Lysa murmured a grateful thanks, which lightened Sansa's heart. Cat merely nodded, the coldness piercing any hope her help could close the chasm between Cat and her a little.

"Prince Oberyn," Father said, initiating Guest Right. "Welcome to Riverrun, and beneath my roof, and at my table, you are my honoured guest."

Oberyn lightly bowed and spoke the ceremonial thanks, and together he and Father had some bread dipped in oil and then salt before washing it down with Father's chosen wine. A second behind, everyone else partook in bread and salt. Oberyn's pleased hum after a second sip made Sansa curious. "This is a good vintage, Lord Tully. And a taste of home. You have my thanks."

Father gave a knowing smile. "Of course. I imagine you've missed it."

Oberyn chuckled, smirking a little. "It's been a while. Nonetheless, Lord Tully, I appreciate your gesture. And before you ask, no, you won't have any problems with me at Riverrun. You have my word."

"Good. Now then, all meals will be in this hall and served for an hour. You'll be informed when they begin. Servants will tend to your chambers and laundry, and my master of horse, Henric, will accommodate your horse in the family stables. Maester Kym will send any ravens for you," Father said and grew serious. "My lady wife is far along with child, and Riverrun will remain peaceful. Am I understood?"

"You are, Lord Tully."

Father nodded and gave his goblet to a maid. "A servant shall find and lead you here when it's time for dinner, Prince Oberyn. Is there a particular pursuit we can assist you with at the moment?"

"The library, if I may?"

Father nodded and gestured to Cat. "Catelyn, if you would?"

She stepped forth and curtsied to Oberyn. "Please follow me, my prince," Cat said demurely.

After nodding, Oberyn met Sansa's eye over Cat's shoulder and wryly smiled. Sansa grinned but quickly smothered it. Additional formality irritated her Dornish acquaintance to no end.

Everyone went their separate ways, but Sansa followed Father into the Lord's solar. Behind closed doors, she explained their guest already knew about her dagger and had taught her a little on the journey to Riverrun, but she hadn't practised for nearly two moons. At the dagger's mention, Father's glance shifted to her shoulder but she shook her head and placed a hand on her skirts. "It's strapped to my thigh, but reachable through my skirts. I'll hide it this way from now on."

He briefly held her, pecking the crown of her head. "That'll do finely, Sansa. And on the morrow, await me outside the Great Hall."

That evening after dinner, she led Oberyn to the library and sat down instead of venturing elsewhere.

Inhaling to speak, Sansa faltered when Oberyn spoke first. "Word about you has spread quickly," he commented with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And I mayhaps added something in Lannisport myself."

Unnerved by that look, Sansa closed the library door, pushed past the drained sensation of going pale and asked the vital question. "Should I be concerned?"

"The opposite, Little lady," he told her with an amused smirk. "I said you're a girl to grow into a thing of beauty that will be the envy of all the women of Westeros."

"Please tell me that was a jape." His expression didn't change, and she swallowed. "Gods be good, you didn't do that," Sansa continued, horrified at the potential consequences.

"I did." His grin held no remorse. "Word is Lady Cersei was furious, and themightyLord Tywin will restrict her to Casterly Rock when he returns from King's Landing."

"Gods have mercy. I hope she never attempts to avenge that, Oberyn," she said. A chill sunk in and filled her with dread. There was no doubt in her heart that Cersei would never forget this rumour. At King's Landing, Cersei had always done her best to look the most beautiful during Sansa's time there. Especially once Margaery Tyrell came to court. Margaery outshone Cersei, who'd started wearing fancier jewellery and gowns while speaking ill of the younger woman.

He smirked in amusement and void of remorse, so Sansa continued.

"One too many provocations," she said, shooting him a look. "And she'll tear me to shreds given the chance. I live with two jealous sisters; I know what jealous girls do. The quiet and the vocal." Sansa released a breath and shook her head. "So, what's brought you back to Riverrun so hastily, aside from hiding from House Lannister after you irritated them?"

Oberyn lightly shrugged within his seat. "Rumour has it Rhaella's child will survive." Sansa smiled because it would; Viserys II Targaryen. "I shall compete in the Lannisport tourney and rendezvous with my sister, Elia. It's been too long since I last saw her. My presence will displease Tywin Lannister, but I do care not for Tywin Lannister."

Sansa blinked at his words about Lord Lannister and ignored Oberyn not answering about Riverrun.

Tywin Lannister's soldier, the Mountain, had yet to have defiled Elia and killed her as well as her children which Gregor Clegane had done in Sansa's past. She wetted her lips. "Prince Oberyn, is that a grudge I hear? I'm afraid I don't know why that is. Would you indulge me?"

He idly spun his dagger between his fingers, resheathed it, and leaned on the chair's arm, his gaze was one of distance or memory. "Grudge indeed, Little lady. Ignoring the fact he made us wait an entire week before he acknowledged our presence. After my mother's talk of betrothals, Tywin Lannister could have simply refused Mother's propositions of Elia or I to one of his twins. Did he? No. Instead of simply saying no, Tywin Lannister had the nerve to offer his infant to my sister. An infant. And Elia was seven-and-ten. Elia would've become an old maid by the time Tyrion Lannister was of age. Even so, and not the babe's fault, he was a dwarf. What worse of an insult could Tywin Lannister have made? An infant dwarf for my seven-and-ten year old sister."

Sansa shook her head at the gall Lord Lannister had shown to another great house, but, then again, he'd orchestrated the Red Wedding. This insult to the Martells was tame in comparison.

Despite the revelation of what had transpired at Casterly Rock a few years ago, Sansa glanced eastward.The Partisanhad anchored at the Saltpans, where Oberyn docked before taking her to Riverrun by horse.Where would he be now, if not for bringing me here?Why didn't he make for Sunspear or at least Dorne?

The plan in Braavos was to go to Dorne by ship. Needle came to mind. "What of your ship and crew in the Saltpans? Will you need to send a raven to House Cox to instruct your men?" Needle was on that ship.

He seemed amused. "You needn't concern yourself. They've returned to Sunspear and soon will sail for Lannisport with Elia. And Little lady? I'll introduce you to my sister if you attend," he said with a meaningful look.

"Thank you, Prince Oberyn. I look forward to meeting your sister," she said with a curtsy. That earned her a look of mock disapproval from Oberyn. "You have my gratitude." Sansa took her leave with a bright smile and a desire to wash before bed.

Day 3, 12th Moon, 275 AC

After breaking her fast, Sansa left the Great Hall and stood before a mosaic near the doors. It depicted a Tully man overseeing a castle's construction. With a closer look and spotting the confluence of two rivers, she blinked when the realisation struck like a warhammer; the castle had to be Riverrun.But who is this man?

A man's hand lightly gripped her shoulder, nearly making her jump before she turned to see who it was. "Morrow, daughter," Father said. "That's Axel Tully. He built Riverrun and became its first lord. This was after the Andals came and defeated King Tristifer IV Mudd, whom we fought under," he explained and brushed his fingers along the arm she'd strapped Dusk to yesterday. "Do you have it with you?" He murmured.

"I do."

"Come with me."

She obeyed the light pressure on her shoulder and walked beside Father. Thoughts swirling, Sansa allowed a small smile and a little trust to grow, fed by her hope.He's reliable, despite this not being of political benefit to him. Father does what he says he will, and doesn't tarry when it's something unusual.

They entered an airy chamber lined with Tully portraits featuring lines of history, an artefact beneath some. At the thud of the door being barred, she turned around and watched Father approach the middle of the floor. Sansa stood before him and, at Father's nod, drew a normal dagger through a slit in her skirts. Dusk was inexplicably sharp; too sharp for practise.

"Pass it to me, Sansa."

Gently placing it in his palm, Sansa observed Father test its quality before handing it back.

"A decent dagger," he said. "Firstly, show me how you would stand with it."

Turning side on, Sansa held it in front of her towards him and kept still.

"Stay like that, Sansa," he said, coming around the dagger to her back and pressing around her front shoulder. "Good, Sansa, good. Are your knees bent slightly?" He asked, using his own to check. "That's it. Not more than that."

Father continued and began inspecting her hold, patiently commenting as he went.

His show of genuine interest in helping her with this, something she would have been denied with vehemence at Winterfell, made her body flood with joy lightening her.

"Sansa?" Father asked, gently lifting her chin with a finger until their eyes met. He stroked her temple, and moisture trickled down her cheek, which he brushed away.

She blinked in surprise and touched her eyes, fingers wet. "I...I didn't realise that I...," she whispered weakly, trailing off out of worry on how she could answer without blatantly referring to her past.

A gentle grip took the dagger and held her to Father's chest, who leaned close to her ear. "Why are you tearful, daughter?" He asked.

Embracing him, she revelled in the fact he was helping her with something so unladylike, but what she nonetheless wanted. She carefully pieced together a safe answer for Father. "It's...To have a father teaching me how to protect myself...To make it more important than me pleasing a septa with embroidery and only pursuits she'd approve of...That you're willing to do this, and that you've committed time from your day without me asking you to…," she lifted her head to meet his eyes again. "I will treasure our time together always...And because it's you, my father...It feels like I belong here. That I'm a part of this family."

He cupped the back of her head for a while, holding her to him in silence, before stroking her long hair once and returning the dagger. "You are a part of my family, Sansa. And as your father, I will look after you."

She stood straight and gave him an unrestrained smile, her eyes likely glimmering with unspoken emotion; hopefully including her immeasurable gratitude. Nodding to Father, she stood how he'd asked her to with the dagger.

With a stroke of her hair, her father continued assessing what she knew until an hour passed.

"A good understanding of the basics," he said and approached the door, unbarring it, before coming back in time to witness her resheath the dagger through her skirts. A moment afterwards, he softly pecked her forehead. "Meet me here after breaking fast each morning for lessons. If something needs my immediate attention, I'll make sure you don't waste time here waiting for me."

A ruling lord or lady would occasionally have sudden duties. She nodded and briefly hugged him. "I understand, Father, and thank you for this."

"Your welcome, Sansa. Run along to Edmure or help Cat with Riverrun. It's time I attend to my duties."

After a graceful curtsy, she left the chamber with a smile that reached her eyes. One that her little brother grinned and giggled at in the nursery, while Cat's scowl when Sansa arrived in the Lady's solar failed to lessen it.

At midday in the barracks bailey, Sansa observed Oberyn practise with his partisan inside the area reserved for arms training. It whirled in his hands with such fluidity it screamed danger from where she watched.

"My Prince," Sansa spoke clearly to draw him out of his focus. There was no chance she would risk getting near that partisan without him holding it unmoving.

"Little lady." Oberyn walked over to the wall, resting his partisan against it. His hand on his sheathed dagger's hilt, he returned to where he had been training. "Your father was generous to grant my long stay."

Sansa smiled and approached him when he gestured for her to. "I'm glad you will be, Prince Oberyn. Your company has been missed."

"How has Riverrun treated you?" he asked, glancing over her shoulder, where someone presumably watched. "And those from elsewhere? You're happier than I believe to have ever seen you."

"Quite well."

"I'm pleased to hear that." He held out his hand as though he was offering it. "Would you care to dance, my lady? It has been some time."

She tilted her head in the direction of the keep, walking into the training area so she could lower her voice. "Inside would be best, Oberyn," she said and he raised an eyebrow in question with a relaxed smile. "Father and I have an agreement about my daggers," she continued softly. "So long as I practise privately inside the keep, and that they're well-hidden, he'll allow it. I told him about our lessons on River Road and the pair you gifted me."

"Very well, Little lady," he said, grinning and storing his partisan inside a separate section of the armoury. Outside again, he picked up a small brown bag. "And dare I say that's a little Dornish?" he teased, as she led him through the baileys and into the inner courtyard.

She rolled her eyes in good humour. "Just don't taunt Father about it," she whispered, keeping an eye out for her grandfather and passersby. "The need for secrecy already annoys him, Oberyn." She cleared her throat. "For propriety, I need to find Grandfather to watch us in the Hall of History." Upon spotting the Captain of Riverrun's Guard leaving the keep, Sansa hastened up to the solid man. "Ser Robin," she said.

"Lady...," he said and faltered, going red. "I'm sorry, the resemblance between you two..."

"I'm Sansa, and I'm usually inside with Mother," she said with forgiveness, gently smiling at Robin Ryger. "I favour most of my hair down. Cat likes hers up, Ser Robin."

His flush lessened and he nodded. "Of course, Lady Sansa. What do you need, my lady?"

"Have you seen my lord grandfather?"

He shook his balding head. "Afraid not, but no one has reported him leaving Riverrun, Lady Sansa."

Nodding, she glanced at Oberyn as he reached her side, and then she turned to the captain. "Thank you, Ser. Could you show Prince Oberyn to the Hall of History, please? I'll check Grandfather's favourite haunts."

"As you wish, Lady Sansa."

"Thank you," she said and turned to Oberyn. "I'll try to be quick, Prince Oberyn, so you're not tempted to annoy Ser Robin, as you were with the Lannisters."

Oberyn's amused and mischievous laughter as she left them together prompted her to walk faster through the keep. At the sight of an empty-handed maid, Sansa requested refreshments in the Hall of History, before searching once again. Eventually, she found Grandfather but didn't immediately enter the adjoined chamber to the balcony where he stood, holding Grandmother in his arms as she whispered with shining eyes. He exhaled and rested his forehead against hers, burying a hand in her hair.

In the corridor, Sansa backed away quietly and left.I won't intrude just to satisfy propriety.

When she entered the Hall of History, Ser Robin gone and refreshments set on a side table, she nodded to Oberyn and silently barred the door. "It'll be just us, as long as we're quiet," she said and approached the centre of the chamber.

He quirked an eyebrow but smiled and came to her, flourishing his hand to her as though to dance. Sansa softly laughed at his antics and pretended to place hers in his as though to be led. However, they took a measured step back and drew their blades. She held one Oberyn gifted her aboardThe Partisan.

"I have to confess, Prince Oberyn, I've spent much time with Mother and helping the household," she said. Her technique might not be as good as it used to be. She pushed her sleeves up to her elbows.

"All become rusty occasionally, Lady Sansa." Oberyn looked at her form once. "But let's see what you remember."

She watched him with a sharp eye and her dagger held as he'd taught her, waiting for him to make the attacking move. She always deflected and reacted; she preferred defence.

Oberyn struck out.

Sansa darted to the side and deflected.

It was much like a slow dance until memories of training before reaching Riverrun resurfaced. Confidence returned and she never remained in the same position for long. The pace increased a little at a time but she was beginning to tire; deflecting only was flawed. She tried to disarm him.

But he blocked quickly. "Are you sure, Lady Sansa?"

"If I constantly deflect, I'll become worn and beaten," she reasoned, mild fatigue slipping into her voice. "What's needed so I can disarm and escape?"

Sheathing his dagger, Oberyn stepped forward, and Sansa sheathed her plain dagger. "What's needed to handle any blade?" he asked rhetorically and turned serious. "Grip, motion and balance. Take those away with quick succession and you can flee." Oberyn tapped her forearm, upper arm and shoulder in quick order. "Aiming for their hilt is a mistake. You want to get away from their weapon. Not closer."

Oberyn taught her how to move away in a few steps; he pretended to be the threat.

Sansa darted away from him but struggled to grasp how this alone would help. She kept that to herself. Once he seemed satisfied with her manoeuvre, he added striking the forearm simultaneously.

The slow process of adding a new step took time, but it was a smooth flow that ended with an escape. Eventually, Sansa squared her shoulders for a challenge. "Prince Oberyn," she said, a little out of breath.

He raised a mock scolding eyebrow at her. "Just 'Oberyn'. Are we at court?"

"We're not, Oberyn," Sansa amended. "I'd like to try it without prompting if you think it's not too early?" She wanted to try.

"It appears you have an understanding of what to do." His dagger remained in its sheath and Sansa tilted her head in silent question. "Not yet, Sansa. Let's see you join the steps together until they're like water."

Neither of them held a blade when he approached. Sansa dodged to his side and slashed her empty grip of a dagger at his arm. The next slash at the back of Oberyn's upper arm and she pushed where the wound would've been to take away his balance. This left her space and time to run had it been an actual situation.

With a nod to her, Oberyn went through the routine without being so cooperative.

When they had a short drink, he smiled at her. "Good progress, Sansa. Pushing on the wound makes an effective distraction when the shoulder is beyond reach." With a glance at her, Oberyn seemed to decide something and took a seat. "I think that is enough for today."

"A little more," Sansa asked, a little out of breath. "To make sure I have the technique."

It seemed he granted it with an amused smile. "A few more times today then, Sansa. We can continue this in earnest tomorrow. Use a blade this time; don't worry about me."

And so they did. Time after time. Her dagger never cut his skin.

Strike the forearm as she dodged.

Slash the back of the upper arm.

Push the shoulder or upper arm away.

But on her fifth cycle, she tripped and cut above her own wrist.

Oberyn abandoned the training, raced to a small bag and withdrew a bottle and goblet; he poured a small amount into the goblet. "Quickly. Take this," he urged and handed it to her. Sansa hesitated, and it must've shown because he consumed the half-goblet full in a single swallow and refilled it. "It's safe." He offered the goblet once more. "There are many veins in the wrist."

"I can afford a little blood first, I think," Sansa said, staying in place. "I don't know what that is and if you've taken an antidote for it."

"You know me better than that," he argued, eyes piercing hers. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have done it on River Road before anyone knew who I was or where we were." He gestured to his sheathed dagger. "Or use my dagger here if I was a complete fool. I am in the heart of Riverrun with guards roaming it."

He had a point, so she accepted it and drank. Oberyn retrieved a linen and absorbed the blood coating her hand.

With her goblet empty, Sansa looked to the floor and sighed. "I'm sorry, Prince Oberyn. Truly," Sansa looked him in the eyes. "You're my friend. It was a mistake to doubt you."

"You're tense here. Your sisters, I'd say," he said once she'd relaxed. "You trusted a complete stranger on the journey from the Saltpans. I could have done much to you if I was such filth."

Guilt welled up inside her, and she reached out to him. "I'm sorry I showed such hostility. You have done me no wrong," she apologised, hoping that he'd forgive her.

He nodded and tended to her cut with a new linen. "It was wise to be cautious. You did not know what I gave you, and I do have a reputation for poison."

Sansa swallowed and placed a slow hand on his shoulder. "We're friends, Prince Oberyn. I cut myself. It was not by your hand." She squeezed his shoulder, and he looked at her with a waiting gaze. "Prince Oberyn, I should have known better than to doubt you. My decision led to this," she pressed, concerned she'd ruined their friendship.

"It was an accident between friends," he murmured, his eyes on her cut. He met her gaze. "You'll heal fine, Sansa. We, too, are fine." Oberyn took her hand off his shoulder and rested it in her lap.

She allowed a relieved smile to show. "The taste was very strange. Tolerable, but strange," she said while she looked at the bottle he'd used. "What is in that bottle?"

"In Westeros, difficult to find. But in Essos, abundant." There must be a story, so she said nothing. "I fought for the Second Sons for a time. The methods used to heal their own were interesting compared to Westeros. Maesters are too focussed on stopping pain; the healers I met focus on blood." His look shifted to satisfaction when the bleeding slowed. "Blood is life. Lose too much blood. You lose your life. True, no?"

Intrigued, tired and the cut stinging, Sansa stayed still and looked his way. "It must have been very different from what you learnt in the Citadel."

"It was. Watch your wrist," he told her. She lifted her other hand, but Oberyn stopped her. "Don't touch. Just watch."

Sansa witnessed in fascination as the flow became almost non-existent. "But how?" she questioned in astonishment. The blood around her cut seemed strangely thick.

The prince chuckled, rose from beside her and retrieved the bottle to put the lid back on. "That's a secret, even to me," Oberyn told her. "Always have some nearby, Sansa." He handed her an unlabelled bottle. "Carry some in a vial. A sip is often enough."

She glanced at it and met his eyes squarely. "You don't want it back?" It was generous.

"I have another but not yet to use it."

She should've known better, so made a jape on the matter. "The skills of the Red Viper?"

"Exactly."

Sansa laughed a little. "You're insufferable," she told him from a seat. He made himself comfortable next to her healing wrist.

Oberyn cracked a grin and wrapped her wrist with a bandage. "Glad to be of service, Little lady," he responded and gestured to her hand. "Rest your hand until it's healed. There are many veins, but thankfully a shallower cut than I suspected. Deeper, had you used a freshly sharpened blade."

My Essosi dagger would've cut deep."Thank you, Prince Oberyn."

"Of course, Sansa."

Riverrun fell into a routine with the presence of Oberyn. Catelyn entertained the prince during the day while Sansa watched over her mother with Grandmother, growing more frightened by the day after an hour of dagger training with Father. Two days passed since her cut with Oberyn but it scabbed over and healed. Her father spoke to Oberyn every now and then, but as Lord Paramount of the Trident, he still had matters to attend to.