Early October, 298 AC

As Eddard limped back to the Tower of the Hand, he wanted nothing more than to eat a quiet supper in his bedchambers and go to sleep. Unfortunately, the gods did not seem to care for his wishes this night. Septa Mordane awaited him at the entrance to the tower, her lips clenched tightly. Vayon Poole stood beside her.

"My Lord Hand, a moment of your time," the septa said.

Eddard wobbled, his leg exhausted by today's demands. Alyn slipped an arm under his shoulder, bracing him.

"Yes, septa?" Eddard asked, trying to keep his voice level. Surely the septa could handle whatever Sansa or Arya had done this time.

"My lord, Sansa has..." the septa paused, as though choosing her words carefully.

"What has my daughter done?" Ned asked, impatient and in pain. Vayon Poole answered him.

"My lord, Lady Sansa bid the smallfolk of Sherrer come to the Small Hall for dinner. Ser Raymun Darry, Ser Marq Piper, and Ser Karyl Vance are at the high table even now, awaiting Lady Sansa's return. She ordered the servants to find spare clothes for the smallfolk, though I told them to await your command before doing so."

Eddard stared at the steward and the septa. At least Sansa hadn't gone missing, as Arya had done the day before Jaime Lannister's attack. She'd returned with wild tales of conspiracies that seemed somewhat less wild now. Meanwhile, Sansa had invited people to dinner.

"How did this happen?" He asked slowly. This time, Septa Mordane answered.

"The child got away from me in the crowd after we left the gallery. By the time I found her, she had already spoken to Ser Marq."

Eddard almost wanted to laugh. A septa might be in charge of noble young ladies, but they still outranked her. By inviting the knights before the septa could intervene, Sansa had taken advantage of her station.

"Have the servants find the spare clothes," Eddard told Vayon. Turning to the septa, Eddard frowned. Vayon said the knights awaited Sansa.

"Where is my daughter?"

When Eddard finally limped all the way to Sansa's chambers, Alyn and Harwin half carrying him, it was to find the doors barred. Desmond, who stood guard, looked very sheepish.

"Sansa ordered me to guard the doors until she was finished," he explained. Eddard could just barely hear splashing within.

"Finished with what?"

Before Desmond could answer, the door opened a crack. Sansa stood there, in her shift. How had she heard him? The doors were thick, and his voice was low.

"Father, you may come in," she said, stepping aside. Her eyes glanced at Alyn and Harwin for a moment.

"I will speak with my daughter alone," Ned told them, his leg screaming as he limped into the room without their support.

But he and Sansa were not alone. Beside a tub full of steaming filthy water stood a young girl, wrapped in an enormous towel. She looked vaguely familiar, her brown eyes huge with fear.

"Merissa, this is my father, Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King," Sansa said gently.

Beside the tub lay a pile of bloody clothes— the girl from Sherrer, Ned realized. Though the girl looked to be a few years older than Sansa, she was several inches shorter, with a slight figure. She was trembling like a leaf as Ned slid into the closest chair.

"We shall speak after you take care of our guest," Eddard said, turning away to give the girl some privacy.

Sansa moved with a briskness he'd never seen before. Within minutes, she had found an old gown in the bottom of her chest, helped the girl dress while murmuring to her in a gentle voice, and sent the girl down to dinner. When Sansa presented herself in front of his chair, it was with her head held high, her eyes determined. She reminded him of Arya.

"Your septa is not pleased," he began. "Escaping her supervision is not like you."

"I had to do something," Sansa blurted out, her ladylike poise forgotten.

"It has been a long day, Sansa. I did not intend to host knights and smallfolk for dinner- I had hoped to rest my leg and eat in my chambers," Ned sighed.

"I can host them," Sansa said, twisting her hands in front of her like the girl of eleven she was.

"Why did you invite them in the first place?"

"They're my people," Sansa said, confused. "A true lady comforts and protects her people. Family, duty, honor."

Ned rubbed his forehead. She wasn't wrong. If Sansa wished to practice being a great lady, well, her grandfather's bannermen would likely overlook any minor mistakes. It wasn't the strangest thing she'd done today.

"Why were you bathing that girl?" Eddard asked. Sansa bit her lip.

"I heard her weeping. She— she was raped like Princess Elia. I thought she'd like to feel clean. She was frightened of the servants so I bathed her myself."

Was this the same Sansa who left Winterfell? He'd heard her gushing about being queen someday, about having dozens of servants to do everything for her— but that was before Darry, he realized. Who was his daughter now?

"Was it wrong of me?" Sansa asked hesitantly. "I thought it was what a lady should do— what mother or Good Queen Alysanne would do."

There was his Sansa. It was a kind thought, and did no harm to anyone.

"Very well. You may preside over dinner. When the meal is done, ask the knights to attend me in my solar."

Sansa's face broke into a smile, and she hugged him fiercely, though she was mindful of his leg.

"Thank you, thank you!" Ned embraced her, his heart just a little lighter. Then Sansa pulled back, looking down at her feet and biting her lip.

"Father, Merissa has no family left, no home— could I keep her as my maid? Most young ladies at court have several maids."

Eddard sighed.

"She is not a lost dog, Sansa. She is a girl. The Riverlands are her home, not King's Landing."

And I'm planning to send you and Arya North. He would have to tell them tomorrow, he'd put it off for too long already.

"Couldn't we give her some money? Something to help her? I— I could have less new dresses," Sansa pleaded, her blue eyes filling with tears.

Ned almost laughed. The cost of one gown would feel a village for months. He really should have the septa explain how much money court dresses cost and how much money smallfolk lived on.

"There's no need for that. I'll have Vayon give a small sum to each of the smallfolk," Ned replied. Sansa hugged him again, and he limped out of her chambers so she could dress for dinner.

When the three knights found him in his solar several hours later, Ned was in a much better mood. His dinner was hot and filling, the pain in his leg had dulled, and Harwin had taken his mind off of court with a story about how he'd seen Arya and Sansa playing with a litter of kittens in the godswood.

"Good sers, I regret I could not join you—" he gestured to his cast "—but I hope dinner was to your liking after your journey," Eddard said as they took seats across from him.

"Aye, it was," Ser Karyl answered. "The smallfolk were honored by Lady Sansa's kindness. You'd think she'd sewn each set of clothes with her own hands."

"She's the very image of Lady Catelyn," Ser Raymun said.

"As beautiful, poised and gracious a lady as many twice her age," Ser Marq said gallantly.

Eddard did not like the sound of that. Ser Marq was in his early twenties, and while he was the heir to Pinkmaiden, he was no fit suitor for Sansa. Sansa was fit to be a queen, though not to someone as cruel as the current prince. He wondered how Sansa would take the news that he intended to break her betrothal to Joffrey.

"When do you intend to return to the Riverlands?" Ned asked. The knights glanced at each other, and Ser Karyl answered.

"We had planned to leave this evening, before Lady Sansa's gracious invitation."

Your smallfolk were half-dead just from walking to King's Landing , Ned thought angrily. They intended to ride back the same day, with no rest for the battered survivors of Sherrer?

"Why not rest?" Ned said instead. "I shall have chambers prepared for you. It is the least that I may do for bannermen of my goodfather."

The knights glanced at each other again, this time with amusement.

"Lady Sansa made the same offer, Lord Hand. We thought perhaps she made the offer without your knowing, but if it is your will, we gladly accept," Ser Raymun replied.

After the knights left, Ned stared at the dying fire. He'd dismissed Vayon, Alyn, and Harwin for a little while, wanting peace before they helped him to bed.

Sansa was growing up so quickly. Joffrey was not worthy of her, but who would be? She shone too brightly for the cold castles of the North, and besides, he didn't want to show too much favor to one of his bannermen. Renly Baratheon was gallant, but a bit old, and a third son besides. Doran Martell's heir was an oldest daughter. Robert Arryn was a sickly child, and Sansa's cousin. The Iron Islands were completely out of the question.

A man who has the Lannisters for his enemies would do well to make the Tyrells his friends , Lord Varys' voice echoed in Ned's mind. Willas Tyrell might serve. The heir to Highgarden was crippled, but so was Bran, and Ned loved him no less. By all accounts Willas was handsome, clever, and a great lover of dogs and horses. Sansa would be surrounded by beauty, and a great lady when Willas inherited. Although Willas was in his early twenties... well. There was plenty of time to find Sansa a new betrothed. Soon she and Arya would be safe in the North.