Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Up until Robert Baratheon's untimely death, she had been happily living in Winterfell. She had known – known from the day it had been arranged – that being betrothed to the eldest of the Lord of Storms End's children would mean that she would one day have to leave her family and home. The match was most certainly not one that pleased her. A large part of her believed that it was simply Robert clinging to a dream – getting as close as he could to having a Stark girl in his family.

Sansa did not like Joffrey Baratheon, not one bit. She despised him, actually. The first few times they had met, he had seemed pleasant enough – charming, even. But the older they got, the more she began to dislike the boy. He was mean, cruel even. He would torment her at every opportunity he got – leaving bruises on her arms and biting her lips.

When her mother and father had sat her down to tell her about the match, she choked back the tears and forced a smile onto her face. Later that night, Robb cornered her and demanded to know why she had not argued her case. Her brother was ademant that she explain to their father that Joffrey was a monster. Sometimes, Sansa believed that Robb hated 'that Baratheon boy' more than she did - "It's my duty as a big brother." He told her. As much as she wanted to tell her father the truth, she did not want to cause any problems. There was an unsettled peace in the world, and she didn't want anything to become anymore tense – especially between two old friends.

Robb thought it was a silly reason, and she didn't argue back. It was weak of her, not to fight her fate, but she was supposed to be a lady, and ladies did as they were told. Not Aunt Lyanna, her mind often whispered to her.

The story of Aunt Lyanna and King Rhaegar was impossibly romantic. Arya and Robb called her stupid when she said that, once. But she had always found the idea of being stolen impossibly romantic. It was a backwards notion, but everyone always said the North was a backwards place. Perhaps that's why she loved tales of what happened beyond the wall. Mayhaps that was why she had researched the unusual ways of the Targaryens – how it was not uncommon for them to have two wives. King Rhaegar would have had both Lyanna and Elia as his Queens, had Lyanna not died in childbirth.

Despite Aunt Lyanna leaving a note explaining to her father that she had fled with Rhaegar Targaryen to marry him, war still raged through the Seven Kingdoms. Brandon Stark had gone south to visit Lyanna, to check the legitimacy of her note, King Aerys had them killed for treachery - accusing Rhaegar for kidnapping Lyanna when she was safe and well. Robert Baratheon and Lord Rickard Stark made the decision to march on the Capital, to free the Seven Kingdoms of King Aerys mad ways. The war only ended after ser Jaime Lannister had killed their King. Not long after the end of the war, crowned King Rhaegar Targaryen took Eddard to see his sister, who died on the birthing bed - leaving Rhaegar heartbroken.

Yet his heartbreak did not turn him into a vengeful or cruel King, he was just and fair. He had a third child, a newborn son who was half Targaryen and half Stark.

Prince Jon Targaryen was her cousin, one Sansa had never met and she had spent half her life doubting that she ever would meet him. They had written to one another, on the occasion – her father wanted them all to treat him like the family he was. When Bran and Robb had found the direwolf pups, one had even been sent as a nameday gift to Jon. Apparently he had named the young wolf Ghost.

When she moved to Casterly Rock, her Direwolf Lady, had been left in Winterfell. It was very rare that she felt safe without the company of Lady. But the Lannisters had not wanted such a creature in their home, and so she had no choice but to oblige. It had been Bran and Rickon that had promised to look after Lady. She trusted that Bran would care for her young wolf, while Rickon would make sure Lady would get plenty of exercise.

It was after Robert died, and Stannis had taken over looking after Storm's End – until Joffrey was of age – that it was requested that she went to Casterly Rock. She was taken from her family and put straight into the heart of the lions den. 'You're going to be the lone wolf among the pride of lions, sister.' Arya had said to her. And then she had broken down, surprising her younger sister, because she knew exactly where she was headed and what was going to happen.

The time she had spent in Casterly Rock could have been far worse, she supposed. She enjoyed reading in the library, where she would have the company of the imp. She came to enjoy Tyrion's company; he was one of the three people who she could actually stand to be around in her new ho- prison. Myrcella and Tommen made for nice company as well, and sometimes she would pretend she was elsewhere; that she wasn't a lone wolf among a pride of lions.

She spent all the time that she could in an attempt to avoid Joffrey, and Tyrion even tried to help keep him away from her. But no matter how many times the imp slapped or berated his nephew, he would still find her, he would still hurt her. And she began to realise that the more he hurt her, the more she was changing. No matter how hard they tried to turn her into a lion, she would always,always be a wolf. And whenever she would lay eyes upon her betrothed, the familiar words would enter her mind. Winter is coming. Because there was more to those words than the Lannisters seemed to realise.

Almost a year after she had moved to Casterly Rock, she received a raven. A raven carrying ta piece of parchment, stamped with the royal seal. She was as excited as she was nervous when she opened it – her eyes scanning the unfamiliar script. The looping handwritten invitation made her body tremble with excitement, a grin spreading across her face. It was a royal invitation, from the princess herself. The Lannisters could not say no. They had no choice but to allow her to accept. A few days later, they too received an invitation, and the glares from Cersei, Tywin and Joffrey told her that their invitation did not come straight from the hands of the royal family.

She knew the stories of how dangerous Kings Landing could be. There was many a tale of treachery, or deceit, and the countless lies. She knew she had to be careful, had to keep her eyes and ears alert at every second. But she believed herself to be prepared – after all, she had survived the lions den for almost a year. Cersei blindly teaching her how to play a game that was dangerous and not by any means fun. Jaime unassumingly teaching her how to be unsuspecting, yet dangerous. Tywin teaching her, day after day, that loyalty lies with family. And Tyrion purposefully taught her how to use her mind, taught her how to strengthen her resolve. And so she was sure that whatever occurred in Kings Landing, she could survive it.

The thought of spending time away from Casterly Rock, of spending time away from the Lannisters, made excitement bloom within her. There was nothing in all of the Seven Kingdoms that she hated more than she hated Casterly Rock. Even though she was headed to the Capital and not North, she could not stop the swelling of happiness and excitement. Finally, after a year, she was getting to leave her own personal hell. Nothing was going to put her down, not even Joffrey. She was finally going to spend time away from the family that made her life a living hell, and she was sure that nothing could possibly be better than that.

Tyrion had smiled at her, rolling his mismatched eyes as he caught sight of her, already mounted on her horse and ready to go. She flashed him a grin and he chuckled as he was helped up onto his own horse. She hoped to ride alongside him, and not Joffrey. Her plan was to stay as far away from the boy that looked far too like Jaime for it to be natural. She would have ridden alongside Tommen or Myrcella, but neither of them were to be actually riding.

And as they left Casterly Rock, she felt more free than she had done in a very long time.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Aegon was glaring down at his breakfast, and Jon wondered what had happened to cause such a foul mood in his older brother. Seventeen years of experience told him that it was better for Jon if he didn't ask. Aegon could only glare at his breakfast for so long before he cracked.

"Father spoke to me this morning."

Aegon always cracked.

Placing his fork down, Jon looked at his brother and raised an eyebrow. "What about?"

"Take a wild guess, brother."

A small part of him was tempted to use his usual answer whenever he was faced with Rhaenys asking that Gods-forsaken question. Something told him that Aegon wouldn't take as kindly to any sarcastic comments.

"He wanted to discuss-"

"He wanted to discuss our marriage options, again."

Another reason Jon could not use his usual response, was that it hit a little too close to home. "What did you say?"

A scoff and a shake of the head, Aegon's frustration was rolling off of him in waves. "I told him I would marry whom I wanted, when I wanted. I told him that Rhaenys was not being sold off to Loras Tyrell like some common whore, and then had to tell father that no, you were not going to marry Margaery instead."

Jon felt himself stiffen, and his gaze dropped to his plate. "I thought father was wanting me to wed-"

"Apparently political alliances are now more important than keeping the Targaryen line pure."

If Jon acknowledged the rush that pounded through his veins, it would mean acknowledging the relief. No part of him wanted to admit that he felt relieved that his father was reconsidering marrying Jon to his aunt. Jon loved Dany, the Gods knew that, but he loved her like he loved Rhaenys and Aegon; as if she was his sibling, not a lover.

"Dany will be thrilled to hear that."

Aegon laughed. "Thrilled? The moment we tell her that father is thinking of marrying you to someone else, she will jump onto the next ship to Essos."

Dany did not want to marry, she wanted to travel and explore. When they were children she would go on and on about how one day she would be a grand adventurer; Rhaegar put a halt to those dreams when he explained that it was more than likely she would have to stay in Westeros and marry.

"I doubt she would even wait for father to confirm it." Jon chuckled. "She would seize the opportunity and be gone; returning years from now with some Horse Lord husband, and more gifts for Rhaenys than our dear sister would know what to do with."

Aegon's laugh sounded strained, his eyes focusing intently on Jon. "If Dany did rush off, I would have half a mind to send Rhaenys with her. Get her away from this hell hole."

Suddenly, Jon felt as if the air had gotten caught in his throat. "You would send Rhaenys to Essos?"

"She is so lonely here. There are so few people she can connect to, Essos would give her a chance to live a life away from the one she hates so much."

It was as if things were finally clearing up for Jon. Before he could open his mouth and ask his brother a question that he knew could change everything for them, the door to Aegon's solar creaked as it opened.

"It is such a beautiful day, do you not think, brothers?"

Jon turned his head, eyes landing on his sister as she wandered into the room. A smile was plastered to her face as she approached the table, and for a brief moment, Jon wondered if the blinding smile would be at all removable during Sansa's stay.

"It is as beautiful as every other day, sister." Aegon replied lightly.

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at her older brother for a moment, but was unable to keep the mock annoyance on her face for long. "There are a few more families to be arriving today." Her violet gaze landed on Jon. "Aegon and I will be greeting them; of course, you can join us if you wish, but I was hoping you could look after Sansa – show her around?"

Jon wanted to protest and say that yes, actually, he did want to join his siblings, but there was a large part of him that would regret it. Spending his day meeting Lords and Ladies was exhausting, not a day went by that he wasn't thankful that Aegon was going to be King, and he wasn't. Not to mention the fact that he was curious. The Northerns intrigued him. His Northern family intrigued him. Not once had he ever stepped foot in the cold north that his mother was from. Each nameday took him further away from his roots.

A day spent with his cousin could not be that bad. He could show her everything in the Red Keep, and she could tell him anything he wanted to know about his mothers family and home.

"Of course, Rhaenys." Pausing he, pushed his chair back from the table slightly. "It will be-"

The grin that stretched across his sisters face was enough to bring him to a halt. "Brilliant!" Her clapped her hands, and laced her fingers together. "If you could take her to the ravens first, that would be wonderful. She has a letter to send to her family – we all know how desperate the Starks are to hear from her."

That they did know. It would hardly be the first time that he had received a letter from Robb or Bran saying that they had yet to hear from their sister. For a time, Jon had the audacity to think that maybe the Lions had gotten their claws into his cousin, but then Robb had mentioned that Sansa despised Joffrey, and Jon had felt guilty for a number of weeks. Having seen the interactions between Sansa and the Lannisters first hand, he understood perfectly. They wanted Sansa to feel isolated.

It had been his honour to tell his Northern family that Sansa had been invited to the Kings nameday celebrations, and that he, himself, would make sure that she was safe and well. On top of that, he had promised to write to them and tell them if she was well, or if something was amiss.

"I think it will be a wonderful start to the day for her – not being faced with the Lannisters." Rhaenys' expression soured. "Gods know what I would do with myself if the first face I had to see was thatBaratheon boy's."

Aegon pushed his plate across the table, dropping his fork. "Even the thought of having to deal with him is enough to make me feel ill."

"Part of me feels bad for him." Rhaenys stated in a bored tone. "It must be awful living in a world where the only person who thinks you are worth something is a conniving, unloving woman that you have no choice but to call mother."

"You know it is bad when your own family does not care for your company." Aegon chuckled darkly. Looking at their sister, he gave a small sigh. "I cannot be the only one that thinks there is something almost, mad, about him." Aegons brow furrowed slightly.

"The Hand thinks so too." Jon muttered, recalling a conversation that he had overheard between Jon Connington, and the maester.

Suddenly there was two pairs of violet eyes staring intently at him, as if he had said something life changing. Aegon rested his elbows on the table before placing his head in his hands.

"Come now, little brother, do not leave us hanging."

Sighing, Jon realised that he had no choice but to divulge the information he had heard between the maester and the Hand of the King. "It was a year or so ago, before Sansa moved to Casterly Rock – when Cersei was still trying to undermine Robert and betroth Joffrey to Rhaenys, or Myrcella to you or I." Shifting slightly, he gave a small cough. "I was going to speak with the maester when I realised Jon was talking to him. I was going to just walk away when I over-heard something interesting. So I decided to listen in and, father and Jon had discussed the Baratheon-Targaryen betrothal requests, and father said he could refuse Joffrey for obvious reasons – he was already betrothed – but he was unsure how long he could postpone not giving a valid reason not to marry one of us to Myrcella or Tommen.

"It was public knowledge that Robert had many a bastard, and Jon decided to pay some of them a visit when he noticed something interesting. It didn't matter how old the bastards were, or what sex they were, each and every one of them had the Baratheon look about them. They all looked like Robert. Of course, we have all seen Robert's legitimate children. Not one of them looks even remotely like their father. They are so, completely Lannister in looks that you would never even think that they had a father from any other family. Of course, Jon could not prove his theory, and Robert had been dead for over a year now, but it could explain why Joffrey is as mad as we all think he is."

"Well-" Aegon sat back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "That is interesting."

"But then who would their father be? Certainly not Tyrion, Cersei cannot stand him."

A heart laugh erupted from Aegon as he looked up at their sister. "Of course not, sweet sister, but oh, how she loves her twin brother."

"As interesting as this is, there is nothing we can do to prove it. And as we agreed last night, father would not appreciate us playing at politics during his nameday festivities. Let us celebrate, have fun, and scheme without getting caught."

"Oh, my dear, sweet Rhaenys, do you always have to spoil my fun?"

Jon decided it was probably best that he went to fetch Sansa.

Lowering his head, his eyes danced around the room. There was more he could do in order to hide himself, so long as he kept his voice and head down, no one should pay any attention to him. Joining the Nights Watch was not a fate he ever fancied for himself, but it was one that would get him away from the hell that was his home town.

Of course, he had been travelling with a large group of criminals to the wall, until Lannister guards attacked them. For some strange reason, the men had been after him, demanding that he step forward. 'Don't want to waste all these good mens lives, do you?'

During the scuffle, he and Hot Pie had slipped away unnoticed. Still headed for the Wall, they decided to make their own way. One where they wouldn't be attacked by Lannister men who had orders to kill him, but refused to state the reason for such an order.

As far as he was aware, he had never set foot in Lannisport, nor had he ever crossed paths with a Lannister.

Of course, had he not spent so long travelling North, he would be sorely tempted to head to Kings Landing so that he might be able to report what he was over-hearing. It was the third time, and the third inn that he had over-heard a similar conversation.

The inn they were currently in, was rather dingy. The wooden tables were obviously beginning to rot, and he silently prayed to the Old Gods and the New that it was not mould he had seen at the bottom of one of the tankards. The one thing the inn did have going for it, was that it was warm. When people said the North was colder than anywhere else, he had not realised just how different the difference in temperature it would be. Before joining the watch, he wanted to surround himself with as much heat as possible – try and memorise how it feels to be warm. Everyone knew that taking the Black meant sacrificing heat as well as everything else.

Not that he had anything else to sacrifice.

Neither did Hot Pie.

The fact that Hot Pie was actually headed North to take the Black was somewhat surprising. The younger boy hardly looked the part, although he supposed a lot of people really looked the part of a man of the Nights Watch.

"Lannisters are payin' a lotta gold for support." One man slurred, his arm slung over his... friends shoulder as he nearly toppled off the bar stool. "Says th' King is a' mad as goo' ol' Aerys."

Of course, he had never met the King, but he did not believe a word that slipped past the sellswords mouth. From what he had heard, King Rhaegar was one of the best King's the Seven Kingdoms had seen in over a century. Anything he had ever heard about the King, he was painted in a good light. There was nothing mad about him. Calm, kind, good. The common people loved the King.

"Ah think, Tywin wants ta put Joffree on th' throne... Ta control 'im from th' pos't'on of th' 'and."

"They won't be able to start a revolt without a good reason." The slightly more sober friend responded. "And Tywin definitely does not have as many supporters as Rhaegar."

"Won' stop 'im, if he fin's a goo' reason."

Staring down at his drink, the frown on his face deepened. There was never a good reason to start a war. But he knew the threat of a revolt when he heard one, even if it was from a drunken man's lips. Gulping down the rest of his drink, he decided it would be best to let the Lords deal with the threat themselves when the time came. It was hardly his place to turn up at one of the keeps and demand an audience simply to tell them of a rumour – even if it was the third time that week he had heard the same damn thing.

"Should we do anything?" Hot Pie asked nervously.

Gendry shook his head. "What could we do?"

The knock at her chamber door almost surprised her. It had not been too long since she had left Rhaenys solar and returned to the chambers that she had been so graciously gifted with for her stay in the Red Keep.

Walking to the door, she tried to keep her heart calm, convincing herself that there was no way one of the Lannisters could possibly be on the opposite side of the door. As she opened the door, she struggled to contain her sigh of relief. The pit in her stomach disappeared and she allowed a smile to bloom across her face.

Before she could drop into a curtsey, Jon held out his hand. Once again, she felt nervous as she took his outstretched hand. Leaning over, he placed a kiss to the back of her hand before straightening up. "Good morning, my lady."

"Good morning, my Prince."

His lips twitched ever so slightly. "Jon. Please, just call me Jon."

Heart catching in her chest, she almost nodded. "Of course, my- Jon." Counting to three in her mind, she let her smile grow ever so slightly. "Though, I would ask in return that you simply call me Sansa."

"Very well, Sansa." He paused for a brief second, a small smile etched onto his face. "Rhaenys asked me to apologise on her behalf, she has to assist our brother in welcoming a number of other Houses to the Capital today. She also told me that you need to send a raven, and so I would be honoured to be of assistance."

Sansa almost frowned, but if living with the Lannisters had taught her anything at all, it was how to keep a smile etched onto her face, even if she was frowning on the inside. A small part of her was confused, as the princess had already apologised for the fact that she was to spend the day with her brother, and Sansa had already told her that it was no problem at all.

"It is no bother at all." The words spilled past her lips without her consent. "I shall just fetch the parchment and we can go at once. Oh, unless you have anything to do at this moment. I should never have presu-"

"Sansa, I would not be here if I had anything else to do at this moment in time."

Relief flooded through her, and the twist of her stomach was something she decided she would definitely be ignoring. There was nothing different about the smile that Jon offered her; it was one she had seen Robb wear a million different times whenever Jeyne Pool asked if she could play with them.

It must be a Stark smile. She thought to herself.

Giving the most minute curtsey, she walked back into the chambers to fetch the letter she had written four different times. It was sat on the desk that was sat just by the window, and she plucked it off of the russet wood. Running one hand down the front of her dress to smooth it out, she turned around and walked back towards Jon.

Holding out his arm for her, his smile grew ever so minutely. "Shall we?"

Nodding, she took his arm after closing the chamber door behind her. Slowly he led her away from the chambers and kept a steady pace. "Did you rest well, Sansa?"

Her gaze flickered up to Jon and allowed a small smile to regrow on her face. "Oh yes. It was the best sleep that I have had in many a moon."

"I am glad you slept well." Had she looked away a second she would have missed the conflicted look that flickered across his face. "Do-" He paused. "Do you not like living in Casterly Rock?"

Had her arm not tucked into his, she is certain she would have come to a stand still. The pounding of her heart suddenly seemed to be all she could hear, and the only thing that crossed her mind waswhy am I so worried, letting him know the truth might help my cause.

She did not want to marry Joffrey, and a part of her would be willing to do anything to get her out of the betrothal. If anyone could help her get out of the arrangement, it would be her royal cousin. But she did not want to use him. Rhaenys had invited her to the Red Keep to befriend her, not so that Sansa could betray her trust and abuse their friendship. Yet something told her that if she lied to Jon, he would know.

"No." She uttered the one word as quietly as she possibly could, without risking having to repeat herself.

Suddenly, the desire to go back to bed and simply sleep the day away flooded through her. If she slept, one of two things would happen; she would be plagued with nightmares, horrible words and the memories of being beaten and broken. Or she would have dreams of running – padding – around the grounds of Winterfell, slumped at the bottom of strangely familiar beds. Once upon a time, those dreams confused her. Scared her, almost. It took three turns of the moon for her to realise that in those dreams, she was Lady. Since moving to Casterly Rock, each night before she slept, she prayed to the Gods that she would dream of being inside her Direwolf, rather than have Joffrey plague her mind. Most nights, she spent wandering Winterfell in the form of her beautiful wolf.

"Rhaenys, Aegon and I will do everything we can to make sure you do not have to be around them more than you have to be while you stay here."

Looking back up at him, she felt her heart skip a beat and her stomach twist. It had been easy to separate the royal family from being her family until she had arrived. Rhaenys words echoed through her mind once again.

His family, is my family.

They were treating her as family would. Protecting her for the little time that they could. For the first time in a long time, Sansa felt a little less lonely.

"Thank you." Feeling somewhat out her element, she decided to change the topic. "How is Ghost?"

Since arriving in the Red Keep she had yet to see the Direwolf she craved to meet. After being without Lady for so long, she longed for the company of a wolf. Despite scarcely remembering what Jons Direwolf had look like as a pup, she wanted nothing more that to run her fingers through the unfamiliar fur. Direwolves were of the north, and despite Jon being half Stark, the closest thing she could get to the north, in the south, would Ghost.

"He is doing very well." A fond smile appeared on Jons face. "Rhaenys and Aegon joke that his personality is the same as my own."

"It is most likely true." A fond smile tugged at her lips as she thought back to her life in Winterfell "Shaggydog is as wild as little Rickon. Summer is calm, curious and adventurous, like Bran." She chuckled. "Nymeria and Lady got along as well as Arya and myself; I truly hope they have not fought one another. And Grey Wind is every bit Robb."

"Shaggydog?" Jon looked at her, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The laugh that escaped her lips was half a laugh, and half a sigh. "I believe Rickon only gave the poor thing such a name, was because he was so young when he got the wolf."

"It is a rather ridicules, but brilliant name for an animal." Jon laughed lightly. "Though it is nice to know that Ghost is not the only one with his owners disposition."

"My father once said it was almost as if it was fated for us to find the pups."

"Perhaps it was." He opened a door and lead her into the room. "We have plenty of ravens, once you have sent one off to Winterfell, I shall give you the grand tour of the Red Keep, if you would like."

Looking up at him once more, she smiled brightly. "I would like that very much."

Chapter Text

"And this is the throne room."

Her eyes flickered around the room, unable to linger on one thing for too long. All she could feel was awe. Everything about the throne room was equal parts intimidating and amazing. The huge dragon skeletons that lined the hall took her breath away, and suddenly she desired to really see them. Fully grown and alive.

As a child, she had fully believed in the existence in dragons. The older she got, the more that belief waned. Until finally, she accepted the one, simple truth – they were nothing more than a story. Dragons, like all of Old Nan's tales, were simply myths – legends told to make history seem all the more interesting.

Stood there, staring up at the skeletons of creatures she could never have truly imagined, she wished she could see them as they were. Shining scales, large teeth and their fiery breath. Flying high in the sky – leagues above the world. It would have been even more amazing than being surrounded by their skeletons.

Not for the first time, she felt immensely grateful for having been given the opportunity to set foot within the Red Keep. A certainty sat within her, the knowledge that there was likely no where else in the world that contained anything like it.

The familiar longing for her family nipped at the back of her mind and in the centre of her heart. It was easy to pretend they were there with her, seeing everything she was seeing. Robb would be as surprised as she was, finally seeing how real the dragons had been. Arya and Bran would be asking a million different questions while studying each and every skeleton. And Rickon would disregard every rule and each warning and he climbed up and into the deceased creatures.

"I used to think that dragons were just myths, made up to make history seem far more interesting." She confessed quietly.

"Most people do."

It did not surprise her. Most of her life she imagined that many people would believe the same as she and Robb. After all, almost everyone in the north did not believe in dragons, why would anyone else? After moving to Casterly Rock, she had discussed dragons many a time with Tyrion – he was fascinated simply by the idea of dragons – who wished that such creatures existed, but highly doubted they ever did. Joffrey she knew for certain did not believe they ever existed, while Myrcella believed they still did exist.

While still living in Winterfell, her mind had been opened to an extent; to to the existence of dragons, but to the existence of things that most believed to be an impossibility. The few conversations she had partaken in with Brans Wildling- friend, had been eye opening. The woman was so certain when she spoke of having seen giants and White Walkers, and all sorts of other creatures, that Sansa felt she had no choice but to believe the woman. After all, Osha said she had seen everything she ever spoke about; no one who wore such a haunted expression while speaking of the events could possibly be lying.

"If dragons were real, do you think that giants and Mammoths must have existed as well then?" Adjusting her stance, she turned to look at Jon. "Everything the stories tell us about what is North of the Wall. They are all stories, just like dragons are to anyone who has not stepped foot in this room."

Jon looked at her, a curious glint in his eyes "I suppose you cannot rule out the possibility."

A smile tugged at Sansa's lips as she spoke, as if it was a piece of gossip she was sharing with Jeyne Pool. "Bran's Wildling friend, Osha, says that she has seen all sorts of things north of the Wall."

Shaking his head, his lips began to twist upwards. "So, she says she's seen a Mammoth? A real, live one."

With a nod, Sansa felt her eyes widen. The last time she had discussed such things had been with Tyrion, and that had been so many moons ago. "She said she grew up seeing them on a regular basis. Some of her stories about her encounters with Mammoths were so fascinating. Every time she spoke about such things, all I could think of, was how fascinating it must be too see them. To get up close and really see a Mammoth, or a giant- perhaps even an Ice Dragon."

Her gaze had trailed back to the skeletons that filled the Throne Room, and if she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was surrounded by the creatures that featured in some of Old Nan's tales.

"Ice Dragon?"

Frowning slightly, she turned back to Jon. "Yes, an Ice Dragon. Have you never heard of them?" Though the look on his face gave her all the answers she needed. A teasing smile slid onto her face. "A dragon a Targaryen has never heard of? You should be ashamed."

"Horrified." Came his deadpan reply, an eyebrow rising, the only encouragement she got to continue.

"When I was younger, our Old Nan used to tell us all sorts of stories. Bran- Bran thrived off of them, while Robb never believed a word. The Ice Dragons were only mentioned a couple of times, but when they were – I loved those stories." She paused for a moment, thinking on the elderly woman who made every story she ever told seem impossibly terrifying. Spinning tales that would have Arya climbing into Sansa's bed in the wee hours, and have Sansa silently thanking the Gods for her sisters arrival, secretly thankful she would not have to sleep alone.

"She told us that Ice Dragons roam the Shivering Sea and the White Waste. That they are far larger than Valyrian Dragons, with translucent wings, and pale blue eyes, like crystals. Unlike the Valyrian Dragons, they are made from the ice itself, and their breath is so cold it is as if they are breathing winter itself."

"Maybe one day we will see a Stark sat on the back of one, put a new twist on the infamous Winter is Coming."

Biting her tongue, she held in a laugh. "That it would. Though I highly doubt I would ever live to see such a thing. And anyway, we Starks have our Direwolves. We should leave the Dragon taming to those who have the creatures as their sigil."

What Sansa could only describe as a smirk briefly appeared on Jon's face. "And yet here I am, a Targaryen with a pet Direwolf."

"I suppose you have a point, Jon." Raising a hand, she tapped her chin, and slyly looked up at him. "So when do I get my dragon?"

When Rhaenys hunted them out, standing before them with her arms folded and a perfect eyebrow arched, it only just occurred to him how far into the day it had gotten. The entire day had slipped past him, and all he had done was take his cousin on a tour of the Keep. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fathom where the time between leaving his siblings after breaking his fast to being stood in the Godswood with Sansa had actually gone.

The time had flown by so fast that it was only when Rhaenys told them it was time to dine, that he realised that he was incredibly hungry. The pang of hunger was quickly over ridden by a flush of guilt. Not only had he missed out on luncheon, but so had Sansa – the girl he had promised the rest of his Stark relatives to look after. Causing her to miss out on a meal was not exactly looking after her.

Naturally, they arrived late. The King and Queen were not present, and there were more faces at the table than had been the night previously. Lord Mace Tyrell sat next to Cersei, while Loras and Margaery were sat opposite Dany and Aegon. Tyrion looked pained on Loras' right, a goblet of wine nearly empty in front of him. Joffrey looked up from where he sat on his right, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of them.

Jon had the resurfacing urge to slap him. That would be Tyrion's job. His mind reminded him, and it took all of his self control to not even snigger at the thought.

Deciding to further the Baratheon boy's annoyance, Jon decided it would only be right to pull out the seat next to Tyrion for his cousin. The smile that lit up Sansa's face, mixed with the look of fury that flashed in Joffrey's eyes made Jon wanting to smile smugly – not that he would dare to do such a thing.

"Sansa, my little dove, where have you been?" Cersei was looking intently down the table, as Jon slid into the seat opposite his cousin, settled next to Rhaenys.

"Oh, Jon was giving me a tour of the Keep."

Despite being two seats away, he could hear the snigger that escaped his brothers lips, and Jon could understand why perfectly. The various expressions on the Lannisters – and even the Tyrell's – faces was something that made Jon feel incredibly smug; similarly to when he had helped Sansa off her horse the day prior.

It was obvious that Cersei was trying to keep the frustration and anger off of her face, while Tywin had the perfect mask of indifference. Joffrey however, he looked as if he was ready to murder someone.

Jon was not the kind of person who made a habit of going out of his way to make anyone hate him, nor did he make a habit of trying to anger and frustrate a family as important as the Lannisters. Yet the smug feeling that buried into him made him want to see how far he could push. See how long it would take before the spoilt lordling snapped. Watch the Lannisters perfect facade fall away – it would free Sansa from their clutches, and if it backfired, well it was Rhaenys idea.

"Ah, I suppose that took all day, did it? You missed luncheon with Myrcella, Tommen and I."

Sansa's eyes dropped to the table, and another pang of guilt flushed through him. It was easy to forget that Sansa was usually at the Lannister beck and call, day in and day out – it reminded him of a fairytale he used to be read as a child,

"That was my fault, my lady." Jon started, deciding the truth was always the best route in such a situation "I kept asking Lady Sansa about the north, and my northern family. I grew up knowing rather little, and was eager to discover as much as I could. I do apologise for taking up so much of her ladies time."

Cersei was trying to deduce him, that much was evident. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly a she her body moved marginally closer to the table.

"Of course, it must have been incredibly fascinating. It must have been, to take up the entire day."

Sometimes, Jon wished he did not have the status that he did. Had he not been born a prince, it would have been perfectly acceptable to open his mouth and start tearing into the woman at the other end of the table. However, he was not baseborn, he was not a member of the lower classes, he was Prince Jon Targaryen, and he had to stick to the rules.

The room was somewhat silent, and Jon did not have to turn his head to know that there were three sets of narrowed violet eyes.

"Jon says he can show you the Dragon skeletons." The quiet and careful voice of Sansa cut through the silence.

The easy grin that spread across Tyrion's face let all the tension run out of Jon's back.

"So-" Aegon drawled out. "Did you really learn a lot about your Stark relations, or were you not wanting Sansa to feel humiliated?"

Jon looked over at his brother, almost hurt that he would even suggest such a thing.

Dinner had been tense, to say the least. The Lannisters had been in a very fowl mood, with the exception of Tyrion, and the Tyrells had been the Tyrells. Margaery had flirted her way through the entire dinner, yet her attentions were not focused. 'Keeping her options open', Rhaenys had hissed under her breath – Tyrion had choked on his drink, and Sansa's lips had twitched upwards. When Margaery had made a sly comment towards Joffrey – who responded wide eyes, with a crude smile on his face – Jon had wanted to snarl at the girl, tell her that he was betrothed. He thought better of it when he remembered who it was Joffrey was betrothed to. Loras however, was focused. The attention he focused on Dany would be flattering – had his eyes not been constantly glancing at Aegon.

"Yes." Jon replied slowly. "I found out quite a lot, actually. Sansa even divulged some of their old tales."

"Part of me wishes you had told Cersei some ridiculous lie." Aegon shook his head. "Wiped there perfect little masks right off. I mean-" A laugh slipped past the older boys lips. "We all saw their faces when Rhaenys all but dragged you two to dinner late, then when Sansa all but confirmed you had spent the entire day together. It was hysterical."

The smuggness returned and Jons lips turned upwards. "Never play all your cards at once. Remember?"

Another laugh erupted from his brother. "Of course I remember, I'm the one that taught you that." With the shake of his head, Aegon leaned back once more, his head resting against the wall. "So. I may have mentioned to Dany that father was reconsidering marriage prospects."

Internally, Jon was sighing. It would not be a great way for their fathers nameday festivities to begin, with Dany jumping onto a ship to disappear for a number of years.

"The last time I saw her that excited was when Viserys brought her back that dress from Quarth, promising to one day show her the city that made such beautiful dresses."

Surprisingly, Jon did not feel anything. Being told that someone was excited at the prospect of not marrying him was supposed to make him feel bad, yet it didn't. Instead, all he could think about was the fact that he had a choice. For a limited space in time, he had the chance to chose his own bride, and a rush of excitement flooded through him. A political arrangement was as awful a thought as marrying to keep the bloodline pure.; yet there was a shred of time that he had before his father discussed his options with him.

"Viserys gets back tomorrow, or the morrow after. He will be departing for Essos again at the turn of the new moon, and Dany will be going with him. She is set on the matter."

"What about Rhaenys?"

A groan slid out of Aegons lips, and his head slumped forward. "I love Viserys, but there is no way in seven hells she is going to Essos with him. He is as set as father about keeping the line pure, and you know what he keeps saying-"

"If you do not marry her soon, he will."

Once again, Jon was thankful that he was not in his brothers position. The crowned prince had too many problems to deal with, and far too little time. Mother had always called her eldest son a procrastinator – he put off all his problems until they had to be faced.

"I just need to be sure."

There was nothing he could say in response. Had it been the other way round, he was certain he would be saying the same thing. After all their late night conversations, he knew that Aegon was still unsure when it came to marrying Rhaenys. It was not a matter of him not wanting to marry his sister, it was the fact that Aegon wanted to be sure that there was no one better for her. That she would not ever wish she was married to someone else.

Despite what many thought of his brother, Aegon was a good man. A reasonable man. His heart was in the right place, and as far as Jon was concerned, that was all that mattered.

"Brother, stop worrying yourself. These worries are for another day, for now, we have a tourney to win."

Of course, they could not both win, but they were both participating.

"I hope I get to knock Loras Tyrell's perfect arse onto the ground."

With a laugh, Jon leaned back in his chair. "It is a shame that Joffrey is not participating. It would be an honour for one of us to send his arse flying from his horse."

Joffrey was the sort of person who bragged about his skill with a sword and a lance, but never had the balls to prove it. Something that irked Jon, because the desire to beat the Baratheon boy at something clawed at him.

"Surprise, surprise." Aegon chuckled. "It is unlikely we would ever get another opportunity to beat him."

"Typical craven. Hiding behind his mothers skirts."

A chortle erupted from Aegon. "Your friend Samwell would be more likely to pick up a lance, than that Baratheon boy."

Jon tried desperately not to laugh at the image that surfaced in his mind. Samwell Tarly was not the sort of man to participate in a tourney.

Sat in the Princesses solar, Sansa realised that despite the awkward dinner her day had been wonderful. From the beginning of her day there had been at least one person by her side that actually cared about her. The day had been spent with her cousin, and exploring a place she had never imagined getting to set foot in. With the opportunity to relax having appeared, she came to the realisation that she felt content.

If she never got to set foot in Winterfell again, she would be content to spend the rest of her life spending her days with the Targaryens.

Rhaenys smiled at her, gazing over the top of her goblet. "I am sorry I did not get to spend more of the day with you, after all, I was the one who invited you here. I hope my brother was not a disappointing substitute. I would have liked to have shown you around the Keep myself."

"It was no bother at all, Rhaenys. Jon was wonderful company. I have not had so much fun in a long time." Taking a sip from her glass, she let a smile of her own bloom across her face. "I understand that your royal duties come first, and I am certain we will have plenty of time to spend together."

Rhaenys eyes twinkled s she lowered her glass. "Certainly, Sansa. Once everyone has arrived, it will be hard to escape my company." The older girl let out a lugh. "By the time you leave you will be glad to be getting rid of me."

Sansa doubted that very much. "It will be more likely that you will be glad to be rid of me."

"What rubbish." Rhaenys laughed. "I will be sending ravens begging for your return less than a moon after you depart."

It was the first time that it crossed her mind, that maybe the Princess was as lonely as she was. Growing up surrounded by liars was far worse than spending a year with them. If Rhaenys asked Sansa to spend the rest of her life in Kings Landing, there was a chance that she would break every rule and law she knew of just to appease her new friend. The womans company was refreshing. She had gone out of her way to make Sansa's stay as welcome as possible, and Sansa wanted to repay her in any way she could.

His family is my family. Suddenly Sansa felt connected to Rhaenys own words. Jon's family was quickly starting to feel like her own family – how glad Robb would be if she told him; that she felt safe and content with the Targaryens.

"I would happily turn my horse around and return."

Finishing what was in her goblet, something serious entered Rhaenys eyes, making Sansa feel incredibly nervous. "Might I ask you a question, Sansa?"

The Arya in her, whispered in the back of her mind. You already did. But she was not as brash or rude as her younger sister. "You may."

"Where is Lady? Your Direwolf. I had hoped I might get to meet her, or at the very least have her introduced to Ghost, I believe my brothers Wolf is a little lonely."

Why she had not expected such a question, she did not know. Yet as she opened her mouth, she felt the words stick in her throat. Lady should have been with her. Lady should have gotten to reunite with her brother. A small part of Sansa wondered why it was Rhaenys asking her of Lady's whereabouts, and not Jon. It was Jon who owned a Direwolf, after all.

"The Lannisters forbade me from taking her with me to Casterly Rock." She replied, frowning. "They told me they did not want such a terrifying beast roaming through their home."

Rhaenys did not miss a beat. "And yet Joffrey is allowed to live there."

Sansa almost choked on the drink she had taken a sip of. Looking up at the smirking princess, Sansa could not help the grin that spread across her face. "Only because Tyrion never gets his way."

"True." Rhaenys smile slowly grew. "Yet thankfully, neither of us are currently at Casterly Rock, we are in Kings Landing. With not a Lannister in sight." Refilling her goblet, the older girl lifted it. "To new friendships."

Sansa lifted her own goblet, barely able to contain her own giddiness. "To new friendships."

And home seemed to feel a little closer.

Chapter Text

Had he had a better nights sleep, he would probably have been in a far better mood. However, that was not the case. The entire night Ghost had howled and whined, scratching at the chamber door or padded around the room making strange noises that made Jon want to throw whatever he could get a hold of at the Direwolf. Being as exhausted as he was, it did not occur to him that there was a perfectly good reason for Ghost's behaviour two corridors away. A part of him would have felt guilty, had he not ushered the wolf out of his room not too long before sunrise.

So when he left his room to break his fast, he barely even acknowledged the scratch marks that had torn up part of his door.

It was only while he was walking through the corridors that he realised that the Keep was filled with guests, and there was a large Direwolf running around without its owner. Something he had promised his father would never happen. Which meant that as exhausted and as hungry as he was, he had to hunt through the entire Keep to try and find a wolf that was good at evading capture.

Had he been inside Ghost in his dreams that night, he would have known where he was. Instead, it had been one of the very few nights that he had not slid into his wolves skin. Perhaps that was something he could ask Sansa about. Surely he could not be the only one to slip into a Direwolves skin, and yet even if he did want to ask Sansa, he had not a clue on how to even broach such a strange topic.

It was the third place he went searching for Ghost, that he found him. At first, fear flooded through Jon, because there was someone with the large wolf. Normally if anyone laid eyes on Ghost, they ran in the other direction, so it took a moment for Jon to realise that it was okay. It was Sansa who had her fingers tangled in the snow white fur of the beast. It was Sansa who smiled peacefully down at his wolf as they kept pace with one another. Sansa who had her own Direwolf, and who would never run away from Ghost.

Sansa who was more than likely the cause of Ghost's distress the night before. In any other situation he would have dropped his head and groaned when the realisation hit him, instead he walked towards the two, and tried to drag some kind of smile onto his face.

“He finally found you then.”

Sansa turned her head to look at him, a smile tugging at her own lips. “I was pleasantly surprised to find him in the Godswood this morning.”

Within a matter of moments, Jon had found that his smile was suddenly coming more naturally to him. “I am glad, he has been getting more restless by the hour since your arrival. I suspect he has been desperate to see you with his own eyes.”

A light laugh slid past his cousin's lips, and she dropped her gaze to the wolf by her side. “I must admit that I have been as desperate to see him too. I have dearly missed the company of Direwolves.”

The smile on his face wilted. There was so many questions he wanted to ask her, yet he neither knew how, nor how appropriate it would be. Sansa had likely already pushed past the barrier of her comfort zone when he asked her if she liked living in Casterly Rock – a conversation he still had not discussed with Rhaenys.

How thin was the line between what was proper and what he wanted?

“I think he sorely misses Stark company.”

Sometimes, he decided, it is not worth the risk.

“Perhaps, one day, he might be reunited with his brothers and sisters.” Sansa's smile was bright, but she did not raise her eyes.

Jon decided he would quite like for that to happen. “Maybe one day. I am certain that Ghost would thoroughly enjoy himself, should he be reunited with his family.”

Had he not been paying attention, he would have missed the heartbreak that flickered through Sansa's eyes. Though her lips remained turned upwards, and her eyes met his.

“Should that be the case, I would appreciate word of how my dear Lady fare's. I miss her terribly.”

In that moment, he felt his heart shatter. Despite the smile on her face, Sansa was not happy. The fact that she had perfected the art of feigning a smile while obviously feeling so sad made him feel terrible. Nobody should have to feel like that. Nobody should be made to feel like they will never see their family again, and despite the fact Sansa had not said as much, it became incredibly obvious that was how she felt.

His heart was clenching in his chest, and for a brief moment, his lungs could not seem to take in any air. Usually, he would avoid asking personal questions of others, but he had done it once before and Sansa had answered truthfully – even if it was obvious that by doing so she felt as if she was risking everything. A part of him wondered if he was to ask the questions he did not want to know the answers to, she would answer as honestly as she had the first time round.

This is not the place nor the time, his mind all but snarled at him. It would go against everything he was ever taught about being proper. But he argued back; Sansa is family.

“May I ask you something, Sansa?”

Whatever she heard in his voice, caused a guarded look to appear in her eyes, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend he did not see her fingers tighten in Ghosts fur. “Of course, Jon.”

“What is it like, living with the Lannisters?”

It felt as if time itself had stopped, his heart pounded in his chest as he struggled not to close his eyes. To close his eyes would mean that he was trying to brace himself, and he did not want Sansa to think he thought so lowly of her experience – for all he knew she could have had a better time than one might think. Though she had told him she did not like living in Casterly Rock, so he knew whatever her experience, it had not bee pleasant.

“It could be worse.” Her voice was crisp and quiet, something he imagined snow might be like.

With a nod, he glanced around, making sure there was no one within earshot of them. “You wish to see Winterfell again, even if only for a little while?”

Something sparked in her eyes and she seemed to move closer to him, the smile gone from her face; something earnest and raw replacing it. Her voice as quiet and gentle as a summer breeze. “More than anything.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue. 'If you asked it of my father, he would help you.' But he knew in his heart they would be the wrong words to say.

He wanted to help her. He wanted to be the one to take her north, perhaps it was selfish of him as he had spent his whole life imagining what it might be like to finally see Winterfell with his own eyes. Yet he was not the only one so desperate to venture north. If he headed north, he knew he would take her with him in a heartbeat.

Reaching out, he took a hold of her free hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You will see your family again, Sansa, I promise.”

He knew in his heart that he was now set on doing everything he could to help her.

A large part of him wished he had been relieved when Jon finally joined him, but unfortunately that was not the case. Trying to entertain Margaery and Loras Tyrell took a lot of his patience, and he was absolutely certain Jon would fare no better than he. Had Rhaenys or Dany been around, he would have been able to start a wager on how long it would take the youngest Targaryen to up and leave. However, Rhaenys was ecstatic to have some time to spend with Sansa, while Dany had decided to take Tyrion to see both the Dragon skeletons and the library.

Dany had volunteered to sacrifice having lunch with the Tyrells to accommodate the only Lannister any of them could stomach.

“Where is Princess Rhaenys?” Margaery asked, a somewhat expectant look on her face. “Will she not be joining us?”

A sullen expression rippled across Jon's face and Aegon restrained from sighing. If his brother up and left him, he would be trapped with the two Tyrells again. Dealing with them was not his strong point.

“Our sister will not be joining us.” Aegon said, keeping his tone as polite as he possibly could. “She is having luncheon with Lady Sansa.”

It was Loras who replied; a smile on his lips, and eyes that did not once leave Aegon. “Could they not have both joined us? The more the merrier.”

“Our dear sister wished to spend some quality time with Sansa, away from everyone else. Rhaenys wished to take a small break away from all the preparations and guests, have a little quiet time.”

A part of him was thankful for Jon replying on behalf of him, the other part of him was frustrated because it was evident that the Tyrell siblings were not happy with the answer they were given. Margaery was better at hiding her frustrations than her brother was, but Aegon had learned long ago that a persons eyes hid nothing.

“Sansa is a guest as well, so surely-”

Aegon decided to interrupt, knowing that if he was not his fathers heir he would have left already. He also knew that if the conversation was to continue, he would say something that would likely cause a few problems. “Sansa is not a guest, she is family.”

“How silly of us.” Margaery stated, leaning forward slightly. “We completely forgot that Lady Sansa was Prince Jon's- cousin.”

A part of him decided that he probably should have said more, something else; but no, he said what felt right in the most authoritative tone he could muster. The look on both Margaery and Loras' faces told him that perhaps it had been the wrong thing to say. On top of that, Jon suddenly looked more uncomfortable than he had the first time they had met Margaery.

There was no apology, and he knew better than to expect one. Nobody cared to apologise after doing something that may have upset members of the royal family. Aegon had learned at a young age that all people cared about was power. Since that first realisation, he had dedicated to his life to not caring about power. One day, he would be King, and that was fine. It did not mean that he had to grow up power obsessed. The people liked calm, collected and good King's, and that was exactly what he strived to be.

“Is Lady Sansa enjoying her stay? I would quite like to meet her.”

Of course. Aegon thought bitterly. Securing as many friends as possible.

It made sense that his father was considering marrying himself or Jon to Margaery, she was definitely politically savy, but she was suited to neither of them. Jon needed someone who actually saw him, while he- Well, Aegon had been putting off betrothal's for as long as he possibly could. Until he was certain that Rhaenys would not want anyone else, he could not bring himself to agree to that. Until he knew that he was ready, he did not want to be betrothed to anyone.

Yet father was growing impatient.

“I have three children and not one of them is officially betrothed. We have been putting this off for far too long, by the end of my nameday festivities, I expect at least one of my children to be betrothed.”

It would be him. Aegon had decided that the moment the words left his fathers mouth. He would be betrothed by the time the festivities came to an end. Neither Rhaenys or Jon had expressed any interest in being betrothed to anyone. His mind was so set on the matter, that he had not discussed his fathers wishes with either of his siblings. The only problem was, that there were so many ladies, and he had very little time.

Perhaps he would speak to Rhaenys soon, ask her what she thought of the matter.

Viserys' arrival was a complete surprise. The feast had started when he suddenly appeared in the hall with a grin on his face, clad in purple garb that so obviously was not Westeroi.

“What, no hello or welcome back for everyone's favourite Targaryen?”

It was Dany who reacted first. Jumping from her seat and running towards her brother, not a care in the world the fact that the hall was filled with guests. She threw her arms around him, a laugh painted onto her face. “Welcome home, sweet brother.”

No one else left the table to meet him and no one else had to. Viserys had a large grin on his face as he made his way to the head table. Dany was obviously talking away, and always Viserys was probably taking in every word. His purple eyes took in the entire table, and Jon felt his heart pause as he watched his uncles eyes freeze on the red head sat next to him.

“You must be Lady Stark.”

Sansa was the only one of their guests who was sat at the table with the Targaryens. After all, she was Rhaenys personal guest, it would be rude to have her sat elsewhere; and Jon would not have been able to cope had she been sat with the Lannisters. Having her sat next to him made him feel better; she was kept away from those who made her feel hopeless.

“Yes, my Prince. It is an honour to meet you.”

With a glance to his right, he saw the red tint on her cheeks. A large part of him understood that she was nervous, a lone wolf in the dragon pit. It was better than being a lone wolf surrounded by dragons. A part of him wondered if his being half Stark did anything to make her feel more at ease.

“The honour is all mine.” Viserys replied, his voice as smooth as ever, with the familiar hint of cocky arrogance. “It is rare to find such beauty in one who does not have dragons blood in their veins.”

The blush on Sansa's face darkened and Jon felt his stomach twist. It was only as he realised how tightly he clutched his fork that he wondered why he felt like snapping at his uncle for complimenting Sansa. It was what she deserved, to be showered in compliments – something he highly doubted Joffrey did – and Viserys was right. Sansa was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful lady he had ever laid eyes on.

“Thank you, my prince.”

With a wink, Viserys made to take the spare seat next to Dany.

“He is like that.” Jon said quietly, but loud enough that it grabbed Sansa's attention. “Well, actually, he is only like that to people he likes, or deems worthy. So, you have now officially been given the Targaryen stamp of approval. Each and every one of us likes you.”

Somehow, Sansa's face managed to get redder, and Jon felt pride rush through him. The nervous smile on her face made everything worth it.

“Thank you, Jon.” Her eyes drifted further down the table. “Though I have not spent much time with most of your family.”

He had to bite his tongue. The words 'our family' trapped in his mouth. Despite Rhaenys and Aegon insisting that Sansa was their family as well as his, he did not know how his mother, father or aunt and uncle would feel on that matter. Sansa's only real Targaryen relation was himself, Aegon and Rhaenys were simply being loyal siblings. Though he suspected Rhaenys was no longer being a loyal sibling; she doted on Sansa, that much was plain for the entire world to see.

“You have plenty of time.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Rhaenys will not rest until you are fully acquainted with us all.”

“I am glad she invited me. The past two days have been the most fun I have had in so long. I dread the day I have to return to Casterly Rock.” Her voice was quiet, but it was obvious she was trying to make herself feel more comfortable with him.

I will probably be the only family she is likely to see for a very long time, of course she will want to feel comfortable with me. He reminds himself, trying not to think on how easy it would be for him to take her home.

“I am sure Rhaenys will try and find an excuse to keep you here for as long as possible.”

The nervous smile was replaced by a bright one. “I would happily remain here. It may not be Winterfell, but at least most people are nice to me.”

“If anyone was rude or cruel to you, there would be at least three Targaryens ready to kill them.”

Sansa laughed, and Jon felt his smile brighten.

“Oh dear, I would rather no one was killed on my behalf.” Then something flickered across her face, her eyes drifting to the Lannister table, and her smile vanished for a moment. Her words so quiet he had to strain to hear her. “Maybe one.”

A gut feeling told him he knew exactly who she was talking about, but the smile was back on her face and she was looking at him again, and he decided perhaps he should not ask. It made his stomach twist and his blood begin to boil, thinking on it was out of the question.

“It is nice to know you care so much.”

With a nod, he tried to keep a smile plastered to his face. “It is hard not to, my lady.”

Her gaze dropped to her plate, cheeks heating up once more. The rational part of him was demanding to know what in the seven hells was going on, and the other part of him was telling the rational part to shut up. For a brief moment, he considered siding with the rational part of himself. Then he decided against it. Whatever was going on, and whatever he was doing was something he was going to continue doing.

When Jon looked back up, his gaze was drawn to the Lannister table. That damned Baratheon boy looked as if he wanted to murder someone, his gaze locked on Sansa. Something in Jon almost snapped. The way Joffrey looked at Sansa, was as if he was looking at she was a piece of meat; objectifying her rather than seeing her. Any time Joffrey saw Sansa with anyone who was not him, he seemed to glare at her and whomever she was with. Jon wished he could march up to the boy and tell him Sansa did not belong to him.

She will one day. He reminded himself.

Once again, Jon found his hands curling into fists. He really, truly hated that Baratheon boy.

Chapter Text

When the music started up, he was relieved. The jolly atmosphere made everything feel better; all the stress that had been building up inside of him dissipated as everything became joyful.

The first two up to dance had been Aegon and Rhaenys, quickly followed by an eager Dany, dragging a laughing Viserys behind her. After that, guest after guest found themselves up and dancing, smiles stuck to their faces.

It was Tyrion who first danced with Sansa, and Jon almost choked on his drink when he glanced at Joffrey. The Baratheon boys face was twisted with an ugly snarl, Jon began to wonder how anyone could find him attractive – the older boys face was constantly twisted into some pathetic form of hatred. Sansa danced with Tyrion thrice in a row before being pulled away by Aegon.

It was as Sansa danced with Aegon that Rhaenys pulled Jon from his seat with a stern look in her eye. “Are you not enjoying the festivities, little brother? I worked so hard in helping prepare for today.”

Rhaenys pouted and looked at him through her lashes, heartbreak written across her face. He was well aware that she was feigning her reaction, yet he still could not help but feel slightly guilty.

“Of course, sweet sister. You always through the best feasts, however, you know how I feel about dancing.”

With a shake of her head, Jon felt his heart sink. “And how are you to meet your one true love if you do not mingle?”

A groan slid past his lips, and he lowered his head. “Really, Rhaenys?”

“What?” She asked innocently. “We both know that father wants us to wed, sooner rather than later. There have been many an offer, and he cannot put them off forever.” Looking up, Jon watched as Rhaenys gazed across the hall, a frown fixing on her face. “Sometimes you have to accept your fate. We either chose who we can as fast as we can, or we face the consequences.”

Jon squeezed his sisters hand. “He will come around. If not fast enough, talk to him. You both dance around each other and never discuss it.”

“Imagine that.” Rhaenys said softly. “Jon Targaryen telling me to talk. I doubt even the Gods saw that coming.”

“It is a necessary evil.”

“True.” Her eyes glanced across the hall once more. “But you are evading. Surely you wish to marry one day.”

Knowing his sister, she would not drop the subject until she got what she wanted out of him. Yet he did not know what to tell her. Yes, he wanted to marry one day. Yes, he wanted to fall in love and have children of his own. Many times he had imagined being surrounded by sons and daughters, watching them grow up.

“Of course I do.”

“Then why not find someone while you have the chance?”

For the first time in his life, he was glad when Viserys took Rhaenys from him. His chest was tight and for some reason he found it hard to breath. Thoughts kept slipping through his mind, yet he could not focus on them. Could not hear them. All he could hear was Rhaenys and it would have driven him insane, right there, in the middle of the hall, had another hand grasped his own. An anchor.

She did not ask him to dance. Instead, she just started to dance with him. Softly holding one hand, while her other rested lightly on his shoulder.

“He left.”

It took him a moment to entirely come back to where he was. “Who?”

“Joffrey.”

A light smile flickered across his face, and his eyes scanned the hall as he turned them both in a circle. “So he has. I presume you are thoroughly disappointed that you did not get to dance with your betrothed.”

“Horrified.” She responded in a deadpan tone. Laughing lightly, she shook her head. “He stormed out after I turned down dancing with him for Aegon. Your brother said that I was lucky enough he was close by, or he would not have been able to rescue me.”

“Typical Aegon, always jumping to a beautiful ladies rescue.”

The laugh that slipped past Sansa's lips sounded slightly strained as her cheeks flushed. “And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Would you ever jump to a beautiful maiden's rescue?” She was looking at him cautiously, despite the teasing tone of her voice.

“If the maiden wanted me to.”

They danced in a comfortable silence, and Jon barely noticed when the next tune began. Each motion was as natural as breathing, and for a few precious moments, he could pretend he was not Jon Targaryen and he was not dancing with Sansa Stark. For a moment, he felt as if there was no one else around him; so long as he kept his eyes on Sansa's content face. The smile on her face was as natural as the steady rise and fall of her chest, her eyes were closed as if she was trying her best to simply savour the moment.

Looking away from his dancing partner, he noticed Dany across the hall. Her lips were pressed in a thin line as she looked more unimpressed than she had when Aegon tricked her into eating raw egg. Loras Tyrell had never impressed Dany, she felt he tried a little too hard to gain the attention of a woman; especially when he had no interest in said woman. Aegon was dancing with Myrcella, the only female Baratheon looked thoroughly charmed, and Jon wanted to laugh. Aegon could charm anyone if he tried hard enough.

“I think Lady Margaery would like to dance with you.” The soft voice tore him away from looking at Rhaenys, who looked most disinterested with the Fray boy she danced with.

“Oh?” He looked back to Sansa, who used her head to motion to her left.

Lady Margaery was dancing with whom he presumed to be one of the Lannister boys. Golden hair, and an arrogant look painted onto his face. Yet her eyes were focused on Jon, a soft smile tugged at her lips as she met his eyes, and Jon instantly tore his gaze away.

“I see what you mean.”

Sansa let out a genuine laugh before lightly shaking her head. “You sound dejected, Jon. Do you not wish to dance with her? She is very beautiful.”

A barely audible sigh slip past his lips. “Beautiful, yes, but she is also sly and cunning. Whenever I am around her, I feel as if she is either attempting to pry secrets for me, or plot something.” Leaning closer to Sansa, he lowered his voice. “My father is considering a betrothal between one of my siblings or I to the Tyrell family. I do not wish to spend time with someone who makes me feel as if I can do nothing right-” He almost bit his lip, wanting to silence himself. “I propose a trade, I am helping keep you away from that Baratheon boy, perhaps you could help keep me away from Lady Tyrell?”

He could not see Sansa's face, his lips closer to her ear than deemed proper. For a few seconds, he felt her stiffen. It took him by surprise when she relaxed completely. “How could I possibly resist such an offer, my prince? We can rescue each other.”

It was wrong, he knew that. The way his heart stuttered at hearing her words was wrong. Silently reminding himself that Sansa was betrothed. Yet she wanted nothing to do with the boy that she was to marry. Accepting his offer to flee her betrothed and help keep him away from his fathers favoured marriage prospect. It was improper, and he was certain his father would kill him if he found out.

“Is it awful of me to enjoy hearing people title my betrothed as that Baratheon boy.” The mimicking of the disdain Aegon, Dany, Rhaenys and himself was so perfect Jon almost wanted to laugh. “Robb never called him Joffrey. Only ever calling him that Baratheon boy; with so much disdain I used to lightly hit his arm and laugh while calling him awful. Everytime I hear someone say it, all I can think of is home. Of Robb and Arya sat in the library making fun of him; sat until the wee hours of the morning just laughing, praying that one day father would call the betrothal off.”

“It is not awful of you. I would feel the same if I were you.”

“It is a good job that you are not me, then.”

Their conversation changed, poking fun at how unimpressed Loras was looking after a dance with Rhaenys. The more he commented on how unimpressed Dany looked with each and every dance partner she had, the more Sansa was laughing. It was only when Aegon came over to remind Sansa that she had promised him a second dance, that Jon realised just how long it had been since he started dancing with her. Dany had gone through six new partners, and Rhaenys was looking exhausted, sat with their father.

“Might I have a dance?”

Jon turned to see his mother – Elia may have never given birth to him, but she raised him as her own all the same – standing to his left, having just finished dancing with Viserys.

“Of course, mother.”

It had been his mother and Rhaenys who had taught him to dance, despite how much he despised it; always telling him that one day he would need to know.

“I do not think I have ever seen you look so happy at a feast before.” She was prodding, trying to get him to open up without asking too many questions.

“I promised Rhaenys I would have fun.”

Normally, she would laugh and tell him that Rhaenys wanted everyone to be happy. That Rhaenys guilting him into partaking in the festivities was her way of making sure he was not secluding himself. That his sister just wanted him to be happy.

“Are you?”

He paused, somewhat taking aback by the simplicity of the question. “Yes.” Because he had been having fun. Making jokes and hilarious observations with Sansa had made the festivities seem a little less bland; he could have remained there, with her, doing nothing but talk for eternity.

“Rhaenys and Aegon having taken a shine to her as well.” His mother observed. “They keep calling her family.” Then her expression changed, not disappointed or disapproving, nor did she look like she was going to give him a lecture. She looked worried and heartbroken and careful all at once. “Jon, my sweet boy, your father and I love you and want you to be happy. You know this, do you not?”

Suddenly, his throat felt thick, and he gave a nod. “Of course, mother.”

“Promise me you will be careful, Jon. Baratheon boys never know when they are on the losing side.”

Losing side? He asked himself, confused by his mothers words. It was strange, he had been expecting a lecture on propriety, not whatever it was his mother was giving him.

“You know, your mother was a beautiful woman. Your father truly did love her, and I was curious, nervous and excited to finally live with her. For a while, I did. While she was pregnant with you, and a part of me fell in love with her too. Not the way your father loved her, but it was love all the same. She was someone I would be honoured to share your father with.”

Jon could feel his stomach twisting, heart stuck in his throat.

“I will tell you what I said to your father, all those years ago. Be careful, my dear, and be cautious, but always follow your heart. Do what your instincts tell you, and you can never do any wrong. And no matter what you choose to do, I love you. I always will.”

Her hand rose and rested against his cheek, a small, but beautiful smile painted itself onto her face. “Now, go and ask the Tyrell girl to dance before we have an uprising on our hands. Neither you or Aegon have danced with her, and the Tyrells are not the kind of people to be left on the sidelines.”

Sansa could not protect him from his mothers orders. So, with a nod, he made his way across the hall, praying his hands were not sweaty with nerves.

Margaery had been dancing with a Lannister boy when Jon tapped the boy on the shoulder. “May I have this next dance, my Lady.”

The smile that slid onto her face made him feel automatically uncomfortable, her voice was sickly sweet. “I would be honoured, my prince.”

The Lady was far closer to him than he was comfortable with, and he could feel her breath on his throat. Rhaenys had once told him it was a trick ladies used when they wanted to get something, when they were trying to manipulate a man. He never asked Rhaenys how or why she knew that.

“The feast was very wonderful, was it not?”

“Yes.” Jon replied, trying his best not to sound disinterested. “Rhaenys put a lot of time and effort into perfecting this evening.”

“The princess planned this?” The surprise in her voice was something Jon imagined was false.

With a small nod, he forced his gaze to remain on the lady in front of him. “Most of it, my mother helped. My sister likes to be involved with everything that goes on.”

“As a future queen must.”

Jon did not risk biting his tongue, on the off chance that Margaery noticed. “Of course.”

“The entire Seven Kingdoms are surprised she is not already Prince Aegons bride.”

Jon wanted to turn on his heel and walk away; patience and restrained wearing thin. “Aegon and Rhaenys are focusing on leading their own lives, for now.”

“Ah, but for now, that leaves you both free for betrothal.” A laugh that he suspected was well rehearsed to sound as sweet as chocolate slipped carefully past her lips. “Though, my father insisted his discussions with King Rhaegar were to betroth us.” The way she said the last word told Jon that she was not talking about being betrothed to Aegon.

“I knew nothing of this.” Jon stated, trying to sound relatively apologetic.

“Oh.” Margaery almost looked stumped for a moment, before pulling herself neatly back together. “I was under the impression you knew. I apologise for being so forward, I thought it might make for a good ice breaker to discuss the likelihood of our betrothal.”

“It is not your fault, my lady. As you said, you thought I knew. As for myself, I believed I was allowed to chose a wife for myself.”

“Love.” Margaery mused, pulling back from him, a smile that actually appeared genuine was painted on to her face. There was nothing calculating in her eyes, they were smiling too. In that moment, Jon thought that she truly did look beautiful. There was very little attractive about the look of someone who was scheming, Jon had come to decide. “It would be nice if we could marry whom we loved. Though, I suppose that is what lovers are for.”

“Are you on love, my lady?”

“I was, once. It was a fanciful dream, and he moved away long ago. I have a duty to do. There is no room for love.”

“There is always room for love, my lady. It is what keeps many of us alive and fighting.”

The tune came to an end, and Jon kissed the back of Margaery's hand. “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

'Not had the opportunity.'

The words haunted him, and he knew the truth behind them. There was no way that Sansa had not had the opportunity to write. Even men at war had time to write, or so their father had claimed. Not that Robb was supposed to know that their father had said so. After the raven had arrived, their mother and father had disappeared up to Eddard's solar, and Arya and himself snuck up after them to- not to spy, spying was childish. They simply wanted to know what they thought.

If they were caught, it was Arya's idea anyway.

It had been years since he had last listened into a conversation between his parents. As far as he had been concerned it was a trait he had outgrown. Until Arya tugged on his sleeve, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes so wide he just could not say no.

The raven from Jon seemed far better than news from Sansa.

Sansa arrived yesterday, do not fear, she looked healthy, radiant even. I will stick to my promise and do everything I can to keep her safe and looked after while she is here.

Then the words from Sansa's own hand came back and haunted him all over again.

Not had the opportunity.

It was a barefaced lie, and it made his stomach twist. The Sansa he had grown up with did not lie. Could not lie. Whenever she did successfully lie, it was to avoid telling their father what kind of a person Joffrey Baratheon was, and the fact they received a letter telling them a lie made his stomach twist.

She had been in the lions den for a year. He reminded himself. It is likely she is sparing us the terrible truth.

Such thoughts did not make it any better.

"Bran."

Arya's voice cut through the near silence, and every set of eyes landed on her. Their sisters eyes were locked on Bran, and her expression told them all that she was ready to slap the younger boy.

“Yes.” Bran responded, sounding almost defeated.

“Can you stop tapping the table with your fork, or I will shove it through your hand.”

Bran glared at her, and she glared back.

Robb understood. Their younger brother was as worried and as nervous as everyone else. The first thing they hear from their sister in over a year and it is a blatant lie. It even made Rickon nervous; though the youngest Stark appeared to be more on edge by the day. Tully blue eyes unmoving as they stared at his dinner, not bothering to eat anything.

The nauseating twist of his stomach tempted him to push his own dinner away, but he supposed that would be incredibly rude. The cook had gone to the effort of making them all a hearty meal, and the only person to have cleared their plate was their mother. Perhaps if the news they had gotten from Sansa had been more truthful, things would have been better, and yet his gut told him that they already knew the truth.

They had not heard from Sansa because the Lannisters did not want her having contact with her family. Someone who feels secluded is a more willing victim – at least, that is what Arya said bitterly over dinner, many moons ago.

He glared at her, and she glared back.

Bran all but huffed as he dropped his fork down onto the table. “Happy?”

The sour mood in the room was almost suffocating. A tension that felt unnatural, made worse by the fact that most of the day had been filled by nothing by arguments. Other than snappy comments between himself and Arya, the main argument had been between his father and himself. They had been invited to the kings nameday festivities and he doubted the king would mind too much if they were late. Their father, however, was against the idea. They had already told the King that they would not be venturing South.

Both Arya and himself had suspected that their father had some kind of fear of heading south. 'It's bad luck for a Stark to go south.' She had muttered bitterly.

'Oh, because that is supposed to make anyone feel better.' He had hissed in response. 'Or are you forgetting that a Stark is-'

'I am well aware of Sansa's whereabouts. She had also lived in the south for a year, and that has proven to be unlucky. I am not saying it because I find it funny or ironic, I said it because-'

Arya would never admit that she was worried, and Robb would never make her.

"Bran!"

"I put my fork down!"

"You kicked me!"

The wine slipped past her lips as she stared evenly at her father. He was staring blankly at the paper in his hands.

“How can you sit there so calmly. They are trying to undermine us.”

The papers were placed on the wooden desk, and green eyes focused firmly on her. Had she been young, she would have shifted nervously under his gaze. But she was older now and the alcohol she had consumed helped to steel her under the critical gaze of her father.

“Where is your evidence?”

“This evening, you saw what I-”

“That is not evidence.” He sighed and his gaze hardened. “So far, there is no evidence that they are scheming against us, and you best not give them any reason to do so. If we are to successfully take the throne, we cannot have the current crowned prince working against us. It would be best if we have him supporting us. Their current friendship with the Stark girl is beneficial, it keeps their eyes off of us.”

“Sansa belongs to us.”

“And when the war comes, the Starks will have no choice but to side with us if they want Sansa left alive. They get a Stark on the throne and can keep the north if they take our side, what more could they want. All we need now, is a way to persuade the Tyrells to side with us. The Targaryens will slip up. Rhaegar refuses to betroth his children and that shall be his downfall.”

Chapter Text

His lips curled into a snarl as he watched. Anger pumping through his veins. She was his. She belonged to him. Not some stupid, second son Targaryen. She was going to be his Queen, not some pathetic lady of a household. Everything about her was Queenly. The way she walked, the way she talked, the way she held herself, oh and the way she spoke back to him. Sneaky and sly, cutting him down with praises. A clever girl and a beauty.

Mother had always told him how rare it was to find a girl who was as clever as she was beautiful. He suspected his betrothed was one of the very few women like that. And he wanted her. Wanted every part of her. Make her his and only his. She did not need anyone else. She did not need her family – it was why he stole their letters and forbade her from contacting them; why would she need her pathetic brothers and mewling sister? She did not need his pathetic, disgusting uncle – he was a bad influence on his lady. And now? Now she did not need the stupid princess or the Targaryens, especially her ridiculous cousin.

Yet there she was, stood in the gardens with her arm looped through Jon fucking Targaryen's. The laugh on her face was excruciating to look at. So, painfully, beautiful. She never laughed like that around him, and it made him want to slaughter the prince right then and there. Her hair was alight under the sun, and she looked as beautiful as ever. The dress she wore was as red as blood, made of some kind of silk, the embroidery on the bodice silver – not gold, which made the anger in him flare up once again – and despite everything, he could not ignore the black and red handkerchief that she was-

Horror stricken, he watched as his betrothed wrapped the small sheet of material around Jon fucking Targaryen's arm.

His betrothed gave another man her favour.

Clenching his hands, he let out a snarl. Sansa Stark was his.

His late father had promised him that a Stark girl would wed into the Baratheon family. He trusted his fathers word. He believed that Sansa Stark would be his, always his. The way Lyanna Stark was never his fathers. Though Robert was convinced Lyanna loved him when all evidence prove to be contrary. Joffrey promised himself two things. One, he would have the Stark girl and her love, the way his father never had his. Two, he would never lose to the Targaryens.

One day, he would sit on the Iron Throne, and then Sansa would have no choice but to love him. Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms wanted to be Queen. If the Iron Throne was what it took for his lady to love him, then of course he would win it. He would win the damn throne and give Jon fucking Targaryens head to her on a platter.

Perhaps he would keep the girl alive. The princess seemed to light up his love, and it would give his Sansa someone to spend time with when he was doing his kingly duties.

The Targaryens were a spawn and needed to be destroyed. His mother had told him so from before he could understand what it meant. The Targaryens ruined lives and crushed the hope that lived within the citizens of Westeros. He would be the king that liberated them all. Once he sat in the throne, he would have it all. A kingdom, a people and a wife who was his and his alone.

Sansa would then dance with only him, he would be king and she would have no interest in anyone else. Sansa would only be free to roam the halls when he was by her side. Such a beauty could not be left for prying eyes. They would only know her to be his and his alone. She would be warm, willing and his. Give him children. Boys with blonde hair and those beautiful blue eyes. Girls with green eyes and hair like fire. Mayhaps he would even let her name one of them after one of her siblings. A little boy named Bran or Robb – Sansa would like that.

Together they would divuldge in his every fanasy. Together they would rule over the Seven Kingdoms. When the war began, he would be the one to cut down Jon Targaryen, the thought of him showing Sansa the princes head made him feel gleeful.

“Red is truly your colour.” Rhaenys laughed, taking her arm as they walked to where the tourney would be taking place. “I would have given you a dress with black embroidery – which truly looks better with red than silver – but that would likely give off the wrong impression, no?”

Sansa felt her face flush as she gave a small nod. “I do not think the Lannisters would appreciate that at all. Cersei already believes that you are poisoning my mind.”

Danaerys – call me Dany – scoffed to her right. “If anything, we are rescuing your mind. I know if I had to live with them for as long as you have, my mind would be broken beyond repair.”

The laugh that slid past her lips surprised her, though she did not regret it in the slightest. Being around the Targaryens was as easy as being around her own family. A large part of her suspected that Arya would love to meet the Royal family, who were more laid back than she would have guessed. Correct names and titles, even propriety did not seem at the top of their lists. They were fun, laidback, loyal and yet responsible. Despite the rumours and cruel words, Sansa could not imagine a more perfect royal family.

“Tyrion helps keep me sane.” Sansa said truthfully, laughing lightly as she spoke. “I would not know what I would have done without his companionship.”

Dany nodded. “I hate the Lannisters, yet I like Tyrion. I never do consider him to be one of them. Perhaps it is because he is so likeable.”

“Tywin is too conniving. Cersei is too critical. They are all impossibly arrogant. Always looking as if they are plotting something.” Rhaenys muttered, eyes darting around.

“Because you never look like you are plotting something.” Dany said dryly, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Rhaenys gave a dry laugh and shook her head. “At least none of my schemes are malicious. I only have the best intentions in my heart. All I do is look into fathers fears and try and confirm or deny them.”

The thought of anyone scheming made Sansa's stomach lurch, but she refused to show it on her face. She had known what Kings Landing was like, and she believed with all her heart that Rhaenys would never do anything malicious. The older girl was far too kind to seem the type to do anything horrific. It was something else about home that she missed so terribly. No one ever had any ulterior motives, everyone was an open book. If there was a problem, the problem was discussed. No one tried to steal power from under anothers nose.

In her time at Casterly Rock, she had learned a lot about scheming. It was all Cersei and Tywin had ever seemed to do. Locked away in Lord Tywin's solar until the late hours of the day discussing things that Tyrion said he wished to have no part in. Never would she forget Tyrions words one late night, when he had drank a little too much Dornish wine, a pained look in his eye and a tremble in his lips. 'My dear, when the world goes tits up, I will always do what I can to help you. Like all of us, I do not wish to be remembered as a villain in this world. I promise you now, I will never have a hand in helping them.' It was in that moment that she knew that whatever Cersei and Tywin were up to, it was no good. She knew that the Lannisters were plotting something awful, and she vowed to herself that she would never play a part in their schemes. Not willingly, anyway.

Her breath was stolen from her chest as she took in the sight before her. The sheer number of people who had turned up to watch the first day of the Tourney was almost overwhelming. Sansa had never seen so many people in one place before, yet she kept herself calm as they made their way to their seats.

When Rhaenys had told her that of course she was to be sat with the Royal family, her heart had stuck in her chest. Each moment she spent in Kings Landing seemed to be better than the last, even with politics occasionally being thrown into the mix. If the rest of her life was to be spent caged in Casterly Rock, she could live with the joy in her heart of having had such a glorious time with some of the nicest people she had ever met.

Being sat amongst the Targaryens made her feel out of place. Queen Elia was beautiful as she sat on the Kings left. Viserys was sat to the Kings right, whispering something that made both Rhaegar and Elia laugh. Dany was sat just in front of her brother, while Sansa and Rhaenys were sat closer to the Queen; something that made her heart beat twice as fast in her chest. Despite wearing one of Rhaenys gowns, she still felt so out of place. There was nothing regal about her, certainly not compared to the Targaryen family; who were all dressed in their traditional house colours.

Guilt seeped through her as she realised how long it had truly been since she had worn a dress in the colours of her house. For so long she had been wearing gowns given to her by Cersei, often Lannister colours. Once again, she was sat among a House that was not her own, wearing colours that did not belong to her – colours that did not belong to a House.

'I would have given you a dress with black embroidery-'

Targaryen colours were better than Lannister colours, she may have looked better by the sides of the Royal family in the wrong colours. But the message that would have been sent out across the Seven Kingdoms would shame too many people.

As the Tourney began, Sansa found it difficult to pay too much attention, thoughts trapped on how as the only Stark in the south, she should be properly representing her house. However, Dany successfully cut through her misery with an amusing commentary of the Tourney participants, Viserys encouraging her with his own occasional comment.

“We all know Loras is going to get through to the final round, why does anyone bother trying.” The prince stated in a very dry and bored tone. Following his comment, he gave a mock yawn, causing Dany to let out a laugh.

“I just hope Aegon keeps his promise and knocks him off of his horse.”

Rhaenys hummed in agreement with her aunt as she took a sip of wine. “Of course, that would involve Aegon actually getting through to the final round.”

Dany gave a small huff, and Sansa turned to look at her friend. “You do not think he will win?”

Both Dany and Rhaenys laughed, and for a moment Sansa felt as silly as Cersei often claimed she was.

“My dear Sansa, Aegon never wins.” Rhaenys chuckled as she tilted her head towards Sansa. “He gets too cocky. My brother loves to show off, it's his biggest downfall. I have my money on him coming in fifth.” She paused, and her face became a little more serious. “Do not get me wrong, Aegon is a highly skilled swordsman, and if this was a real battle I do not doubt he would win. But Tourneys – he has not taken them seriously in years. My money is on Jon winning.”

Viserys snorted from behind them. “I love my nephew, but I would sooner put my money on Aegon winning.”

“I would not be so sure if I were you, uncle.”

Sansa focused back on the field, watching as Loras Tyrell won a round for the third time. Both Jon and Aegon had won each round they had been up for as well, and she could not help but feel proud. When she had given Jon her favour, she had expected to feel some sort of guilt over the matter, a betrothed lady should not be giving her favour to another man, yet she had not felt a shred of it. Instead, Joffrey had been the furthest thing from her thoughts when she had decided that giving the small token to her cousin.

Her whole life, she had dreamed of the Tourneys in the south. Of gifting her favour to a knight who would crown her their Queen of Love and Beauty. The glamour of the south was mostly fabricated, she believed, but there was good and true people there; some of whom she could imagine being the inspiration for songs and stories for centuries to come.

Since her betrothal to Joffrey, she stopping dreaming of things she knew would never come to pass. Her life was not a story or a song. Her life would go the same way hundreds of other ladies lives went, and she had come to accept this. Dreams were meant for sleep. Yet sometimes, when her spirits had been lifted, she would imagine being stolen away in the middle of the night by some brave knight. Like how the Wildlings were stolen away, or how Rhaegar had stolen Lyanna. Then she would spend a few moments in her betrotheds company and remember what life really was.

Focusing, she watched one of the many Lannister boys ready themselves, lance seeming to almost shake in his hands. It surprised her that he had managed to last so long, as the nerves that radiated off of him were noticeable to anyone who paid attention to him. But then, she supposed that most people would not be paying attention to the young man as everyone gaze was focused on the youngest Targaryen.

As it had been for each round Jon had participated in, her heart found its way into her throat. Part of her felt guilty for wanting to watch another Lannister be knocked from their horse, but no one had to know what she felt on the inside. No one could possibly hear her silently wishing for Jon to win – she was supposed to route for the Mountain, Cersei and Joffrey had told her as much. The Mountain was not someone she had ever liked, a monster in the form of a man. Watching him kill a poor knight with no consequence made her feel ill, but she continued to watch on anyway. Never would she allow herself to look weak in front of the Targaryens.

She watched as both men tilted their lances and the horses lurched into action. The Lannister boy missed and Jon almost knocked him off his saddle with a slight of the lance. Unless the boy pulled himself together, it was likely to be the shortest round yet.

Eyes glancing to the crowd, she easily spotted Cersei looking somewhat frustrated as her eyes remained focused on what was occurring in front of her. Sansa refocused on the round, watching as the two men rode by once again, Jon knocking the shaking boy from his saddle with ease.

“If you cannot ride against a prince, why bother participating in these things?” Viserys muttered under his breath.

“You would think a Lannister would be more involved in knocking a Targaryen off their horse.” Dany replied.

Travelling north while avoiding the Kingsroad was far more difficult than he had predicted. Not that he had predicted an easy journey. It felt as if the Wall got further away by the day. With every step he took, it was like the Wall moved three paces back.

“You know- We don't have to go the Wall.” Hot Pie suggested, his voice raspy from a lack of energy.

“What do you mean?” He paused, looking behind at his- Friend?

“Well-” Hot Pie raised his hand slightly as he took in a deep breath. “The North is hardly like the rest of Westeros. No one knows us here, and Lannister men would not dare cross into this barren land. Rather than swearing off living real lives, we could just start new lives here. 'Cause, I've been thinking. I would be a terrible Nights Watchman. I- I don't want to give up things that I might eventually find, you know?”

The younger boy made a good point. It was not like he wanted to join the Watch. His boss had sold him to the Watch and that was the only reason he had continued on. When the Lannister men had come for him, he believed that the Wall would keep him safe from death. But a life at the Wall was hardly a life at all. Giving up a chance at his own life was not something he had really thought about. He had skills, just like Hot Pie did. If they could find work, they would not have to settle for a life of bitter cold.

“You said it yourself, this land is barren. Forging a life here would be incredibly difficult. You know that, right?”

Hot Pie shrugged. “Other people have done it.”

“Other people are from the North.”

It was not like he did not dislike Hot Pie's idea, in fact, the more he thought about it, the more it sounded like a better idea than giving up an unknown future. But the north was untameable and cold. There was nothing about it that seemed appealing in the slightest. He preferred the heat of the south.

“You can hardly set up a life for yourself anywhere else. Those Lannister men would find you and kill you.”

Groaning he slid a hand down his face. Part of him simply did not want to admit that maybe, just maybe, Hot Pie was right. Rather than wasting his life away at the Wall, he could do something useful. The only safe place in the world for him, aside from Essos, was the North.

“Okay, fine. No one wants to waste their life at the Wall anyway.”

And if the Lannisters did decide to start their rebellion, then he would be well equipped to get a little pay back for the lives that were lost on his behalf.

The feast that followed the Tourney was enjoyable. Dany sat next to her, excitedly telling her about the adventures Viserys had promised to take her on. The older girl was the same age as Robb, and the wine made her wonder what it would be like if her brother was betrothed to the fiery Targaryen. A thought she pushed down because Dany had made it obvious that she had no intention of marrying any time soon.

“I should take you with me.”

The comment made her almost choke on her drink. “Pardon?”

“Think about it.” Dany nodded, eyes drifting to the floor where Rhaenys was dancing with Aegon. “If my niece does not marry Aegon, she has agreed to travel the free cities with me.” Her lips turned upwards as she leaned closer. “Once I return from Braavos with my brother, I will tell you. If you are still not wed to the Baratheon boy, run away. You, me, Rhaenys, travelling the free cities. The adventure of a lifetime.”

She was certain that Dany had drank far too much Dornish wine, but she would not complain. The more time she spent with the girl, the more she was reminded of Arya. There was no doubt in her mind that if it was Arya sat where she was, there was only one word that would slip past her lips. Instead, six slid past Sansa's.

“I shall hold you to that.”

A grin lit up Dany's face, her hand grasping her upper arm. “Mayhaps we could even travel to Dorne first. I assure you, it would be just as safe for you as Essos will be. Rhaenys and I will smuggle you across the world.”

And not for the first time, did Sansa feel that the Targaryens were as much her family as the Starks. They were the friendliest people she had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and she hoped that the time she spent with the for the Kings nameday festivities would not be the only time she ever got to spend with them. It was with blind hope that she prayed to the Old Gods that Rhaenys would write her once she had left. And it was then that she decided it would be more than nice if Dany, Aegon and Jon all wrote her too. If she was not allowed contact with her family, then maybe she could live with that. She could write letters to Jon and have him give the Starks news on her behalf.

“Are neither of you dancing?” A new voice cut through the air, and Sansa's heart lurched into her throat as the Queen settled in the seat next to her.

“We were, but watching people dance while trying to better their position in parliament is far more entertaining.” Dany replied, taking a sip from her chalice. “I suppose I will dance with Oberyn.”

The Martells had arrived late, just before the feast started, and once again Sansa had felt far too out of place. She felt so plain and uninteresting sat amongst the Targaryens and the Martells. Prince Oberyn had travelled across instead of his brother, who ruled Dorne. With him, travelled Princess Arianne, Prince Quentyn, his paramour Ellaria Sand and two of their daughters Elia and Obella Sand.

As Dany got up to find Prince Oberyn, Sansa felt her nerves increase. During her stay, she had not had a real conversation with the King or Queen. Whenever she was near them, Rhaenys, Jon or both were with her.

“Are you enjoying your stay, Sansa?”

Swallowing Sansa met the woman's black eyes as she gave a small nod. “Yes, my Queen. I have been having the most wonderful time.”

“I do not think I have seen my daughter more excited than she has been over the past few days. I am glad she has found a friend in you, and I would like to think that you have found a friend in her.”

“I have. The Princess is wonderful, and I am honoured that she wants me as her friend. It is rare to find truly good people in this world.”

“That is very true.” Queen Elia paused, her eyes gazing out at the dance floor. “The world can be a very lonely place if you have not a friend in the world.” The way she spoke, made Sansa wonder just how lonely the Queen was.

A small part of her questioned how inappropriate it would be to place a hand on the Queen's arm; the younger Targaryens were casual around her, but she knew that the King and Queen were, well, the King and Queen. There were boundaries and she refused to break those boundaries, she wanted to make the best impression that she possibly could.

“Loneliness is the worst.” She said quietly, and the Queen nodded.

“I vowed to myself I would never allow my children to be lonely. When I saw myself in Rhaenys, I suggested that she find herself a friend, someone she could really trust. For a while, she did not believe there were trustworthy people out there, I suggested that rather than looking south, she looked north. Your aunt was a good, loyal woman, and in the short time I knew her, a good friend. I wanted my daughter to have a good and loyal friend, like I could have had in your aunt.” Sansa felt her stomach twist as she hung on to every word the Queen spoke. “I see my children fight the world inside their heads. All having the best interests of others in their hearts. If asked, they would do their duty in a heartbeat. I would rather they lived their own lives, but I suspect that the little freedom they have is being ripped away from them faster than they think.”

Elia placed a hand on Sansa's forearm, an expression that could only be described as motherly on her face. “Live while you can. Freedom in this world lasts for such a short period of time, you often miss it when the chance occurs. Now, go and dance.”

And then the Queen squeezed her arm before getting up and leaving her at the table. Nodding to herself, she got up and made her way to the floor. Dany was still dancing with Oberyn, Aegon was dancing with Princess Arianne and Jon was dancing with Rhaenys. Catching Tyrions eye, she walked towards him.

He smiled as she approached and held out his hand. “Would you like to dance, my lady?”

With a nod, she took his hand. “Why else would I be here?”

“Looking for some cynical company?” He offered, and she gave a laugh, shaking her head.

“Well I suppose I could get that along with a dance.”

“Very true, my lady. Very true.”

Tyrion had never been anything other than kind to her, and she appreciated his company. It was more than welcomed in Casterly Rock. Despite his reputation, she found his company to be wonderful, far preferred over anyone else who lived in Casterly Rock. Myrcella was sweet, but there were moments that Sansa saw nothing but Cersei in her. Tommen was quiet and often a victim of Joffrey's cruel behaviour. Sansa did not know him well enough to make a fixed opinion – Joffrey preferred her to stay away from his siblings.

“The Targaryens truly know how to feast, do you not think?”

Sansa smiled, giving a brief nod. “Oh yes. I have never seen a feast quite like last night, or tonight's. I am thoroughly impressed.”

“It appears my nephew is not. This is the second night in a row he has left early.”

Internally, she winced. The topic was one she had hoped to avoid. “I noticed.”

“Cersei is beside herself with the humiliation of having her son leave early.” Tyrion's lips twitched upwards. “Meanwhile, I am having the time of my life. Befriending Targaryens and getting to celebrate without having to see Joffrey's face every time I look up; mayhaps we should just stay here when everyone leaves.”

“Oh, definitely. I am certain they would not notice we were gone until they were halfway back to Casterly Rock. That would give us plenty of time to board a ship and sail to Essos. Eat, sleep and drink as much as we wish.”

“That my dear, sounds like the perfect plan. I am certain my father would get over his loss soon enough.”

They discussed their life in Essos. How they could live however they wanted and never have to face Cersei or the Lannister plots ever again. How they could live a good life and never have to worry about being found, because it would be easy enough for them to hide on the other side of the world. The more Essos was mentioned, the more fleeing there seemed like a better idea.

By the time Sansa left the hall to make her way back to her temporary chambers, all she could think about were silk gowns and fine Braavosi wine.

The feeling of a clammy hand wrapping around her hand ripped the perfect image of travelling Essos with Dany, Rhaenys and Tyrion out of her mind. Her heart lurched and the breath slid out of her mouth as she felt her back slammed against the wall.

“Hello, my lady.”

She looked up, meeting the bright green eyes of Joffrey, and her heart froze in her chest as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Hello, my Lord.”

“So, my lady, might I be enlightened as to why you have been avoiding me?”

The room began to spin, or perhaps it was just her mind. Her lungs struggled to take in air as he stomach twisted. The sneer on her betrotheds face was enough to make her feel ill. Fear pounded through her veins as he leaned in closer.

“I want an answer, Sansa.” He spat her name out and her heart clenched.

“I- I do not know what you are speaking of. I have not been avoiding you my lord.” The lie spilled off of her tongue as easy as if it was the truth.

“Do not ever lie to me. You have been avoiding me. Plotting with the pathetic Targaryen scum and I do not condone it. You are mine, not theirs. Do you understand? You are to be my Queen, not their bitch.”

Her heart was racing as she tried to think up a way that could easily get her out of the situation. Something that might ease Joffrey's temper. “Jon is my cousin. I have not heard from my family in over a year, can you blame me for wanting to spend sometime with the only family I might ever see again.”

She knew it was the wrong thing to say when she watched Joffreys face contort. Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes, bracing herself. The pain that shot through her face did not hurt nearly as much as the shame that burned through to her very core. Her mother had raised her to never be anything less than pleasing for her betrothed – and later, husband – and she had done the opposite of that. She had not pleased him. There were no pretty words to fix whatever mess it was that she was in. Nothing could be done to make up for the shame that was growing in her chest.

The sound of a growl, a surprised yelp and the sound of someone colliding with a wall caused her eyes to fly open. The sight in front of her had her frozen to the spot. Ghost was sat in front of her, muzzle pulled back and teeth bared. Jon had Joffrey pinned to the wall opposite her. Forearm pressed against her betrotheds throat.

“How. Dare. You.” His voice was low and dangerous.

“She's my betrothed.” Joffrey hissed back, voice sounding weak as he struggled for breath. “I can treat her as I wish.”

For a moment, she had to wonder if it was Jon or Ghost who growled in response. “Lay a hand on her again, and I will make you wish you were never born.”

Pulling away from Joffrey, Jon turned to look at her. The look in his eyes made her heart pound in her chest and the breath slip past her throat. For the first time, she found herself wondering what might happen if she was to run forward and kiss him. Thank him for standing by her, despite the shame she had brought on herself.

Jon would never hurt me. Her mind whispered, and she realised that perhaps the Gods had more planned for her than she first thought.

“Come on, Sansa.” Jon's voice was rough, as if he was trying to keep himself in check. “Lets get you back to your chamber.”

With a nod, she took his arm and he led her away. His footsteps had more purpose than hers, her chest too tight and her heart beating so hard and fast she thought she may pass out. Perhaps her grip on Jon's arm was a little tight, but she was sure he did not mind. Something told her that Jon was more furious with Joffrey than he was with her.

“I am sorry.” She said quietly. “I- He was most displeased with me. I should have-”

“No.” Jon paused mid-step and turned to look at her, eyes burning. His hands clasped her shoulders. “He had no right to lay a hand on you. That boy is a monster, Sansa. And if he ever does that again, I swear I will kill him.”

Opening her mouth, she promptly shut it. No matter how hard she tried, she could not find words to say. There was nothing she could think of that could express how she felt.

“Th-thank you, Jon.”

“I will get you out of this Sansa. I can promise you that.”

Yes, the Gods had so much more planned for her.

Chapter Text

Staring at the parchment in his hands, his stomach twisted as he shook. The door opened yet he ignored it, the bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Mother is looking for you.”

The words entered his ears yet they slid right back out as he continued to stare blankly. Words he had read four times over circling his head. How was he supposed to tell his father? How was he supposed to hand over the parchment to his father and watch as the Lord of Winterfell read the words.

“Robb!”

It was hardly as if his worst fears were being realised, more like everything he warned Sansa of was coming to pass. That with age, Joffrey's treatment would only get worse. When they were younger, the boy had done nothing more than grab at Sansa's arms a little to tight and bruise them – bruises Robb (and eventually Arya) would help hide from their parents. It's a ladies duty to do what pleases her betrothed. The moment he had heard his sister utter those words, he had vowed that when he was betrothed, he would treat his bride-to-be with as much kindness as he could possibly muster.

“Robb?” Arya snapped, ripping the parchment from his hands.

Turning to look at his sister, he watched as the impatience on her face morphed from worry to horror, to an anger he had not seen on her face in a long time. The parchment in her fingers shook, and her grip tightened, her face hardening.

“I will kill him.”

There was doubt in his mind that Arya would do exactly that. Unlike Sansa, Arya was not the ladylike type. She would not shy away from bloodshed or conflict.

“There happens to be a rather long queue.” He muttered sourly. “And Jon happens to be a hell of a lot closer.”

“If Jon kills him, then there would be extreme consequences. If you kill him, there would be serious consequences. If I kill him, then there would less likely be a war that follows. I'm hardly the heir to anything, and I'm not the first-born daughter either.”

“I am pretty certain Father would sooner condone me killing him, than you.”

Arya's face contorted and Robb almost took a step backwards. “I don't care.”

Of course she didn't. With a sigh, he snatched the parchment from his sisters hands. “We need to show father.”

“Yeah, because he will do something about it.” Arya muttered under her breath as she walked away.

Following behind his sister, he felt the frustration bubbling in his chest. “He can break off the betrothal.”

“Oh, and I am certain the Lannisters will take that so well. 'Oh yes, of course, we will send our prisoner back home to our favourite House-'” She snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah- no. If anything, that would only aggravate them more.”

“Then what would you do?”

“Steal her.”

He blinked, staring at the back of his sisters head in confusion. “What?”

“I would sneak away in the middle of the night, ride my way down to Casterly Rock, hide for a few days as I plan my way. I would have Nymeria and Lady with me, so that I have back up. Then, once I had worked out my best route into the Lions Den, I would sneak in under the cover of night, have Lady or Nymeria kill any guards that get in my way as I slip into Sansa's room. Then I would wake Sansa up, quickly explain that it was a rescue, 'kidnap' her, keep her hidden until Winter when I could bring her home. No one would dare come here in the Winter, they would be stupid.”

For a moment, he wondered if he should really be surprised with the amount of time and thought his sister had put into her rescue plan for Sansa.

“It would kind of be like one of those stories she loved so much.”

Of course that was Arya's logic. Stood outside their fathers chambers, Robb looked at his sister carefully. “Whatever father says, do not go running off to rescue Sansa. Bran is half convinced that's his job, and I could not stand to hear anymore of your damn bickering.”

Three knocks on the door, and the were granted entrance to their fathers solar. Suddenly the heaviness returned to Robb's chest as he walked closer to their parents. The parchment feeling as heavy as a weight. It made him feel sick.

“What's wrong?”

Either their mother knew them too well, or neither himself or his sister were very good at keeping a blank expression on their faces. He held the parchment out and their mother took it from his hand.

He knew the moment she had read those dreaded words. Watching as her face went from worried to horrified.

I do not know if it is my place to say such a thing, but you asked me to look out for your lady sister. I promised to protect her if necessary and asked that I should inform you if anything was to happen to Sansa. Nearing the end of a feast, I left to retire early when I bore witness to your sisters betrothed harming her.

The entire letter made Robb feel ill. Knowing that his sister was unhappy, that she did not want to be with the Lannisters.

She has previously informed me of her unhappiness in Casterly Rock.

“Ned-”

“Arya, Robb, leave us please.”

Robb met his fathers eyes and knew in his heart that it was not a request. Despite wanting to hear his parents conversation, he knew that should he stick around he would not like what he heard.

“What? But we want to know what you are going to do about it!”

“Arya, sweetheart, please leave us to discuss this.”

“I want to-”

Wrapping one arm around the waist of his sister, he hauled her off of the ground and left the room.

“What?”

The rage he had been feeling since finding Joffrey slap Sansa had barely dissipated. It was controllable, but any time he even caught a glimpse of the blonde boy it was almost all consuming. The fact that he was still in the Tourney surprised him. Rhaenys was convinced that participating was helping him take his anger out on something.

When he had explained to Aegon and Rhaenys why he was so angry, their reactions were that of horror. Aegon had ranted on and on about how wrong it was, and how he was even more horrified that someone had the gall to harm another person inside the Red Keep of all places. 'What kind of twisted moron pulls a stunt like that?' After cursing Joffrey to the Seven Hells and back, Rhaenys had fled to find her friend.

'It's my duty to make sure she is going to be alright.'

'She went to sleep.'

'I do not care, I need to be there for her.'

It had been over a day since the incident and he still could not find it in himself to expel the utter hatred he had inside himself for Joffrey out. As if holding onto that hatred would help him. There was that small part of him that kept saying that it would make going through with his plan easier. If he held onto that hatred that he would not feel guilty about what he was going to do. The other part of him argued that he was never going to feel guilty anyway. It was what he wanted to do. In his heart it was what he wanted, whether he hated Joffrey or not he would stick to his plan.

“When I decided to agree to marry Rhaenys, father said that was all he needed to hear in order to marry you to Margaery. Apparently she is rather taken with you.”

“Does Rhaenys know?” His throat was dry as he stared at his brother, the horror running through his veins.

“Not yet. We are announcing it at the feast after the Tourney tonight though – no time to really do it any kind of romantic way. Father says that after all the festivities, he will announce your betrothal to Margaery, give the people one last 'spectacle' before they all leave.”

Running a hand through his hair, he groaned. Anytime he wanted something, everything always got in the way. The Gods had a habit of dangling what he wanted in front of him and putting up every obstacle they possibly could in the way. Sometimes he wondered how easier his life might have been had he been raised in the North with his mothers family.

“Why would the Tyrells even have an interest in me?”

“Uh, because one day you will be hand of the King, and that would be a pretty powerful position. The Tyrells want power.”

“I knew accepting that offer would come back to bite me in the arse.” He tried to force out the joke, but Aegon just raised an eyebrow, expression almost emotionless.

“I will make the job worth it.” Aegon ran a hand through his silver hair. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to go and give the shittiest proposal in the history of romance to Rhaenys.”

After his brother left, he allowed his heart to completely sink. In three hours, the last day of the Tourney began. In three hours he was building up to go through with his plan, and once again there was an obstacle. This time in the form of a very politically savy young woman. His father would likely kill him if he pulled any stunt that might jeopardise their standing. The Targaryen family were still doubted after the last war. There were whispers that Rhaegar was as mad as his father.

Jon knew that to be lies. There was nothing mad about Rhaegar, he was a kind and just man. A man who did everything in his power to make the world a better place. If Jon jeopardised that, he was certain his father might never forgive him.

The betrothal is not public knowledge.

Yet Sansa's was.

Rhaenys was all for his plan. When he had first mentioned what he intended to do, she had clapped her hands together in excitement before nodding enthusiastically. Of course, Rhaenys divulged her reasons as to why she thought it was a good idea, and Jon promptly tuned out. Her dedication to the belief that the Lannisters were up to something made him wary. When she told him she thought his plan might reveal a card or two in the Lannisters hand, Jon almost decided against it.

When he saw the bruise on Sansa's face the next day, his mind was firmly set. Three simple words keeping him from swaying.

Father did it.

“I cannot believe you would be so stupid.” His voice boomed around the room, eyes locked on his grandson. “What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?”

It brought him joy to watch the young boy take a pause. Second thinking his decisions. The boy had no self control, and if he was not reigned in any time soon he would blow everything they had been working for. Cersei had to reign her son in, if not, he would have to step in. Joffrey needed a good attitude check if he ever wanted to sit on the Iron Throne.

Being caught at harming his betrothed by her royal cousin was a mistake. Harming her at all was a mistake. If they wanted the loyalty of the Starks, they would need Sansa to be theirs. She needed to be treated as if she was one of them, not below them. Neither his daughter or his grandson seemed to know that. Tyrion, however, did know how to treat the Stark girl. The youngest Lannister had befriended the girl and managed to help corrode her opinion of their family even more. Never would she willing sit with the family for a meal, yet she would happily sit with Tyrion for hours on end.

If only he could persuade his son that their cause was just. If Tyrion was to side with his family, then it would be easy enough to marry the Stark girl to him. She would be far more pliable in Tyrions hands than she would be in his monstrous Grandsons. He would not even have to tell the Starks he had married the girl off until news began spreading around the Kingdoms. They would take the Lannister side to keep the girl safe, then when the war was over, they would continue to behave in order to keep the girl alive.

“She was lying to me. Telling me that she was not ignoring me when she has been!”

His grandson was petulant and frustrating. If his plan did not rely on Joffrey, he would have kept the boy in Storms End.

“Perhaps terrifying and slapping her was not the right way to get answers from her. Has your mother not told you that manners are your best weapon.”

“I do not care! She is mine. Mine! Not theirs. Mine!”

Swallowing carefully, his eyes locked on his youngest son. Enforcing his new plan would be a lot more difficult that he first thought.

Being in public felt humiliating. Since Joffrey had slapped her, she had avoided the Lannisters at all costs. She had spoken to Tyrion once, tears in her eyes telling him that she hated Joffrey – Gods, she hated him. All she wanted was to get as far away from the monster as possible. Tyrion had nodded and wiped away her tears, telling her that it was okay, he understood. He was there for her, and would do all he could to protect her. Just like he had been doing since he first saw the bruises blooming on her arms just a year previously.

Rhaenys had told Sansa that everything would be alright, that for the remainder of her stay at Kings Landing a member of the Targaryen family would be by her side. Even Viserys and Elia had walked through the gardens with her while Rhaenys, Dany, Aegon and Jon attended to other guests. The kindness the Targaryens showed her made her wish more than ever that it was their family she was marrying in to.

If her father broke her betrothal to Joffrey and she went home, she could suggest an alternate. Tell him that she thinks she knows who she could fall in love with if given the chance. She had even written another letter to her family, telling them how much she hates the Lannisters. How she wants nothing more than to run away from them and return home. Rhaenys and Aegon helped her write the letter, encouraging her to tell her family the truth. Each word was more painful to write than the last, but she did it.

“Stop worrying, my dear. You look beautiful as always.”

Rhaenys reached over to clasp her hand as they watched the Tourney. There was not many rounds left. Ser Loras had knocked Aegon off of his horse not moments ago, and Aegon had laughed the entire time. Rhaenys had been right when she said her brot- betrothed did not take the Tourney seriously. There had not been a round in which Aegon did not laugh like a lunatic while encouraging the crowd to cheer. Despite losing against Ser Loras, the crowd continued to go crazy for their prince.

“Only two rounds left.”

She wished that made her feel better, but it meant another two rounds sat in the hot sun. Another two rounds of being surrounded by people who could see the outline of her shame marked into her face. It did not matter how much powder Rhaenys and Dany had used on her face, Lady Margaery still asked what had happened.

Never had she been more humiliated.

Rhaenys had started to fabricate a story when Dany had boldly stated that it did not matter and that the situation was being handled. With a nod, Margaery had apologised before changing the subject.

It felt like the world could see her shame. That the world could sit there and judge her. Accuse her of being displeasing and ruined. The bruise was nothing more than a warning. A purple and blue warning that told everyone that she was damaged goods. That she was not good enough for anyone.

Her whole life she had been raised to be a good lady. A pleasing lady. She had promised her mother that she would make a good wife one day. That she would give her mother grandchildren who would grow to be happy and strong and beautiful. All she wanted was to live a happy life. The stories and songs always made life seem better than it really was. Perhaps she should have grown to be more like her sister. Strong and wild. With more of the north in her than there was.

She could claim to be a Stark as often as she wanted, but Arya would never let someone harm her. Arya would never let herself be betrothed to a man who would treat her so awfully if she was remotely displeasing. In fact, the only person her sister strived to please was herself. Perhaps Sansa should have grown to be more like her sister. More like her father. More like a Stark.

Perhaps that was why she wore the simple grey and white gown while surrounded by the red and black of the Targaryens. The gown was simple, and one of the only ones she had been allowed to take to Casterly Rock with her. It was a little too hot for wearing the woollen dress, but she was a Stark and she wanted the world to remember that. She wanted the Lannisters to remember that.

When it was the final round in the Tourney, she tried her hardest to keep focused. To hope that Jon won. He was sat on his horse, lance in hand, looking far more ready than he had throughout any other round. Ser Loras was waving at the crowd before readying himself, giving off an air of expecting to win. As both men lowered their helms and prepared their lance's, Sansa felt her hand tighten in Rhaenys.

Everything happened so quickly, as if she was not really watching it at all. Neither man landed a hit on the other during their first go, and Sansa's heart pounded in her chest. With a second charge, Sansa held her breath, watching as Ser Loras's lance hit Jon, knocking him sideways. Yet Jon managed to keep himself on his horse, steadying himself as they got ready for another charge. Her free hand grasped the chair as she watched wide eyed.

The third charge and she could no longer feel her heart beating. Watching as both men angled their lances, Jon tilting his just before sliding to the left to avoid being hit by Ser Loras. Jon's lance hit Loras's torso and the force of it knocked him backwards off of his horse. It took a moment before it sank in, and Rhaenys all but dragged Sansa to her feet as they cheered for him.

Pride bubbled in her stomach as she watched her cousin throw one hand up in the air as he rode a lap around the crowd. Her heart had started back up again as she sat down, watching with as much pride as she could muster. The last time she had felt so much pride was when she watched Bran hit the bullseye for the first time with his bow.

There was a silence as Jon was given the crown of flowers. The crowd watching eagerly to see who he would crown his Queen of Love and Beauty. Watching him ride back along the field, he seemed to be going at a slow trot, as if teasing the entire crowd. Eventually, he stopped his horse by the Kings stand and removed his helm. Natural instinct had her eyes wanting to look at Rhaenys, whom she expected Jon to name. Yet before she could move a single muscle, she realised his eyes were locked on her. Getting off his horse, he walked up to her the crown held in his hands.

“Lady Sansa, I would name you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as the crown was placed on the top of her head.

For a long moment, the silence was deafening, only broken when Dany and Rhaenys began to clap their hands together.

Chapter Text

It was unlike him to be so unfocused, yet after the events that had unfolded before him he found it impossible to concentrate. Violet eyes glued to his youngest child. Jon had stood by his decision with a fire in his eyes that made Rhaegar feel a strange sense of pride. Initially, he had felt infuriated that his son had not crowned his betrothed. Of course, when he had stated as such, he had heard Aegon murmur under his breath 'It is hardly official'. Jon's gaze had intensified, arms folding as he held his own. There was nothing that could truly be said as an argument to that.

Since the rather short lived, one-sided conversation – one he was absolutely certain Aegon and Jon took no heed to – he had kept his eyes glued to his son. Watching as carefully as possible, without trying not to draw attention to what he was doing.

A part of him thought it a pity that it was the Tyrell Roses that rested upon Lady Sansa's auburn locks; he was certain that like her aunt, a crown of Winter Roses would have suited her far better. Alas, the roses had been given as a gift from the Tyrells, and thus it was decided that the crown should be made from the beautiful flowers. Something his wife had been against from the start.

While watching his son, he had also been watching Lady Sansa. The smile that lit up her face had not left since the flower crown had been placed atop her head. Her Tully blue eyes appeared a little brighter; it was almost strange how a flower crown could impact so many people in so many ways.

He had his own memories of another Stark wearing a crown of Winter Roses, while the crowds silence was as loud as any gasp of horror. At the time he had not cared for the opinion of others, and he was certain that his son felt the same way he had all those years ago.

Looking around the hall, his stomach twisted at the sight of Joffery Baratheon glaring across the hall. The young Lord's gaze locked on Jon.

It was certainly a scandal. Even if Jon's betrothal was not official, Lady Sansa's was. The Lady was set to marry, and everyone at court knew it. What Jon had done could cause a rift between Houses – although there had been a rift for some time, Rhaegar had hoped that things would be fixable.

Looking back at his son, he felt himself hold in a sigh. There was nothing to be done about a situation that had found its way into history. Yet another Targaryen decided to crown a Stark girl – already betrothed to a Baratheon – his Queen of Love and Beauty. Perhaps it was a strange sort of fate, something that would keep happening until the Gods decided it had gone the way it was supposed to. If that was the case, how was it supposed to end?

The smile had not left Sansa's face since Dany and Rhaenys had began to applaud the crowning. Or at least, that was what Rhaenys had told him. It made him feel happy to know that Sansa was in such a happy place. The decision had made him nervous, yet he told himself he would never regret it. Not when the shock on her face dissolved and the bright smile lit up her face. Never could he have denied his cousin's beauty, but those few seconds would remain with him until he died. Watching the way her face lit up, as if the sun itself was shining from behind her eyes. In those moments he realised he had never seen anything more beautiful than Lady Sansa Stark.

Even with Tyrell Roses atop her head, she looked completely Stark. She looked as if she was home, and it made his heart pause. Since those moments, he had found it difficult to take his eyes off of her. Seeing her look so happy made him want to keep her that way. Of course, it was a task that was rendered near impossible by the fact that she was betrothed to Joffrey.

Even the mere thought of the boy made him feel an inexplicable burn in his veins. Whenever the Baratheon boy's name was even mentioned, all he could think about was hearing his hand hit Sansa's cheek. The fury tugged at his chest any time the thought lingered or anytime he caught sight of the bruise that marked Sansa's cheek. Never would he treat her as such. She deserved to be treated like a lady, not an object or a belonging – like the person she was.

When the music started up and the dancing began he felt content. For once he was happy to dance. It was rare that he broke the rules or did something that truly shocked others; usually when he did, he felt immensely guilty about such things. No such guilt hit him. Instead he felt great pride at seeing his Queen of Love and Beauty smile as she spun on the dance floor. He felt happy, and that was all that mattered. The members of court could stare or say as they wished, his happiness would not diminish because of their wants – not this time.

“Thank you.”

He met her eyes and they were shining, a thin layer of unshed tears glittering in the dim lighting. For a brief moment his heart sank, thinking that perhaps there was something wrong, yet before he could open his mouth, she continued.

“I doubt I shall ever feel as happy as I have done today, and I cannot thank you enough for it.”

Such words were more painful to hear than he would have ever initially thought. To know she truly believed she would never feel such happiness again hurt to hear, yet it made him glad to know that he had made her so happy. His grip on her tightened.

“I did not know you could tell the future, my lady.”

She blinked, almost confused.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Your future may be brighter than you know. None of us can see tomorrow, after all.”

“I suppose that is true.” The hand on his shoulder seemed to tighten its grip ever so slightly. Her voice had gotten quieter, and he strained slightly to hear her over the music. “Mayhaps the gods have some grand plan for my life.”

“I wonder what would be more terrifying. The Gods having no interest in your life at all, or having everything you say and do set in stone.”

She paused, staring at him almost blankly. A perfect eyebrow rose as her eyes seemed to darken. “Is it something you think about?”

“Occasionally. If I ever feel bad about myself, I truly wonder if the Gods are invested in my life – or anyone elses lives – at all. But now? Now you have made me wonder that if they are invested in our lives, just how invested can they be?”

It was all true. He met her Tully blue eyes and wondered just why things unfolded the way they did. Why would yet another Stark girl be betrothed to some Baratheon boy who was not worthy of her? Sansa was far to kind for Joffrey. Sansa was far too lovely and far too beautiful to be kept hidden away by a monster for the rest of her life.

“What makes you wonder that?”

For a moment, he could not find the right words; trying to work out how he could phrase any of his thoughts out loud. Some things were not to be said, especially not during a feast where he could be heard. Of course, it would help if he, himself, knew just what his mind wanted.

“Have you ever wondered why history so often repeats itself?” He tried hard not to bite down or look away, his heart pounding in his chest. “People always say it is because we learn from our mistakes. But what i- What if it is because things did not go to the Gods plan the first time around; and so it happens time and time again, until they are satisfied with the results.”

There was something in her gaze, that made him wonder if his heart was still beating. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip, before her lips parted as if she was going to say something. A second later and her mouth closed as if she had changed her mind of what she was going to say.

“Perhaps there might be something in my future to look forward to.” There was something teasing in her tone and he smiled lightly.

“I am certain it will be worth it.”

Despite the teasing, it felt like some kind of promise. Another to add to long list of things he had audibly and silently promised Lady Sansa Stark. And Gods, he intended on keeping every last one of them if it lit up her face like a child hearing a story or a songs happy ending.

Life is neither a story or a song. His mind reminded him.

Not unless you make it one. A voice that sounded far to much like Rhaenys argued back.

“Good.” Her smile became somewhat sly. “Because I-”

“Excuse me.” His blood froze as they were interrupted, he turned his head to look at Joffrey. “I was wondering if I could have this dance with my lady.”

“Of course.” Neither himself or Sansa could deny Joffrey that. Not in front of a crowd, and not after his 'scandal'. It was one thing to crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty, it would be another to deny her betrothed the right to dance with her in public – no matter how satisfying it would be.

A smug smile lit up Joffreys face as Sansa took his had; worried Tully blue eyes locked on his own grey ones. The hand that was still on her waist gave a gentle squeeze, one he hoped to be reassuring. It will be alright, he thought to himself, everything will be okay. The brief, almost unnoticeable nod he got in return was more reassuring than a thousand words.

Rather than going to dance with Dany or Rhaenys, he decided to do the right thing and approached Lady Margaery. She saw him approaching before her dancing partner – the late Robert Baratheons younger brother, he presumed.

“My Prince.” She curtsied, and he let his lips curl upwards.

“My Lady, I was wondering if I might have this dance.”

Looking at Renly, she smiled. “We shall continue this later, my Lord.”

Jons curiosity was piqued as he looked between Margaery and Renly, but he said nothing. It was none of his business, and from what he knew, Renly was an old friend of the Tyrells – though the rumours on that front were ones that he held no interest in.

As they began dancing, he found his throat went dry. There was nothing he had to say to her, or rather nothing he wished to discuss. After the stunt he pulled earlier, he would not be surprised if he had truly offended her. Official or not, the betrothal was still real and he had crowned another Lady his Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Are you enjoying your evening, my lady?”

“Of course, my prince. I've been having the most enjoyable of time since arriving in the capital.”

A part of him wanted to slam his head against something. It was infuriating to always hear what other people thought he wanted to hear. Sometimes, the bitter truth was better than hearing the sweet lies. Sansa had been nothing but honest since arriving in the capital, and despite hating some of the truths he had heard, it made the rest so much sweeter. Perhaps he was too Stark to be in the south, something that Aegon had often told him over the years.

“She is very beautiful. Even a blind man could see that.” He was shocked at Margaery's words. And before he could respond, she pressed on. “I cannot fault your decision, she is your family and when family is harmed, you do all you can to make them feel better, do you not?”

It was an out, Jon realised. An explanation that had never once come to his mind, because all he had thought about was how she deserves so much more than anything Joffrey would ever give her. To be in a position of having an excuse all but written for him was what appeared to be a once in a lifetime opportunity. An opportunity that made him almost reel back.

'when your family is harmed, you do all you can to make them feel better'

A part of him wanted to be horrified. It felt as if it was belittling what had happened to Sansa. As if he had crowned her solely to make her feel better for Joffrey hitting her when that was far from the truth. He had not crowned Sansa to make her feel better; he crowned her because he wanted to. It was what she deserved.

“Of course.” He did all he could to act like those two words would not haunt him. As if he was blatantly lying to the woman he was to be wed to.

It suddenly hit him. The weight of his thoughts truly hit him and he had to blink, almost pausing in his movements. He was going to be marrying Margaery Tyrell, whether he wanted it or not. The woman in front of him would be the woman with whom he would share a bed with, have children with, spend the rest of his life with.

“Are you alright, my Prince?”

“Too much wine, I am afraid.” He laughed, the lie feeling far more natural than the first, and his stomach twisted. A marriage of lies was not the future he wanted for himself. “Aegon would never forgive me if I did not celebrate my victory to his standard.”

“Oh of course.” She laughed, even tilting her head back slightly as her face lit up. “Every tourney victor should celebrate properly. Though you will suffer greatly for it in the morn.”

“That I will, my lady. I do not look forward to it.”

The clanging of a spoon against glass halted all the action in the room. Rheagar stood at the High Table, eyes looking across the sea of people. It did not escape Jons notice, that both Aegon and Rhaenys were stood beside their father.

“I would like to thank everyone for coming to celebrate my nameday, the festivities so far have been of a great enjoyment for myself. I hope that the rest of you have found them as equally enjoyable. But it is with great pride and happiness that I get to announce that my son and heir, Aegon is to be wed to my daughter Rhaenys.”

The pounding of her heart was the only thing she wished she could hear. Instead, it was the voices of a family she had practically ignored since being helped off of her horse the day they had arrived at the Red Keep. The desire to up and flee was almost unbearable. A part of her wished that she or Jon had refused Joffrey the night before, because at least she would not be there. Despite the scandal, she would not be trapped in a room with Cersei, Joffrey and Tywin, she would be safe with Rhaenys and Dany out in the gardens.

“It seems that the Targaryens have taken quite the shining to you, my lady Sansa.” Tywin was watching her through calculated eyes, and it took all of her will power to force the free Sansa back into her cage. In that room, she belonged to the Lannisters. As she opened her mouth, Tywin cut her off. “It is quite alright. In fact, it is rather beneficial.”

A part of her felt her heart stop, almost scared of what she was going to hear. “Beneficial?” She asked cautiously. If she played her cards right, perhaps she could get Joffrey to slip and reveal Tywin and Cersei's plans. Despite doing all she could to avoid the two, she knew they were up to something when the were locked away from the world. If Tyrions drunken mumblings were anything to go by, then it was definitely plotting.

“After the last war, the Targaryen's reign has been questioned. Many people do not believe them fit to rule. There is a higher chance of a Targaryen becoming mad than great. Without their dragons, their reign means very little. You know our recent history, a war started over your Aunt Lyanna, because Rheagar believed he could get whatever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. Targaryens do not seem to conform to basic rules of etiquette and everything they have done in recent times has caused a lot of unrest. They refuse to trust in any other Houses, and need to be truly motivated to take action in anything that happens within the realm. Yet they like you. If I was a wagering man, I would even say that they trust you.” Despite the last sentence sounding like a statement, the silence that followed and the look in Tywins eyes told her that it was a question.

“That they do, my lord.” Her heart squeezed painfully and she tried to ignore the bile that rose in her throat.

“Good. Now, I do not wish to ask anything of you that might make you uncomfortable, but one day you will be married into our House and your loyalty will be to us. We will repay your loyalty with kindness, care and trust – something I do not believe my daughter or grandson have freely given you, and yet it is what you deserve. Since the Targaryens trust you, it would be easy for you to procure any information that we might find beneficial. Information that they would not freely give anyone else; for example, thoughts and opinions on other Houses.”

It was hard to keep an impassive face, yet she was convinced she had managed it beautifully. The Lannisters wanted to use her to bring down the Targaryens. Perhaps once upon a time, she would have been naive enough to buy into the promises of care and kindness, but a year of living with them had taught her that neither Cersei or Joffrey were capable of such things. Once upon a time, she believed that marriage meant loyalty, and she may have devoted all of hers to Joffrey had he not revealed his true colours sooner.

No, true loyalty was given to those who deserved it. The Starks, her family, were those who came first. If a situation ever arose, her family would be whom she served. Then there were the Targaryens, who were the first to show her a little kindness in far too long. And finally, Tyrion. Tyrion would always have part of her loyalties; a man who had gone out of his way to be kind to her when his whole family treated her with disdain.

“I know what it is we are asking of you, but remember that this is the same family that had your aunt kidnapped and uncle murdered. Think of your own family. How sweet it will be to see them once more. And you will, my lady. I have written a letter inviting your mother, sister and younger brother to visit Casterly Rock for your next nameday.”

*****

It took all of her willpower not to run as hard and as fast as she could through the corridors. Walking felt too slow, and with the way her heart was pounding, the other side of the keep was far too far away. By the time she reached the door she was after, she felt as if she was ready to collapse.

She knocked thrice, and waited with baited breath.

Rhaenys opened the door, worry quickly etched onto her face as she looked at Sansa. “What is wrong?” She looked around, refusing to say a word. With a nod, Rhaenys silently invited her into the solar, closing the door behind her. “Sansa, what is it?”

“The Lannisters wish for me to give them information on you all.”

“What?” The hiss came from a voice she had not expected. Looking around, she noticed Dany, Aegon and Viserys. The look in the eldest Targaryen in the solars face made her heart begin to pound wildly once again, fear seeping through her blood.

“They- They- I never mentioned it out of fear before, but Cersei and Tywin have been plotting something for a long time now. I did not know what they were plotting, and I would often pretend there was nothing suspicious going on because I was scared. Tyrion mentioned it once when drunk, saying that he 'will never have a hand in helping them'. But now they have asked me to do this for them, and they used my family as motivation, telling me I can see them if I do as they wish. So-” Her heart shattered as she stared at the floor. “I-”

“Sansa?” Rhaenys took her hands in her own and met her eyes.

“They wanted something as a 'sign of goodwill'. I- used what you had told me to give them something without telling them anything important. I told them that your family is aware of the unrest, and are working on trying to overcome it. Please, I am sorry, I did-”

“Why are you sorry?” It was Aegon who interrupted her, a seriousness in his eyes that almost unnerved her. “You came straight to Rhaenys after the incident, and told them a very vague response, something they will never be able to use against us.”

Despite the fact Aegon spoke true, she still felt as if she had betrayed them. Even a vague half-truth was still giving the Lannisters something. Lies and betrayal were not something she wished to have any part in.

“Father has been certain that the Lannisters are plotting something, and now that we know they are, we can make contingencies. Rhaenys, you and Viserys can have a little chat with Varys and ask why we have heard nothing about this before now. Dany, you and I can have a chat with Baelish, I am almost certain he will know something. Sansa-” His violet eyes focused on her, careful and cautious. “After we have all gathered what information we can, we will sit down and discuss our next move. Unfortunately, there are a limited number of options here for you. We know what the Lannisters want, and as you have proven already, you are unwilling to give them that and have instead relayed that information to us.

“We can give you bits and pieces of information to give the Lannisters for whenever they ask for it. That is not a questionable option, they have made your life miserable enough, I do not wish to think on what they would do to you if you refused to cooperate with them. If you like, you can relay information back to us; this is an option. I understand that such things can make a person uncomfortable. We trust you enough not to lie to us, and we trust that if the time came and the Lannisters did reveal their end game to you that you would tell us either way. You can, if you wish, involve Tyrion. I am certain if he knows that his father wishes to use you, that he will do what he can to protect you. I for one, would be interested in what he has to say, but I am not asking for any information, simply telling you the different paths and letting you decide which you are more comfortable with.”

With a heavy heart, she nodded. A number of days in the capitol and she found herself playing the game of thrones.

Gossip had a tendency to travel fast. Within a short period of time, most of the Seven Kingdoms could know everything and anything if it was interesting enough. Of course, a lot of gossip rarely made its way so far north. He had learned that from a young age, unless the court gossip was juicy enough, it would not reach Winterfells ears.

So he was truly surprised when all anyone could talk about was how Prince Jon Targaryen crowned Lady Sansa Stark as his Queen of Love and Beauty. For a short while, it had not bothered him. He had felt smug and had even been a little jealous that he had not been there to see the look on that Baratheon boys face as Sansa was crowned. And then he heard it. One small whisper in the court yard that made his blood freeze.

'Just like Rhaegar and Lyanna.'

One small comment and suddenly dread filled his entire being. The rest of his day was spent trying to argue the differences. Jon and Sansa had met before the Tourney. They had a chance to bond and get to know one another. Joffrey had harmed Sansa, and perhaps Jon was doing it in devotion to family. The dread did not go away, and the whispers continued.

“Is it true?” Rickon asked during dinner. “Did Jon crown Sansa his Queen?”

He looked down at his father and watched the smile die from his face, replaced with something stoic and unreadable. “As far as I am aware, yes. He did.”

A smile lit up Rickons face. “Good. Sansa would make a great Queen.”

That part was undeniable. Sansa would make a fantastic Queen if given the opportunity, but that was not her position, nor would it ever be.

“I just don't understand what the fuss is about.” Arya stated blandly, stabbing at the meat on her plate. “So Jon crowned her his Queen of Love and Beauty, so what? She's basically the embodiment of it anyway, and it was hardly like Joffrey was going to crown her. Let someone worthy of crowning her do it. Anyone else participating would have done it as well.”

“No, they would not have.” There mother cut in. “To crown another mans wife or betrothed is a scandal, Arya. It is not done. The crown is to be given to a woman you love or intend to court.”

“But Jon loves Sansa.” Rickon cut in. “He is family.”

“Exactly.” Arya agreed. “Plenty of people have crowned their sisters-”

“Targaryens!” Their mother hissed back. “And they marry their sisters ofttimes.”

“What would be so wrong with Jon wanting to court Sansa anyway?” Arya argued back. “He is a prince. His father could easily break Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey and save her a lifetime of pain, something her own father has yet to do.”

Arya's nonchalant attitude was the only thing that made his own thoughts pause. There was a very good point in what she was saying, with only one issue. He highly doubted the King would break off the betrothal for his son's benefit. The Lannisters were tricky enough, a full scale uprising could follow such a decision.

“Are you listening to yourself?”

With a huff and a clatter of her fork, Arya met their mothers gaze. “Do you want Sansa to marry Joffrey?”

“No, but-”

“Then where is the problem? Let her have a little bit of happiness, there is a high chance that this means nothing and it is something Jon did because he wants Sansa to have a little bit of happiness in her life. And if it does mean something, then who are we to tell Sansa to stay with someone who harms her? If she wants to run away with Jon like aunt Lyanna an-”

“Enough!”

Their fathers face was twisted into an unreadable expression and the heat of his gaze made Robb want to lower his head, yet he did not. Instead, he watched his sister. Her Stark grey eyes met her fathers; refusing to give in.

“Arya, go to your chambers.”

Anger flashed in her eyes as she stood. “I hope he does do something, because obviously you will not. And if he does nothing either, then I will.”

As Arya left, a sigh slid past their fathers lips. “I do not know what has gotten into her, but she needs to realise that nothing is that simple.”

“No.” Robb agreed. “But only because nobody allows anything to be simple.”

“We have a duty to the realm to keep it at peace. Without peace, we have nothing. Everything we have worked hard for can be taken from us, and so we do our duty.”

“At the expense of Sansa.” It was Bran's turn to pipe up. “She's expendable. Just like Arya.”

“What?” Their parents eyes were locked on Bran, and the younger boy simply shrugged.

“If Robb was betrothed to Myrcella, and any of what had happened to Sansa, happened to him, you would call off the betrothal. If the Lannisters said no and refused to give him back, you would call your bannermen and march off to war to get him back. But you refuse to do it for Sansa, and you would refuse to do it for Arya. They are girls and this is their duty, so peace is held together at their expense. Because unlike men, they are expendable.”

The urge to argue Bran's point was clear on both their parents faces. Even he had the desire to argue that what Bran had said was not true. But when he thought on it, he knew that the younger boy was right. Both Bran and Arya had made valid points, and there was nothing that could be said against them. Not strong arguments anyway, and between the two younger Starks, there was enough smarts and determination to fight and win any argument that came their way.

“I love Sansa, and like Arya and Rickon, I want her home. She does not deserve this, and you can argue that she is betrothed to Joffrey and so everything is okay, but being betrothed to someone does not stop you from being a prisoner. And that is not okay. Not at all.”

For a moment, all Robb could wonder was when in the world Bran had gotten so damn wise. The younger boy was too smart and wise for someone so young. And yet it was needed, because it meant there was someone who could help everyone see things in a better light.

“If you can excuse me, I believe I have a long overdue raven to send.”

With that, their father got up and left.

Chapter Text

“Wait- Are you serious?” Arya looked across at him with wide eyes.

A proud smile lit up his face as he nodded. “I heard mother discussing it with father, and what they would do if things went south-”

“But they have retracted the betrothal? You got them to break the betrothal?”

For a moment, he felt a little offended. “Did you have so little faith in me, sister?”

“No. I just cannot believe it took us this long. I fought so hard, and so did you and Rickon-” She looked at where their younger brother was perched on the windowsill. “But all it took was one of your old-and-wise moments to change their minds. Why did we not think of that sooner? Gods, we're idiots!”

“Idiots that still won in the end. Father has retracted the betrothal and Sansa will be home sooner or later.”

“Later.” Rickon muttered, staring out the window. “And she won't be alone.”

“Would you stop that?” Arya snapped at the younger boy. “It's weird.”

Rickon let out a snort and rolled his eyes. “But becoming your wolf is totally normal.”

“That is not what I meant, Rickon. I meant, It's weird how you think you know what is going to happen.”

“I don't think, I know. And when everything starts happening, I am going to say 'I told you so'. It is going to be ages before we see Sansa again, and when she comes home, she won't be home because the Lannisters let her.”

“We all know the Lannisters are not just going to let her. Gods, they are the Lannisters. They are going to declare war on father, and we are going to be stuck in some stupid civil war. But I don't care, because the Lannisters are going to lose-”

“At what cost?”

Bran watched his sisters face falter as she stared at their younger brother.

“Stop it.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “You cannot possibly know what is going to happen.”

“I know that Starks should never travel south. A Stark in the south is doomed.”

“He has a point.” Bran mumbled. “Old Nan says that bad things happen when Starks travel south. Look at Sansa. Aunt Lyanna, uncle Brandon and grandfather all died when they went south.”

“Yet father did not.”

“Last time. But if he goes south again, he might not come back. The Gods are hardly known for being merciful.”

“Whose side are you on Bran?”

Blinking, he looked between his brother and sister. “Side? I was not aware that I was supposed to be picking one side or another.”

Arya huffed and flopped backwards onto his bed. “I don't want a war, I just want everything to be okay again.”

“I doubt any of us wants a war, Arya. From what I hear, they are not exactly a ball.”

She sat up slightly, resting her weight on her forearms, head tilted forward at an awkward angle as she raised an eyebrow. “Hilarious.”

Bran gave a small shrug as he leaned against the wall next to the window. He did agree with Arya on the fact that Rickons confidence in knowing the future was unnerving. There had been one or two occasions in which he had proven to be right, but those were off-handed comments he had made as a toddler that Bran had given little thought to. Occasions he now realised may have been the early signs of him being able to actually know things – only time would tell.

Glancing at the younger boy, he gave a small sigh. “None of us know what is going to happen. Not for certain. The future is always changing, people change their paths. All we know is what is happening; and right now, what is happening is that father is retracting the betrothal and Sansa is safe with Jon. Right now, in this very moment, everything is okay. That is what matters. If things become not okay, then we hold on to every moment where things were okay. We hold onto them and we do not let go, not until things are better again.”

“Would you stop being such a fucking wise guy. It makes me feel horrible about myself sometimes. You are twelve, not fifty.” There was a grin on Arya's face, and so he could not help but laugh.

He did not think himself wise, he just relayed what he knew about the world. Not that he knew very much. Arya knew more than him, Sansa knew more than her and Robb knew more than them all. But Robb was to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he had a lifetime to be wise and sensible; so he spent his evenings in Winter Town drinking with Theon and being 'young while I can.'

Being so lost in thought he almost missed Arya's soft “Thank you.”

Looking up, he returned the small smile.

“It was very brave of you.”

She looked up to see Jon standing with Ghost, his face almost expressionless as he looked at her. With a nod, she shifted almost uncomfortably on the spot, the gaze of the weirwood tree behind her burning her spine.

“I would disagree but-”

“Walk with me?”

She paused, looking at him carefully. A part of her had expected him to be mad at her. Despite what Aegon had said to her – despite Rhaenys, Dany and Viserys telling her she had done the right thing – she still felt awful.

“Of course.”

He held out his arm and she walked over to him, careful not to trip on any fallen twigs or branches. When she took his arm, he gave her a brief smile before he began leading her through the wood.

The silence was all but terrifying her. A small part of her was certain that Jon was angry with her. How could he not be? Even though she had went straight to Rhaenys, she had kept the fact she had been aware of Lannister plotting a secret. At the time it had been because she was scared and did not want to cause trouble. But the rest of her was certain that Jon was not mad at her. That it was something else, because he was Jon. He was kind and nice, he cared about her and he understood. Somehow he just always understood, and never judged her – not even when Joffrey hit her.

If Jon was mad at her, it would hurt. It would hurt more than Joffrey hitting her. It would mean that she had done something terribly wrong. Perhaps even disappointing. Her heart ached at the thought of Jon being disappointed in her, especially after all he had risked to crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Aegon is worried about you.” His voice was so quiet that she was surprised to have heard it. “He told me how upset you were, and that one look at your face and he knew how such a position was making you feel. I- I feel like that sometimes, even just living here. It is all lies and deceit, getting an honest word out of anyone is like trying to squeeze water from a rock. I hate the stupid game.” He shook his head. “Why they even refer to it as a game is beyond me. Games are supposed to be fun.”

The loose grip she had on his arm tightened. “It is nothing like this in the north. The only games we play are for fun. Mayhaps you have too much Stark in you; being honourable is a trait Stark men are best known for. Honour and lies do not mix well.”

Jon stopped walking and turned to face her, eyes meeting her own. “Sansa, I was- This is not about me. I was breaking into what I wanted to say.”

“And what do you want to say?”

“That you do not have to do any of it. That you do not have to lie and keep secrets, or feel like you are betraying anyone. Aegon and Rhaenys both said the whole thing made you look incredibly ill; and you do. You are pale and your eyes are dark, not to mention you ate none of your dinner last night and Rhaenys told me you barely touched your food when breaking your fast.”

He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, the frustrated sigh blowing air across her face. Part of her was desperate to open her mouth and say something, anything. But her heart was pounding in her chest and her breath was caught in her throat.

“Look, Aegon is thinking with politics. As future King, it is his job. He was right when he said the best option is to tell you what information to give Tywin, but we cannot guarantee what questions he would ask you. There is nothing about this situation that can be guaranteed, I am sure there are a million other options. Different routes that can be taken so you do not have to do something else that you do not want to do.”

“Jon. They- I am to marry into their family. I will be Tywin's granddaughter, if I do not do as they wish, they could harm me. Joffrey already does. They want to use me as a pawn and I do not want to think about what they might say or do if I refuse.”

“Sansa.” There was something dangerous in Jon's voice, and she instinctively to half a step backwards. “They have torn you from your family. They have stripped you of your Direwolf. They refuse to allow contact between you and almost anyone else in all of the Seven Kingdoms. They refuse to let you wear Stark colours. What is there left for them to take from you? You are not their pawn. You are Sansa Stark. A person. Not. A. Pawn.”

Jon was right. Of course he was. There was always another option. She always had a choice. That was what Bran had said to her anyway. There was another way that she just could not see, and Jon was right. She was her own person who deserved to make her own choices in life. If it was Arya, she would kick and scream and go down fighting for what she believed in. But she was Sansa, not Arya. Her path would always be vastly different from her sisters.

'What is there left for them to take from you?'

Jon was almost right. Everything else he said held weight and meaning and she agreed with it whole heartedly. She should fight. The Lannisters had taken so much from her that it was beyond just being unfair. But they had not taken everything from her. Not any more.

She kept her eyes locked on his, her heart beating rapidly as she spoke each word; slowly, carefully. “They could strip away my happiness.”

The way he tensed after she spoke did not bother her in the slightest. It was as if he had not thought there was much else for them to take from her.

Until recently, there was nothing left for them to take from me.

“I will find you a way Sansa. There is always a third option. Always.” His hands were on her upper arms, gaze boring into her so intensely she could hardly breathe.

“I know. I know you will do whatever you can to help me.”

“Never doubt that, Sansa. You deserve so much more than you have been given, and I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I will help see that you get even a fraction of the life you deserve.”

For a moment, her heart paused. Then suddenly, it was pounding in her chest. So loud and rapid that not only could she hear it ringing in her ears, she could feel her pulse in her neck and wrists. Her breathing hitched for a moment, and it felt as if the world was spinning.

“Why?”

Jon looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I- I- Why do you have so much faith in me?”

“I do n- I just do.”

His lips twitched upwards, a brief yet soft smile took over his face. It lit up his sombre features before disappearing once again. “Exactly.”

A small smile tugged at her own lips, for someone who had been raised in the capital Jon was most definitely not like most of the people who lived their. A part of her had expected the Targaryens to be just as bad as everyone else when it came to the lies, deceit and scheming. Yet Jon seemed almost completely incapable of it; while Rhaenys was one of the most wonderful people she had even met, the older girl was more involved in the inner workings of the capital. Of course, she had expected that the future king and queen would be as talented as the best of them when it came to surviving in such a web.

“My father believes that it is my fault.” He looked down for a moment. “I am certain he is right-”

“You think that the Lannisters are wanting to use me because you crowned me?”

Stark grey eyes bore into her own. “Of course. It was improper.”

“Do you regret it?”

Her heart was in her throat and she refused to acknowledge the slowly intensifying burning that was growing in her eyes. If he regretted it, she would not know how to cope with that knowledge. There were many things that she felt guilty about, but Jon being the one to crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty in full view of the Lannisters was not one of them. It was one of the best moments of her life, and to know that he may regret it hurt.

“No.” His voice was so quiet, it took her a second to realise he had actually spoken and it was not the wind. “I could never bring myself to regret it. But it was improper to crown a betrothed woman, especially when her betrothed's family are as awful as the Lannisters are.”

“Aegon said that the look on Joffrey's face will remain with him forever, a part of me wishes I had seen it.”

“I am certain it was satisfying, but I far preferred the look on your face when I crowned you, my lady.”

For a moment, she forgot what it meant to breathe. The intensity of his gaze, and honesty in his voice was enough to make her want to forget herself; to forget the world.

“The Lannisters will not give her back Ned. Not without a fight.”

They were not spying, per-se. It was a simple matter of listening to information they did not want to wait to hear at a later date. Arya was sat on one side of the doorway, while he stood on the other. Rickon was sat at his feet. Their wolves were spread throughout the corridor, playing lookout – not that they needed lookouts, after all they were hardly doing anything wrong.

“We have to hope that we can avoid a war, Cat.” Their father let out a sigh. “Cersei has made it plain she would rather Joffrey was betrothed to someone who was not Stark, hopefully that will allow things to be broken off without complication.”

“Nobody breaks off a betrothal without a valid reason.”

“I told them there was another match for Sansa much closer to home.”

There was a moment of silence, and Bran strained to hear what their mother said next. “You lied to them.”

“We have time, Cat.”

Their father sounded tired, and Bran could not blame him. Meeting Arya's gaze, he wanted to turn away instantly. The heat from her determination was enough to halt a grown man in his steps. It was evident that she cared little about consequences. He too was desperate to see their sister home and well, yet he did worry about what it would mean for their future.

“I have- I have been considering our options.” Their mother sounded a little nervous, but pressed on none the less. “We have already agreed to foster the Reed children, perhaps we could foster another. Stannis has a daughter, due to her affliction she has few friends. If things were to turn sour, Stannis would no doubt have the loyalty of Storms End, and would perhaps fight alongside us. You know as well as I do how he resents Joffrey's inheritance of his home.”

“There are many who would be wary about having the girl around.”

“She was cured, Ned. If Stannis had to love anything, it would be his little girl. We have known for years that he fears for her future. If we promise him that she will be safe, cared for and given a chance to make friends, he is likely to do it in a heartbeat. It would be good for Arya, Gods know she could use a more ladylike friend.”

Another glance at his sister, and he had to hold back a laugh. A look of disgust and horror was written across Arya's face.

“As if Jeyne Poole is not bad enough.” She hissed under her breath.

Arya had and always would be her own kind of lady. Her life would always consist of sneaking around to do her own thing, while only half attempting to pretend to be something else for their family. As she had always said after getting a row for doing something 'unladylike' 'I just like to have fun.' Bran could hardly fault her for that.

A low whine from Nymeria, caught their attention and caused them to miss what their father said next. The sound of footfalls coming towards them, had Rickon leaping up to his feet and both Arya and himself pulling away from the wall.

“Last one to the stables belongs on the Wall.” Arya muttered while shoving Rickon to the side before running towards the sound of the footfalls.

Rolling his eyes, he wondered how his sister could come up with such covers in mere seconds, before speeding after her.

Their wolves had decided to follow after their owners, having their own race and causing Robb to almost fall flat on his face.

“OI! FATHER SAID NO RUNNING IN THE-”

They all blatantly ignored him as they ran as fast as they could. Direwolves easily overtaking them as they bounded through the corridors and out into the keep grounds. The race was close, as usual, with Arya only winning because she cheated – pushing innocent serving staff into Bran and Rickons way, or tripping up whoever tried to overtake her.

“Gods. You two are so slow. Whatever would father think?”

“That you three are the biggest pains in my backside.”

Bran stiffened before turning to see his father stood behind them; arms folded and intense gaze locked on the three of them.

“How many times have you been told off for racing through the Keep? And how many times have you been told not to allow your Direwolves to race through the Keep?”

Sheepishly, he looked at his siblings. Arya looked sheepish as well, Rickon looked almost bored.

“Sorry father.”

“They cannot do this.” Her hiss hit his ears, and he held in a sigh.

“You cannot say that you never expected this. Keeping her as an effective prisoner was going to have consequences. Allowing your little monster to do as he wished with her was going to end badly. Had you listened to me in the first place, then none of this would have happened.”

“A better match.” She quoted. “He claims to have found her a better match in the north. Unless his bannermen are considering an uprising, then it is never smart to withdraw a betrothal from a family more powerful than yours.”

“And, pray tell me, how do you know his bannermen are not planning a mutiny.”

Cersei's gaze landed on Tyrion, who until that moment had been uncharacteristically silent. His youngest son met his daughters gaze evenly.

“Oh yes, I'm sure the Greatjon is just going to throw caution to the wind and rebel against his favourite lord.” Cersei bit. “This is a slight. As if they could find a better match for their daughter than Joffrey.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Tyrion sat back in his seat, playing with the wine glass. “I am certain Sansa would much prefer the name Targaryen over Baratheon.”

Before his daughter could react, Tywin sat forward, folding his hands on the table. “Enough. I doubt Lord Stark would be stupid enough to break off a betrothal to our family so that he could wed Sansa to Jon. Until proven otherwise, we should believe that he has found someone in the north that he would rather wed Sansa to.”

“You are alright with this?” Cersei looked at him, astonished. “You cannot-”

He raised a hand, narrowing his eyes, daring his daughter to continue.

“Of course I am taking this as a slight, Cersei. Do not misunderstand me. Of course, you cannot think that they do not have valid reasons for wishing to go back on the agreement. As Lord Stark kindly reminded us, the betrothal was forged through Robert and himself, with Robert dead it is something that can quite easily be called off. He also kindly reminded us that the lack of communication with their daughter has been worrying. The fact that when they did hear from her she wrote of her unhappiness and her desire to leave Casterly Rock. And of course, a letter from their nephew telling them that Joffrey was seen harming their daughter.”

The discomfort that crossed his daughters face made him feel somewhat satisfactory.

“So what? We are just going to ship her back north?”

“That would be the best thing to do.” Tyrion stated. “To keep her from her family with a broken betrothal could start a war.”

As right as his son was, a new plan had already formed in his mind. “No. We will write to Stark and apologise. Tell him that unfortunately, Sansa has already been wed.” Looking between his son and daughter, he felt his back stiffen. “We shall have her wed within a fortnight; we have already put it off for far too long.”

Sat in her fathers solar, she felt oddly nervous. It was rare he requested to speak with her on serious matters. Despite having been well educated on Westeros, she had experienced very little outside the her homes in the Stormlands. The previous times her father had asked to speak with her in such a formal manner had been to discuss her future.

“Good Morning, Shireen.”

He had a letter placed on his desk. Hands clasped above it, hiding the writing from her eyes.

“Good Morning, father.” She replied before taking a seat.

“Did you sleep well?”

With a nod, she gave a small “Yes.” It was rare that she slept well, her dreams often becoming night terrors that she cannot awaken from. A night of peace was always welcome, and always thoroughly enjoyed.

“Good.” There was a brief pause, his dark blue eyes met her own. “A raven came from Lord Stark of Winterfell.”

Confusing flooded through her as she did what she could not to fidget with her dress. “What did Lord Stark want?”

A small sigh slid past her fathers lips and he seemed to visibly deflate for a moment. “He and his wife, Lady Catelyn, were wondering if you may like to be fostered at Winterfell. The believe that their daughter, Arya, would benefit from having the company of a more Southron lady as a friend, and have asked if you would like to live in the north for a couple of years.”

Her heart seemed to pause as she stared at her father. “They- They wish for me to go north to befriend their daughter?”

For as long as she could remember, she had been without any real friends. Ser Davos and his children were wonderful, but they were far older than she, nor were they highborn ladies. Lady Arya was a highborn lady, and could be her friend. She would get to explore more of Westeros and have some company. The nervousness disappeared as excitement and hope flushed through her.

“Yes, Shireen. Is that something you would like? The North is very different from here, but Lord Stark is a kind and honourable man and Lady Catelyn is a nice woman, you would be treated with nothing less than kindness. It would be very cold, but I am sure you would be able to acclimatize.”

“Yes.” She breathed out, eyes widening. “Oh yes, father. I would like to go North very much.”

A friend. All she had ever wanted was a friend, and a perfect opportunity had arisen. Maester Cressen had taught her about the North, and how vastly different it was from the Stormlands. Nothing had been said that would make her wish to refuse the chance to make a friend.

The Starks were notoriously loyal and honour bound. To make a friend of the Starks was mayhaps the best decision she could make. One day she would inherit her fathers lands, and it would be her duty to have good, strong bonds with other Houses. Being fostered with the Starks would give her the perfect opportunity to practice what she had learned from her mother and Maester Cressen.

The excitement that built within her threatened to explode.

“Very well, I will write to Lord Stark and we shall begin to prepare you for your journey north.”

As she made her way back to her room, she let the excitement consume her. Thoughts of what her life may be like at the forefront of her mind. She was certain that the Starks would be kind to her, never had she heard a bad word against them. But then, she knew that her affliction might be something that could cause an issue. Perhaps Arya would be too scared to befriend her. Mayhaps Lord Starks sons would make fun of her.

And then the excitement died down.

They invited you North. No one would invite something they fear into their home. The logical side of her mind argued.

But they have not seen me. What if they make fun of me, simply because of how I look?

They would never. The Starks are too honourable.

The excitement remained, but fear was there as well. Fear that mayhaps the Starks would take one look at her and regret their decision. That they would wish that they had never invited someone damaged into their home.

But of course, she could not let that eat away at her. It was the first time she would ever get to travel into the unknown. An adventure all of her own. She would get to explore the North, and live in a part of the world that was so impossibly different from what she was used to. Southron clothes would be of no use to her, and so she would need an entirely knew wardrobe. Their hairstyles were different, and perhaps their music and dances were too.

Excitement bubbled away at the back of her mind. Even if Arya did dislike her, she would still get to learn. She would get to live a life that was different to what she had. Learning about the different lifestyles throughout the Seven Kingdoms was fascinating, and it would be far more fascinating to get to experience them first hand.

Samwell Tarly had always questioned himself. He had always wanted to know why. Why was he such a disappointment to his father? Why could he not just accept him for who he was? He had believed for so long that family was supposed to accept you for who you were, and yet his father looked upon him with disdain and disgust, why?

Perhaps it was because he had always favoured books for swordplay. Perhaps it was because he favoured learning to fighting. Perhaps it was because he favoured knowledge to power. His father hated him, and he just wished he could understand. He wished he knew what it was to do to make them actually love him, like fathers were supposed to do.

But maybe that was it. Maybe it was his lack of knowing that made him so useless.

And so he took everything from him – stripped him of his claim to his lands and lordship. Sent him to the Wall where he was stripped of his right to wed and have children – something he had wanted for most of his life, to have a child of his own. A child whom he could love in the way his parents never loved him.

And so maybe that was what was pushing him when Gilly asked for his help. He may not have been great with a sword – he was useless with a sword; no matter how often Pyp had tried to help teach him. He may not of been the ideal person for the task what-so-ever. A bit too fat. A bit too weak. But he knew his heart was in the right place. Gilly needed his help. And he would be damned if he refused her.

The Seven had never helped him. But maybe the Old Gods would.

Here in the north, maybe he could be someone. A someone who was not the forever disappointing Lord Samwell Tarly. A someone who was not the useless Nights Watchmen. But a someone who was willing to run out into the bitter, freezing north in order to help someone who he does not know.

Because that is who Samwell has always been. He would put every person before himself. He would rather save someone else than save himself – because everyone deserves to be saved.

And sometimes, he thinks to himself, that everyone except him deserves to be saved.

In those moments everything that had ever haunted him had come back to his mind. The White Walker smashed and disappeared and for the first time in his life, he wondered if his father could be proud of him. If Randyll Tarly would have been proud of his overweight son, had he seen him defeat an impossible, undefeatable White Walker. A part of him doubted the man could ever be impressed with him.

But what did it matter, because when he looked at Gilly, she looked beyond impressed. Her face held an expression that was mixed between taken aback, proud and shocked.

What did any of what his father think matter, when there was a girl who needed him. A girl who he would happily risk everything for just to ensure her safety. To ensure her sons safety. He would kill every White Walker in the world to protect them.

“You killed it.”

He was unsure if it was a question or a statement, he simply nodded in response. The weight of the world seemed to be on his shoulders at that moment. White Walkers were real. White Walkers were real and steadily making their way towards the wall. With his own two eyes, he had seen the Others. There was only one thing he could do.

When he got back to the Wall, he could write Jon, and hope that his friend trusted him enough to believe him. If not, the the fate of the world was at risk of becoming as icy and dead as the land of always winter.

Chapter Text

“Meera and Jojen arrive mid next week.”

“Urgh.”

“Shireen arrives not long after them.”

“Urgghh.”

“There is still no word from the Lannisters.”

“Arrghhh!”

He bit back a smirk as he watched Arya tangle herself up in the furs on the bed. Brown hair and half an arm were the only visible parts of her.

“And you will have to make my bed after you are done doing whatever it is you happen to be doing.”

“Aahh-urrgghhh.”

The way she was wiggling and rolling around made him almost certain that she was going to collide with the floor at some point. The mischievous side of him hoped it was soon, it would be another hilarious story he could bring up at random moments to tease her.

“I dun wan gus's”

“What?” he chuckled, leaning forward from where he was sat on the window sill.

Arya's face briefly appeared so that she could glare across at him. “I don't want guests. They take up space and eat our food, and I have to dress like a lady and act like a lady. I hate it.”

He could not stop the laugh that erupted from his chest. Ignoring the glare from his sister he leaned against the wall that supported the glass window. “Arya, I doubt you will do either of those things. Mother says that because they will be living with us we can be ourselves. So long as we are being ourselves while being on our best behaviour.”

“Urrghh.” She flopped over and a half scream bounced off the mattress. “I hate being on my best behaviour.”

“Well, you are already doing better than Rickon. No one has seen him, Shaggydog or Lady since yesterday.”

At that, his sister sat up and frowned. Hair flying in every direction, she locked her gaze on him. “Lady went as well? Seriously? She never leaves the Keep.”

With a shrug, he turned to gaze out of the window. Rickon vanished not long after mother told them that with three others being fostered in the Keep, they had no choice but to be on their best behaviour and Shaggydog would have to become accustom to being locked up. Rickon had argued that Shaggydog cannot be locked away because he destroys everything until he breaks free; to which their mother had chided Rickon for not training to Direwolf efficiently.

That did not go down well.

“Well, no one has seen her, so I expect she is with Rickon.”

Arya gave a low whistle. “Damn.” Flopping back down, a sigh escaped her lips. “I hate that he gets to run off whenever. Last time I tried that Jory tracked me with a search part and I was banned from leaving the Keep for two moons.”

“Father wants him reigned in; says that because I wish to join the Kingsguard they need Rickon to be prepared for the possibility of becoming the lord of a keep.”

A snort erupted from Arya and he turned to meet her gaze. “Can you imagine? Lord Rickon Stark.”

“He is already Lord Rickon Stark.” He teased, knowing full well what his sister meant.

Rolling her eyes, she propped up on her shoulders. “A lady wife and children.” A devious grin spread across her face. “In the south.”

After a beat, they both collapsed into fits of laughter at the same time. It was easy to imagine Rickon as a Lord of a Keep and it was to imagine Arya as some High Lords lady wife. Rickon and Arya got each other out of their lessons and would run around the Wolfswood with their Direwolves, or prank Theon and Robb. Neither of them had an interest in the life of a Lord or Lady, and Bran was certain if it was not for Arya's position she would run away far more often and for far longer than Rickon did.

“When do you think he will be back?”

With another shrug, he stood up. “After all our guests have arrived. You know how he hates all that attention.”

Walking over to his bed, he gave a sigh as he grasped hold of the furs. Taking in a deep breath, he grinned at his sister before using all his weight to haul the furs off of his bed. With a shocked cry, Arya tumbled off of his bed, pale hands clutching at the furs.

“Bran.” Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared at him. It took everything he had not to laugh, containing his laughter to a mere smirk was more effort than he wished to put in. “I screamed.” The seriousness on his sisters face caused the laughter to tumble from his lips and he bent over, arms wrapped around his stomach.

Sat with Rhaenys, she felt a little lighter than she had in the past few days. It was just the two of them as the older girl gushed over the wedding dress that was being made for her.

“Uncle Oberyn hired a Dornish seamstress, convinced that there could be no finer dress made for me than a dress made out of Dornish silk.”

A small laugh slid past Sansa's own lips. “I believe that he believes there is nothing better out with Dorne.”

Rhaenys gave a nod. “Dorne is certainly a wonderful place, and I can understand why he feels that way.”

“It certainly sounds wonderful, and your cousins are lovely. Intimidating, but lovely.”

With a laugh, Rhaeyns filled her glass. “Mayhaps we should arrange a trip. You would get to meet the rest of the Dornish side of the family.”

In that moment, she was reminded of Dany's drunken suggestion that they run away and travel the world. An idea she became less opposed to by the day. Travelling the world sounded like a wonderful experience, and she was certain Arya would love to join them. The younger girl did not want the life of a lady, and Sansa would not hesitate in asking her sister to runaway with them.

“I would li-”

A knock at the door cut her off, and she watched as Rhaenys went to get the door. Sipping at her wine, she was almost surprised to see Tyrion, Jon and Aegon there.

“May we enter?” Tyrion was staring up at Rhaenys, and if Sansa did not know better, she would say the man was nervous.

“Of course.” Rhaenys moved out of the way a smile etched onto her face, yet it did not reach her eyes.

Walking over, Tyrion perched himself on a seat. “There is something I must discuss with you, Lady Sansa, and I thought you might wish for your cousin and his siblings to be present when I brought it up.”

“What is the matter?” Sansa asked, fiddling with the stem of the glass she held.

Taking in a deep breath, Tyrion laced his fingers together. “My father received a raven from Lord Eddard Stark a few days ago. Your father wishes to end your betrothal to Joffrey.”

“What?” The word was no more than a breath as it slipped past her lips, excitement bubbling in her chest.

“Hmm. Yes.” Tyrions expression was twisted and he looked as if he was struggling with saying what he wanted to; her excitement began to squash before it had a chance to fully bloom. “My father has yet to reply to yours, and has decided that he will have you married. You have perhaps a week at the most.”

What was she supposed to think? To feel? Her father had requested her betrothal to Joffrey to be ended, and yet she was to be married anyway. Lord Tywin would force her to be wed without her parents consent.

“Tywin cannot do that.” Rhaenys hissed. “Lord Eddard broke the betrothal, Sansa is free to marry someone else.”

“Yes.” Tyrion coughed. “That is what my father said. Since her betrothal to Joffrey is broken, my father will have her married to myself instead.”

As much as she cared for Tyrion, never could she imagine them wed. They were friends; or at least she believed them to be. They poked fun at his family and insulted Joffrey. Sometimes he even allowed her to drink more wine than a lady should. They laughed together and he stood by her as best he could – but they were friends. To be wed to the Lannister family was not what she had ever wanted for herself. It was bad enough to have initially been betrothed to a Lannister with the Baratheon name; to carry the name Lannister would haunt her until the day she died.

“He cannot do that!” Rhaenys' hands were curled into fists and she began pacing. “It was bad enough that he ask Sansa to spy on us, but no-”

“I'm sorry; but what? He asked Sansa to do what?”

Shame crept up her face, burning her cheeks. Despite Aegon having suggested she talk to Tyrion about what his family wanted from her, she had never quite grasped the courage to do so. Three pairs of eyes were locked on her, while Rhaenys was staring at Tyrion.

“Your father asked dear Sansa to collect information on myself, Aegon and the rest of our family and relay that information back to himself and Cersei.”

Tyrion turned to look at Rhaenys. “My Lady, I swear that I did not know of this. My father has always been a schemer, but that is not something I take part in. I have done all I can to avoid the path he is treading.”

“I believe you.” Her lips pressed into a hard line. “Do not make me regret that. Out of your family, you are the only likeable member. You have cared for and protected Sansa, stood by her when you had no reason or need to. It was out of kindness, and that is much appreciated. Once again, you have proven your loyalty as her friend and come to warn her – and by extension, us – of what your father plans. We are in your debt. You have given us enough time to try and aid Sansa before her life is set in stone.”

“What can we do?” Sansa asked, feeling defeated, despite the determination on Rhaenys face.

“We could have you sent home.” Rhaenys stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “There is no official betrothal, you are free to do as you wish. We could arrange for a few men to escort you north. Send a raven telling your father to send men to meet you at the Neck?”

“Tywin would expect that. The moment Sansa goes missing, ravens will be sent out and Lannister men will ride out from Casterly Rock to intercept.” Jon stated, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep himself calm and close to failing.

“Travel south then.” Aegon stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Uncle Oberyn and Arianne are travelling home in a few days, they could take Sansa with them. We could send a raven north to explain the situation to Lord Eddard, and from Dorne they could then have a ship ready to take Sansa up to Widow's Watch.”

“Because that is not risky in the slightest.” Jon hissed. “Sending her the length of the Seven Kingdoms with a few men? Who we know will not travel all the way up to Widows Watch.”

“We could have Dany and Viserys escort her. It would delay their trip to Braavos, but-”

“No.” Jon cut his brother off. “I will escort her.”

Aegon bit down on his lip, and Sansa stared at her cousin, her jaw threatening to drop.

“Stop that.” He hissed as they moved through the town.

With a simple shrug, she slowed her pace so she was walking alongside him. It was rare either of them went to Winter Town, and even rarer that they went without Robb. But their elder brother was in the training yard with Theon, and neither of them could be bothered dealing with that mess. He loved his brother, and Theon could be great, but he was also an ass that he sometimes just did not wish to be around.

“Robb said there was a new blacksmith.” Arya revealed. “If I try now, before he realises who I am, I could persuade him to make me a sword.”

Rolling his eyes, he simply followed his sisters lead. It would not be the first time he had watched his sister attempt to get a blacksmith to make her a sword and he doubted it would be his last. She was adamant on acquiring one, and no matter how often she had asked Robb or Theon to buy her one, they had always refused.

Grabbing his wrist, she dragged him to the smiths, where a young man appeared to be working. A part of Bran felt that there was something familiar to the young smithy, but he could not place the hows or whys.

“Hello!” Arya yelled over the noise of clashing metal, and the young man ceased his actions.

Putting the hammer down, he wiped his hands on his trousers before walking over to them. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you could make me a sword?” Letting go of his wrist, Arya folded her arms. As an after thought, she added. “Please?”

“You want a sword? What for?”

With an indignant huff, her stance became tighter as she raised a brow. “So my brother will stop yelling every time I steal his.”

Despite the fact she was referring to the multiple incidents with Robb, he had done this often enough that he knew he was pretending to be the brother she was talking about. 'They won't sell to Lady Arya Stark, Bran.' It had never worked, because everyone always knew that they were Arya and Bran Stark. No matter what his sister thought, her attempt at disguises never worked. Not when she looked as Stark as their father and he looked as Tully as their mother.

“She really does need her own sword.” Bran stated, with a resigned sigh. “More to get her to shut up than anything else.”

“Ladies don't use swords.” The smithy eyed her carefully.

With a snort, his sister met the young mans eyes. “I am not a lady.”

“You sure. 'Cause your brother looks an awful lot like Lord Robb.”

With a huff of air, Arya's burning gaze was back on him. “I told you. Even he thinks you look like Lord Robb.” Within a second she was closer to the smithy. “He says they don't look remotely alike, but everyone else thinks otherwise. Mayhaps he is secretly a lords son.” With a shrug, let her arms drop down to her sides. “Now, can you make me a sword or not?”

“Sorry, milady.” A smirk tugged at the young mans lips. “I was told if a bossy young lady came in with her brother, it would be in my better interests not to make her a sword.”

A grin stretched across Bran's face as a laugh slid past his lips. “Robb warned him.” Another laugh, and he leaned over slightly, ignoring the glare Arya was sending him.

“I cannot believe him.” She hissed. “Telling me there is a new smithy just to ruin my day.”

“Yeah, he came by on my second day here to discuss it with me.”

Tears burned Brans eyes, as he tried to control his laughter. Watching the almost infuriated look that flittered across his sisters face made getting out of his bed so early entirely worth it.

“How long have you been working here?” Arya pressed.

“A week now, m'lady.”

“Where are you from?” Bran asked, curious. The man quite clearly had a tan, and his accent was definitely not of the north.

“The Stormlands, m'lord.”

With a nod, his curiosity grew. “What brings you north then? If you don't mind me asking?”

“I was sold my my previous boss to the Watch.”

A scoff slid past Arya's lips. “In case you have yet to notice, this isn't the Wall.”

The young mans eyes locked on Arya, his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. “I did notice, actually.”

“So what are you doing here then?”

Sometimes, he felt that Arya pushed her limits a little to much. She cared far to little about what was and was not acceptable. All but demanding a strangers life story was hardly proper, polite or even really acceptable – not that he would ever utter such a thing out loud.

“Lannister men killed the man escorting us north, and the rest of us scattered. A friend and I decided to try and forge lives for ourselves here, rather than spending the rest of our lives freezing on the Wall and killing Wildlings. I was sold to the Watch, it wasn't the life I wanted for myself.”

Before Arya could respond, Bran cut across her. “Sorry, but- Lannister men. They killed a man of the Nights Watch?”

“And a number of men being escorted to the Wall, yes.”

Looking at Arya, he grabbed her arm. “We should go and tell father. He ought to know; he can write to the Watch to inform them, and perhaps he could inform the King.”

“What?” She was looking at him as if he was crazy. “The Watch is apart from the Seven Kingdoms-”

“Exactly! What gives Lannisters the right to attack men of the Watch and those who are set to take the Black? We have heard nothing back regarding Sansa and her return, and we now know that they have openly attacked the Watch. Father will want to know, he could write the king.”

A small cough came from the smith, and Bran turned to meet his shocking blue eyes. “M'lord, I have more information regarding the Lannisters if you wish to hear it. I do not know how real the rumours are, but a friend and I heard a great deal while travelling. I haven't put much stock into it, but if you want-”

“Tell us.”

“Without Sansa, we do not have someone on the inside.”

With a dry laugh, Rhaenys does not look at him when she responds. “We have Tyrion.”

With a scoff, he takes a drink of ale. “Oh yes, because Tywin will believe that his son has changed his mind over night and decided to jump on the 'lets destroy the Targaryens' ship.”

A real laugh slid past his sisters lips and she turns to look at him, eyes dancing in the dull light. “We do not need some one on the inside to win. The Lannisters are playing a dangerous game, we have known that for years. Never would they have kept Sansa for so long unless they needed her. After Robert died there was nothing keeping Sansa tied to that betrothal – Cersei despises the Starks and anything Northern. Why would she have kept the betrothal unless it was of value to her?”

It was something Rhaenys had mentioned to him previously. The Lannisters had always been tricky, and the more money they spent with no evidence of what the money had been spent on, he and Rhaenys had began investigating. The Seven Kingdoms would be theirs one day, it was their duty to make sure things ran as smoothly and peacefully as possible.

“And you? Do you have need of Sansa?”

She tensed, eyes narrowing. “All I need of Sansa is for her to be safe and as far away from here as possible.”

With a nod, he gazed back at the fire. It was unnecessary in the southron heat, but always a comfort. “For a while I was unconvinced by your motives, you know. I thought that perhaps, you thought that by having her around you could suss out what the Lannisters were trying to do. Even Dany was sceptical.”

Keeping his gaze on the fire, he refused to turn to meet Rhaenys gaze. The mix of hurt and disapproval was radiating off of her and he refused to feel guilty about his assumptions.

“I cannot imagine how lonely she must have been at Casterly Rock. Can you? Surrounded by a family that did nothing but plot and scheme and insult you? It was an unhealthy environment, one she had to be removed from. I did not lie. Not once. I wanted her as a friend.”

“But?”

“There is no but. At first I thought that maybe the Lannisters would use her to convince the Starks to fight for them – I truly believe that they believe that tactic would work. They forget what the Starks are – wolves in the bodies of men. A pack. You take one of them, use them as bait and you would have an army at your door. The Lannisters would be fighting a war on two fronts. The war they waged on the Targaryens, and the war they inadvertently would start with the Starks. They would not stop fighting until they got Sansa back.” A soft smile was painted onto his sisters face, and he watched her carefully. “Knowing that meant that there was really nothing I could do but befriend a lonely girl who needed a friend in this world. A pawn in a game she does not belong in.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Rhaenys.”

With a laugh, she turns back to her sewing. “People need to learn that not everything I do is a double edged sword.”

With a nod, he settled back in his seat, sprawling out. The fact that he had doubted her honest intentions makes him feel guilty. As her brother and betrothed he should have more faith in her intentions, but with how wary they were about the Lannisters it only made sense to ask. He would have doubted himself as well.

“Who do yo-”

“The Tyrell's shall take the Lannister side.” Rhaenys nodded to herself. “There is no doubt about that.”

Frowning, he looked at his sister. “They will take Jons disappearance as a slight.” With another sip of his ale, he bit down on the inside of his lip. “Pushing them towards the Lannisters. If I was Mace I would offer Margaery – Cersei would be a fool not to accept. The loyalty of House Arryn and House Fray cannot be guaranteed, and with Dany and Viserys going off to Essos we cannot offer betrothals to secure loyalties.”

“We cannot count on House Baratheon either. Neither Stannis or Renly have much love for us.”

“Renly is yet to wed, and lives in a small keep. He is hardly a threat.”

Letting her things slide to the floor, Rhaenys turns completely to face him. “That 'hardly a threat' is impeccably loyal to the Tyrells. What has father always said about underestimating others. Look at Baelish.”

His lips curved upwards into a snarl as the thought of the sly, slimy man entered his mind. “I would rather not.”

“My point is, Renly could make something of himself. We cannot afford to underestimate him. Despite Stannis currently acting Lord of Storms End, there are those who might choose to side with Renly if Stannis refuses to enter the fray.”

“And if he does enter the fray, there is no guarantee it will be on our side either.”

“No.” Rhaenys sighed. “So far the only loyalty we can guarantee is the Martells.”

Aegon raised a brow as he met her eyes. “What about the Starks? They would never side with the Lannisters.”

With a sigh and a laugh, she ran a hand through her hair. “The Starks will not fight unless they have to. If you were that far north, and were requested to travel this far south to fight in a war, would you?”

With a sigh, he questioned once again, why it was he who was heir to the Iron Throne and not his sister.

“WHAT?” The scream echoed throughout the room, and it took him all he could to not sink to the petulant monsters level.

“Sansa Stark will be wed to Tyrion and not you.”

Perhaps leaving such information to such a late time was bad planning, but Cersei had no control of the boy and he wanted to inform him as close to the wedding as possible to put a stop to any rash actions. Having the girl named a Lannister would be a far more painful blow to the Starks and would be more likely to guarantee their loyalty. If the girl married Joffrey, they would be less likely to side with them in the coming war.

“But my father and Lord Stark agreed that Sansa would be wed to me.”

“Well-” He started, trying not to display his complete disdain for the boy on his face. “Since your father is dead, and Lord Stark has called off the betrothal, I think you will find that what you have just said was a complete waste of your breath and my time.”

The look on Joffreys face almost made him want to smile. Almost.

“I may dislike Tyrion, but I do not doubt that he will make a far better husband to Sansa than you will. You are not to approach the Stark girl before the wedding, and if you do or say anything that causes any kind of scene I will personally see to your punishment. Do you understand me?”

“Yes grandfather.”

“Good. Now fetch me my son.”

With a start, she woke to feeling something wet on her face. Bright red eyes met her own, and it took her a moment to realise that it was ghost staring at her.

“My lady.” The quiet voice reached her ears, causing her to sit up and look around the dark room.

He was nought more than a shadow in the darkness. Dressed as black as night, even his eyes were barely visible in the low light. He was much closer to her than expected, stood by the edge of her bed, worry barely noticeable on his face in the darkness.

“My uncle suggested we depart a few hours before they do and meet them at an inn. So that we do not draw any attention.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Some in the north might call this stealing.”

“What?”

“It is a wildling tradition.” Her smile grows a little. “If a man wants a woman, he steals her away under the cover of night.”

If it was light, she might be bold enough to presume that the change of colour in Jons face was caused by a rush of blood to his cheeks. But it was dark, and so it could simply be the shadows.

“D- do you want to be stolen?”

“That depends.” She states as she slides out of bed; the things she is taking with her are already packed, she simply has to change into her dress. “Are you stealing me?”

As she grabs her dress, she turns to meet Jons eyes, finding them despite how dark it is.

“Yes.”

Nodding, she goes to change behind the folding screen in the corner of the room. Hurrying as so not to waste a single moment. Pulling on her boots, she stepped out to collect her things to find Jon already had them.

Without saying a word, he lead her out the chambers and throughout the halls and passages of the Red Keep, careful to avoid any of the Kingsguard that roamed the halls.

Her heart was in her chest, and the only thing that soothed her was the feeling of Ghosts fur tangled through her fingers. Running away had never been something she had done. Even Robb had ran off as a child, their father went spare panicking over where his heir had gone. Arya had ran off a few times, a habit that was squashed before she could attempt it a fifth time. Bran disappeared occasionally, something he often only did when he was told he had to do something he was one hundred percent against. Oftimes he would vanish with Rickon; who for a few years seemed to disappear entirely, reappearing at random moments before disappearing into thin air again. Yet, last she had heard, even Rickon was growing out of the habit, and had vanished only twice since she left for Casterly Rock; and that was only for a fortnight each time.

Approaching the horses that were already prepared, the nerves increased. A part of her wondered if her father would be furious or proud. She had sent a raven explaining the situation. Telling him how the Lannisters would not let her go, and how Jon had promised to escort her home. Hopefully father would understand.

“Jon. Sansa.”

Turning, relief flooded through her as a pair of arms threw themselves around her shoulders. “I am going to miss you.”

Returning the embrace as firmly as she could, Sansa let herself be consumed. “I will write you when I can, Rhaenys. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

“I shall hold you to it.” The older girl released her before all but tackling her brother. “Take care of her, and just as importantly, take care of yourself Jon.”

“I will, sweet sister. I will.”

Soon another pair of arms wrapped around her, taking her off guard. “What? Think you could run off without saying goodbye to your future King?” A laugh slid past Aegons lips, and her heard squeezed.

She was going to miss the Targaryens with all her heart.

“I shall miss you too.”

“Good. Though I expect we will see you again one day.”

“I hope so.”

“As do I!” It was Dany whose voice joined them. A second pair of arms wrapping around Sansa's torso. “You will keep my nephew safe, will you not?”

With a laugh, she nodded. “Of course I shall. And you shall take care in Essos, yes? I hope to hear all about your trip!”

It was tearful, saying goodbye to the family who had done so much for her. Who had allowed her to befriend them, and had befriended her in return. It was almost as hard to leave them as it had been to leave Winterfell. But she had the Lannisters to escape and a family to return to.

“Are you ready, my lady?” Jon asked, voice cutting through the thick air.

“As ready as I will ever be.” She smiled at him, wondering if her nerves were noticeable. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“And-” She gulped, fiddling with the horses reigns. “And if they start a war?”

A sardonic smile formed on his face. “It's what Targaryen princes do. Start wars over Stark girls.” Running a hand through his hair, he met her gaze evenly. “If you do not wish to-”

“It's what Stark girls do, Jon.”

And she nudged her horse onwards.

Chapter Text

The frustration that flooded through him was enough to bring him close to anger. Violet eyes focused on two of his three children. Neither of them looked too bothered about the situation; as if it was not problematic in the slightest.

“Jon is going to Dorne?” He repeated, slowly, trying to work out what in the Seven Hells was actually going on.

“Well, Dorne is just a stop. He is escorting Lady Sansa beck to Winterfell.”

His heart dropped. When he had asked his elder two children where Jon was, he had expected to hear that perhaps he was off on a hunt with his Direwolf; not travelling the length of the Seven Kingdoms. And not with his Lady cousin.

“What?”

Aegons shoulders rolled slightly and his gaze was fiery; defiant, almost. “Lord Eddard broke off Lady Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey. Tywin decided that rather than have Sansa informed of this, he would wed her to Tyrion before sending a raven north to say that unfortunately Sansa was already wed. Luckily for Lady Sansa, Tyrion cares for her and informed her that she was a free woman. Jon has always wanted to see Winterfell, and so it made sense that he escort her.”

“And I was uninformed of this, because?”

The discomfort that became visible on his childrens faces did nothing to make him feel any better about the situation. Already, the horrified faces of the Tyrells shone in the back of his mind.

“We only just found out and thought the best route to take was to get Sansa out of harms way as soon as possible.” Rhaenys piped in. “The Lannisters are tricky, informing you of what they were planning on doing would only cause more problems. Betrothals between other Houses are not usually issue of the King; if you were to get involved in a spat between the Starks and Lannisters and be seen favouring Lord Stark, it could cause more problems.”

Despite seeing where his daughter was coming from, he was still infuriated that his children did not come to him first.

“And so the journey to Dorne?”

“If the Lannisters were to hunt after Sansa, they would be expecting her to travel north, not south. It elongates the journey, but guarantees that she is safe.”

“You are, of course, aware that if a high lady is being hunted out that it does become issue of the King, and therefore I can take action.”

“But that is what they want! They want any excuse to start a war, we are trying to prevent that.”

Running his hands through his hair, he let the air leave his chest in a gust. “You do not know what the Lannisters are trying to accomplish. That is the reason we had all these festivities in the first place; so that we could keep an eye on them, and hope to get on friendlier terms.”

“Both Tyrion and Sansa confirmed that they have been scheming. Not to mention that Tywin asked Sansa to spy on us.”

“I should have been informed, Rhaenyns. That way we could have done something-”

“Without evidence?” Aegon cut across him. “Tyrion and Sansa's words would be the only evidence we had. Tywin would put up a fight, and claim that you could not prove any of it. With Sansa and Jon no longer here and you only just finding out; it means the Lannisters cannot accuse you of conspiring against them.”

“And leave my heirs to take the fall. If the Lannisters wanted to start a war with me, then that is far better than thinking that they would wish to harm my children. As logical as your plan was, I would far preferred to be the one the Lannisters wanted dead. Having them wanting to get revenge against my children is not something I would ever have wished for.”

Of course he understood. His children had been trying to protect him and their position at court, and he felt proud of them for that. Proud that his children cared more about him than they did themselves. Yet he was infuriated that they could be so rash without truly thinking it through. Without thinking that with Aegon set to be the future King, they could not throw caution to the wind on their own behalf. They were just as important as he was, if not more so.

With Sansa out of the picture, it would be easier to determine what the Lannisters wanted. He could not arrest them for anything, as Aegon had pointed out there was no evidence of any illegal activity. Confirmed scheming and betrothal issues were not something that a King could really interfere with. Though he could have put a stop to a wedding between Sansa and anyone else, had she asked it of him. Unconsented marriages were not valid in the eyes of any God or the Crown.

Sighing, he supposed that he ought to call together a council meeting and begin preparing for the worst.

In a silent fury, he waited until his daughter and grandson arrived. Stewing over the information he had been given, he did not know what to think. It was infuriating to even think upon. To know that there was another princeling in the world who thought he could simply do as he wished.

When Cersei and Joffrey arrived, he found himself having to try and keep himself calm. The fury still pounding through his veins.

“I have been informed that both Prince Jon Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark have gone missing. The King is currently taking to his children about the circumstances of the disappearance but I thought I should inform you both.”

The twisted expression on Joffreys face was as vile as the monster who wore it. Rage poured off of him, eyes darkening. “I knew it.” He hissed. “That damn Targaryen cunt stole my bride.”

“She is not yours any more. Or should I remind you-”

“I think-” Cersei cut over him. “What Joff is trying to say, is that the Targaryens did not know about the changes in our situation.”

A scoff slid past Joffreys lips. “Sansa is mine. If the Targaryens want to relive history, then fine. I will take Sansa back, and do what my father never did. I will marry the Stark girl, while the damn Targaryen watches before I move his pathetic head and serve it to my bride on a platter.”

That was a dangerous route to take. Internally sighing, he met the boys eyes. “What? Are you going to lead an attack here in the Red Keep? I think not. We have to tread carefully. Rather than acting rashly, you and your mother will return to Casterly Rock. Ahead of your journey, send a raven requesting that Jaime and a number of men go to hunt out the Stark girl and the Targaryen boy. I will remain here with Tyrion to discuss matters with the King, before returning to the Rock. Depending on how the King responds, will depend on our course of action.”

“Joffrey.” Cersei turned to look at her son. “Tell Myrcella and Tommen to begin packing, and then return to your chambers to do the same.”

Grumbling, Joffrey stormed out of the room. It took a few moments, before Cersei decided to speak again.

“The Tyrells will view this as a slight. Mace would not shut up about how his daughter would be wed to the future Hand of the King. With Jon having disappeared, it will be a blow to the Tyrell family. One we could use. Even if they did know about Sansa, Jon was still betrothed. We could have Margaery wed to Joffrey-”

“Something tells me your son would be against that idea. His twisted mind has locked onto the repetition of the situation. Robert lost Lyanna to Rhaegar, it is more than likely that he does not wish to bear the same shame.”

“The Starks broke that betrothal.”

Sitting back in his chair and lacing his finger together, he met his daughters eyes. “Do you really think your son cares about what the Starks want?”

*****

Tywin's distaste of the Targaryens was hardly a secret. After the Mad King had refused to betroth Cersei to Rhaegar he had felt slighted. After all those years of working hard at being his Hand, after ignoring all the times the King had slept with his wife, and yet despite everything Tywin had done, he refuse to join their House. Refused to bestow upon him the kindness of wedding their children.

Robert should have won the rebellion. Had Rhaegar fallen at the Trident, then things would have been different. Cersei would have been Queen, and eventually – when Joffrey became King, he would be Hand once more. The power was always supposed to reside with the Lannisters. They were the richest family in Westeros, they deserved the power that came along with it.

“My children have informed me that my son Jon is escorting Lady Sansa home.” The way Rhaegar spoke was as if there was very little wrong with the situation at hand, something that was utmost infuriating.

“You speak as if you have no issue with the matter.”

Rhaegar simply looked at him, violet eyes clouded with something that he could not read. “And you do?”

“Lady Sansa has always been the perfect lady. Always obeying orders and respectful of our family. Your son has tampered with her and coerced her into running away as if leaving her betrothed will have no consequence.”

“What betrothed?”

For a moment, he was convinced that the Kings lips twitched upwards into a small, amused smile. “The Starks broke Lady Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey. My children explained to me that Lady Sansa found her experience at Casterly Rock most unpleasant, and so took matters into their own hands to see that she was safely escorted back to Winterfell.”

There had been a number of times that Tywin had wished to kill Joffrey for his rash, and plain stupid, behaviour. This was most certainly one of those times.

“I am incredibly displeased that your children decided to act without permission-”

“Aegon will one day be King. It is his duty to protect his people. As I was made to believe, he and his siblings feared for Lady Sansa's well being and decided to have her removed from the situation immediately.”

“Why would they fear for Lady Sansa. My House and I have done our utmost to see that Lady Stark has been looked after and cared for. We have done nothing that would bring immediate harm to her, and have done our duty in the eyes of the Gods to ensure that she would be a good Lady of Storms End when the time came.”

“From what I have heard that is not, strictly speaking, true. If your House has done it's utmost to see that no harm befell Lady Stark, would you care to explain the bruise that blossomed on her cheek?”

Before he could retaliate and give some form of explanation that would perhaps make things seem a little less worse, Rhaegar pressed onwards.

“It was reported to me that this was not the first incident either. That Lady Stark faced neglect in Casterly Rock – being ignored for the most part – and was abused both verbally and physically by Joffrey. I have also been informed that when you received news of the broken betrothal, that rather than plan to send Lady Sansa home to Winterfell, you were planning on continuing with the wedding anyway. Such behaviour is not to be condoned. Your families behaviour is enough to make me consider disinheriting Joffrey and handing Storms End to Lord Stannis Baratheon instead. Do not encourage me to consider your removal from Casterly Rock.”

That was all he really needed. The threat of his removal from power would more than likely be enough to rebel against the crown. With the right words, it would be easy enough to twist what Rhaegar had said and convince the Tyrells to ally themselves with the Lannisters. To convince them that Rhaegar was as mad as his father and that it was time for fresh blood to rule the Seven Kingdoms.

With Jon journeying to Winterfell it would be easy enough to convince Mace Tyrell that a betrothal between Joffrey and Margaery would be far better for their House. And when Jaime received Cersei's raven, they could easily recover Sansa and hold her as a hostage of war, marry her to Tyrion and gain an alliance with the Starks – an uneasy alliance, but it would be an alliance all the same.

“I'm not totally convinced.”

With a shrug, he kept himself balanced on the branch he was stood on. Summer and Nymeria were lying at the base of the tree and Arya was swinging on the branch below him.

“Either way, father can do what he wishes with the information. It's better to know the possibilities than to be oblivious.”

“I just don't trust the smithy.”

With a scoff, he rolled his eyes. “No- You don't like the fact Robb told him not to make you a sword.”

Setting himself down on the branch, he lay backwards, staring up at the leafs above him.

“I will get a sword, Bran. I swear it.”

“I know.”

Honestly, he did not doubt her. With the amount of determination his sister had, he was almost certain she would get what she wanted eventually. Arya got what Arya wanted, and if she had to endure a few years of effort then so be it.

“Do you think he told us the truth?”

A sigh slid past his lips and he gave a shrug. “He had no reason to lie to us.”

“Urgh.” There was a thud, and he was pretty sure Arya had kicked the tree. “For once I want Rickons opinion.”

“I thought you didn't believe that he knows things.”

“I don't.” She hissed. “But it would be interesting to hear his opinion.”

Truly, he really tried not to roll his eyes, but he simply could not help it. “As insightful as that may be, I'm certain the smithy did not lie to us. Why would he?”

“I suppose. I just cannot understand why they would already be recruiting for a war that they might never be able to start.”

“If we go by what the smithy said, then it's mostly sellswords. And even the sellswords believe that Rhaegar would have more support than Tywin. The Lannisters need a good reason to start a war with the crown, and they don't have one.”

Rhaegar would never be so foolish as to encourage Tywin into starting a war. Roberts Rebellion was still fresh in everyone's minds, the Greyjoy Rebellion even fresher. What sort of people would wish to live through three wars? More importantly though, what kind of people would wish to start the third war?

“Why do you think we have yet to hear from the Lannisters?” Her voice was far quieter than it had been, and he strained to hear her. “Why do you think we have not heard from Sansa? She should be on her way home.”

“These are the same people who wish to overthrow the Targaryens. I doubt any of this is going to be easy.”

There was a beat of silence. “Rickon is convinced that we will not see her for a long time.”

“Rickon is convinced of a lot of things. It hardly makes him right.” Rolling his head to the side, he looked down at his sister. “And if you want me to believe that you do not believe that he knows things, then you might want to stop bringing up what he says as fears.”

“I did not use what he said as a fear. I'm not fearful of anything.” She hissed in response. “I was just-”

“Want Sansa to be home before Winter?” With a shrug, he sat up. “I think we all want that.”

*****

A number of things happened within a number of days. Three days before the Reeds arrived, a raven delivered a letter from Sansa. A letter that had Robb, Arya and father enraged. In fact, the contents of the letter had left everyone so frustrated and furious that Bran wished he had ran off with Rickon when he had the chance. The tension was so thick that a sword would struggle to cut through it.

The Lannisters had not responded to the broken betrothal because they were ignoring it. Wishing to wed Sansa off anyway. Had it not been for Tyrion, Sansa would have been married off never to return home. So a plan was formed and Sansa was travelling to Dorne, escorted by Jon, a few loyal guards and the Martells, before she would board a ship that would take her to Widows Watch, where Robb decided he would meet their sister and cousin.

Of course, the fact Jon was escorting her raised a few eyebrows, and Bran was certain if Rickon had been around there would have been a not-so-quiet 'I told you so'.

On the day that the Reeds arrived another raven arrived. This time, from one Tyrion Lannister. Bran had of course, had the displeasure of reading the letter and was horrified to hear that the day after Jon and Sansa had left the Keep, so had Joffrey. Tywin had arranged for Jaime to lead a group of scouts to hunt out Jon and Sansa on the Kingsroad – not knowing that they were headed south. Joffrey had began his journey back to Casterly Rock, and apparently sent out ravens demanding that other Houses in the Westernlands send out men so that they could hunt out Sansa and Jon.

Robb was furious. Beyond furious actually, and had ranted for hours about how someone should 'put that mutt down', and that he had every right to ride south and kill the bastard himself. Of course their father had argued with Robb, telling him that he could not just ride south and kill Joffrey because that would be an act of war.

“But calling your banners to hunt out a prince and lady, whom your family has no claim to, is not?”

Their father had no real response to that, and Arya, Robb and Theon had spent the rest of the night drinking far too much ale and discussing the prospect of going south.

Tyrion had also written that Rhaegar considered the hunt for Jon and Sansa a possible act of war, and was in the process of having Joffrey disinherited due to his actions. Kings Landing was preparing for the Lannisters to take things further.

“He is going after our little girl.” Mother said quietly. “What would happen if he catches her?”

“For starters, Rhaegar would send his own army after his son, and secondly, I would call our banners and head south.”

“If what the new blacksmith said is true, then that would be what Tywin wants. Playing to his demands will give him what he wants.”

“Rheagar means to give Storms End to Stannis, that would guarantee Baratheon support. As far as we are aware, the Lannisters are on their own.”

When his mother let out an exasperated sigh, he decided to pull himself out of Summers mind. It was not worth hearing the debates. No one knew what was going to happen. Not the King. Not his parents. Not Tyrion. Not Sansa or Jon. Not even Rickon.

All they could do was wait.

“You two are being hunted.”

Arianne rode along next to them, a blank expression on her beautiful face.

Honestly, Sansa had expected as much. Joffrey was almost insane. The way his eyes lit up over the strangest things, and the darkness that resided within them. The way he told her she was his, only his and no one elses. The way he hissed mine, as if she was a bit of jewellery he owned. She knew he would not let her go so easily; not with her father breaking off the betrothal, and not even with his grandfather wishing for her to marry Tyrion.

“We expected as much.” Jon replied. “The Lannisters would never give Sansa up without a fight.”

“They are blaming you.” Arianne stated matter of factly. “Apparently you corrupted her with your desire to be as like your father as possible.”

Jon snorted and shook his head. “Of course. I slipped into her chambers late at night and kidnapped her so that I could hide her away and marry her in secret.” The deadpan of his voice made Sansa bit down on her lip to prevent her from smiling.

“I suspect all the Seven Kingdoms are going to expect something of the sort.” Arianne looked between them both. “Perhaps Robb Stark shall ride south to discover the legitimacy of Sansa's raven-” There was a sardonic smile that crossed her beautiful, tan face and Sansa's heart sank, her stomach twisting.

“He would not.” Though she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

Jon shrugged beside her. “If anything, he would be likely to ride south and kill Joffrey, and any man who dared to come after us.”

“He would serve me Joffreys head on a platter.” Sansa laughed.

Arianne let out a laugh as well. “That I would like to see.”

“Lets hope it does not come to such things.” Jon stated, his tone and expression neutral. “I would not wish for a war if it can be avoided.”

Arianne snorted. “Joffrey is openly hunting a prince, and the Warden of the North's eldest daughter. Whatever happens next is more than likely going to lead to some kind of war. Be it Lannisters versus Targaryens, or Lannisters versus Starks and Targaryens. And any war that involves the Targaryens will be a war that will soon consume the Seven Kingdoms. Those loyal to the royal family will call their banners the moment they realise that they are being threatened.”

War was something she wished to avoid with all her heart. Despite the peace they had being precarious, it was still peace. Sansa wanted nothing more than that. To live in peace. To live happily. Living through a war – a real war like Roberts Rebellion terrified her. Her family had fought on the losing side once before, she feared what would happen if they fought on the losing side once again.

Though she would like to think that any war that was fought would be one that was won by the Targaryens. Already, she knew that Aegon would make a good King, and Rhaenys a wonderful Queen. They had her loyalty. The kindness they had shown her had ensured that.

“A war so close to Winter is a stupid idea.” Jon huffed out. “There would be nobody left to rule over.”

“If war is what the Lannisters want, war is what they will get.” Arianne mused. “Though you ought not to worry. The Dornish will always be loyal to the Targaryens.”

“This could pose to be quite the problem.”

Aegon stared across the hall. “Quite the problem. Really? I had not realised.” Perhaps sarcasm was not the best response, but he was trying not to panic. Jon was travelling across the Seven Kingdoms, their father was still furious that they had not told him everything before it happened, the Lannisters had all left Kings Landing, and their was a party hunting for his brother and lady cousin.

Sansa may not be of his blood, but she was of Jon's. Like Rhaenys, he agreed that she was family. Jons family, was their family. Lady Sansa was lovely, and Rhaenys doted on her – they all did, he supposed. No one so kind deserved to face a monster like Joffrey Baratheon.

“Does my father know?” He asked after composing himself.

“Yes.” His fathers voice took him by surprise, and he tried not to flinch at the stoic expression on the Kings face. “I do know, and I wish I could say I was surprised. This is the sort of situation that occurs when someone decides to disappear in the middle of the night with the lady they crowned their Queen of Love and Beauty.”

That time, Aegon did flinch. “But agreeing to betroth her to Joffrey- They should know what kind of monster he is.”

Rhaegar sat himself at the table, pouring wine as he shook his head. “People gravitate towards power, son. If they think for a second that Tywin stands a chance at winning, then of course they will side with him.”

“Why would they think that Tywin would stand a chance at winning?”

His father seemed to freeze for a moment. Rhaegar had always looked younger than he was, yet for that moment, he seemed far older – the weight of the world hanging on his shoulders. “Tywin will have convinced the Tyrells that we cannot keep our promises. With Jon's disappearance, it makes it look like he was trying to escape his betrothal; even with them being told the truth, they will believe what they wish. Jon is not here to explain himself. The Lannisters are the richest House in Westeros. They can buy support, as well as betroth both Myrcella and Tommen to gain other alliances. While I can now have Stannis's loyalty guaranteed after giving him Storms End – and with the Starks fostering his daughter – I cannot guarantee the loyalty of everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“We have the support of the Martells.” Aegon insisted. “The Starks would not fight against us. Not with Jon being Lyanna's son, and with us having helped Sansa.”

“No, but that cannot guarantee that they would fight for us.” Rhaegar rebutted. “We are getting close to winter, unless the length of the war could be predicted, the Northerners will likely not wish to travel so far south when their journey home cannot be guaranteed.”

With a groan, Aegon lowered his head. Rhaenys had said something similar. As far as he was concerned, a war should not be occurring. Tywin should have sent Sansa to Winterfell, and everyone could have went back to pretending everything was perfect.

“So what do we do?”

“With both Dany and Viserys leaving at the end of the week, our options are limited. I would have betrothed them both otherwise.”

Aegon almost laughed to himself, Dany would have swam to Essos had she heard such a thing. Though he could see where his father was coming from. Betrothals and marriages were the easiest way to secure loyalty.

With a cough, Tyrion stepped to the table. “Cersei would be more than reluctant to betroth either Myrcella or Tommen. She would keep both by her unless she believes she has no other choice. So in that sense, you are more likely to be on an even playing field.” The imps face twisted for a moment as he thought to himself. “The Tully's are unlikely to fight on the side of the Lannisters, though I doubt they will step into battle without reason, not since Lord Hoster fell ill.”

“House Arryn would not enter the fray until they could determine a winning side.” Rhaegar said quietly, thinking. “The Iron Islanders would not bother themselves with our wars. Since the Rebellion the Lord Greyjoy has had little to no contact with the mainland; only ever when necessary.”

“So really, all we can do is wait for Tywin to make his next move?”

His father met his eyes, and his heart felt heavier than it had in a long time. “I am afraid so, my son.”

“The moment Ser Gregor Clegane steps into the Riverlands the Tully's will be on the defensive. Not that I blame them.” He stated, looking across at Cersei.

His daughter looked highly disinterested, an expression that had been fixed on her face since Joffrey had decided to ride a day ahead of them.

“If Catelyn informs her brother of what is happening, then they are likely to be a little more than on the defensive.”

“We cannot guarantee that they will act against Jaime and Ser Gregor. Should they, then we will likely be unmatched. Even with the support of the Reach, we will likely be against the Crownlands, the Riverlands and the Stormlands. We have Myrcella and Tom-”

“No.” Cersei hissed. “We are not bargaining my children off-”

“Robert Arryn is of a similar age and Myrcella would be safe in the Vale. It is impenetrable. She would be safe from the war, and we would secure ourselves a strong chance of winning the war. If we betrothed Tommen to one of the Fray girls, we could likely prevent any and all chance of the North getting involved with the war. Without Sansa their loyalty is to the Targaryens.”

“The Frays are loyal to the Tullys.”

Folding his hands he wondered why he was cursed to live a life where his children caused him so many problems. Jaime could not inherit Casterly Rock, Cersei could be cunning but let her emotions cloud her judgement, and Tyrion- Well, had Tyrion not been a monster and largly against his schemes, Tyrion could have perhaps been the only child he was truly proud of. Up until the evident – so-called – betrayal, he had thought perhaps Tyrion was coming around. Instead he prove his loyalty to the Stark girl and the Targaryens. It was a sin that the only child with a mind he could be proud of was a Dwarf and a traitor.

“Lord Fray is embittered towards Lord Hoster. With enough persuasion, they could be ours.”

A bitter smile tugged at Cersei's lips. “You wish for me to give my daughter up to a sickly boy, and have my son wed one of the ugly Fray girls.”

“Your son is going to be Lord of Casterly Rock one day. He needs a wife, and we need allies. Myrcella would be leaving home to wed sooner or later. We may as well have it done sooner if it wins us the Iron Throne.”

“What is the Vale refuses the offer?”

He almost scoffed. “Robert was a sickly child, and will hardly be the healthiest of men. He has had no offers for his hand, I am sure Jon Arryn will be as shocked as he is relieved to get the offer. He will accept because it would be unlikely that Robert would get any other offer.”

With a resigned look, his daughter reluctantly agreed. They would win the Iron Throne. Even with Joffreys slip ups, there was little that could deter his belief that they would win the Iron Throne before the Spring.

Chapter Text

Randyll Tarly had been nothing if not loyal to his liege lord over the years. Never causing a fuss when Mace took credit for his military expertise. Not once arguing when his request for a betrothal between families was denies. He had always been a loyal bannerman. But what was being requested of him caused a pause in his thought process.

The raven did not give much detail, but it explained enough that even a simpleton fool could understand the implication. According to Mace Tyrell the Targaryens had conspired against him after betrothing their son to his daughter, and then not a week later Prince Jon had disappeared with another woman in the middle of the night.

That other woman, was Lady Sansa Stark, the Prince's cousin and – if rumour had it – a lady the Lannisters were plotting to illegal wed. Though it was only rumoured that the betrothal between Lady Stark and the disinherited Joffrey Baratheon had been broken by Lord Stark, Randyll believed it. It was common knowledge that Robert's eldest child was a monster in the flesh of man, the fact the betrothal had lasted so long was a surprise in itself.

Mace wrote that he had broken Margaery's betrothal with Jon and decided to have her betrothed to Joffrey instead. That only meant one thing, as far as he was concerned. With Joffrey being disinherited by the King himself, it meant that the Lannisters and Tyrells were conspiring against the crown. No doubt the Prince and Lady Sansa's disappearance gave the two Houses the perfect opportunity to put some sort of scheme into action.

Even a fool would know that the Prince was simply escorting his Lady cousin home. No doubt fearful that the Lannisters would try and stop her from leaving.

Of course, Randyll had the pleasure of meeting the royal family on a number of occassions. Prince Jon had befriended Samwell – Why, he would never know. Samwell was a craven and a fool, but the royals showed him a kindness only his mother and sisters had, for that Randyll supposed they earned his respect. If one could ignore Samwells flaws, then they were certainly incredible people. If anyone was to ask him, he would say that Jon was more Stark than Targaryen. Yet each member of the royal family was pleasant and kind, decent people that he could never imagine fighting against.

He had not fought tooth and nail on the side of the Targaryens in Roberts Rebellion so that he could betray them later in life. His whole life he had been a Targaryen loyalist, that would not change because Mace had bought into Tywin Lannisters schemes.

With the looming threat of war, there were few options one had to prepare. He could not offer any of his children to Rhaegar for a betrothal, not with the crown prince set to marry his sister, and the likelihood of a betrothal being set between Prince Jon and Lady Sansa. The Starks would no doubt be on the side of the Targaryens for this war, and it was then that the idea struck him.

He would write two ravens. One to his King, expressing his loyalty. The other would head north. Alliances between southoners and northerners were rare, yet Catelyn Tully had managed well as the wife of Eddard Stark, perhaps his own daughter might fare well as Lady of Winterfell. It was known that Eddards heir was yet to be betrothed. One day his son would be Lord of Horn Hill; despite his attempts at arranging a betrothal, none of his daughters would be Wardeness of the Reach. As any father did, he wanted the best possible positions for his children. He had three beautiful daughters, and if none of them were to be wed to the Tyrells, that did not mean that there was no better position for them.

Starks were honourable and known to be kind. He could do far worse for a match. If successful, and the knowledge became widely known then perhaps Mace would reconsider his alliance with the Lannisters. With one of his daughters betrothed to a Stark, he would not fight against them. As such, Mace would then have to go to war without him.

Either way, he would not fight against the Targaryens. If it came down to it, he would fight against Mace and House Tyrell. All that mattered was that House Tarly preserved. That was all any lord wanted; the continuation and preservation of their House and family name.

Since the betrothal was confirmed, her mother had done nothing but tell her about how awful Robert Arryn was. That the boy was too sickly and if they did manage to have children they would be sickly and awful. Her mother claimed that the boy was weak, that she would probably be lucky and he may be dead in a couple of years so she would be free to look for marriage prospects elsewhere.

It made her heart hurt. Surely all her mother said could not be true. Despite being sickly, mayhaps Robert was nice. Being sickly did not stop a person from being a good person. They could still be kind and caring. There was still a chance that love could grow.

That is all she ever wanted. To meet someone and fall in love. To get as far away from Casterly Rock as she could and live a life with someone who loved her and cared about her. Someone who would listen to her and whom she could trust. She loved Tommen and she loved her uncle Tyrion. She would miss them terribly too. She loved her mother also, but it was different. Cersei was cold and calculating, and Myrcella had always known that. But Cersei was her mother, so as much as she made Myrcella feel wary, she still loved her.

Casterly Rock made her feel suffocated. The plans her mother and grandfather made caused her to feel nervous and uncomfortable, so ofttimes she ignored it. Yet she was now involved, being sent away to guarantee the loyalty of House Arryn. Of course, she would be far away from the war, and she supposed that was all that mattered. Safe, hidden away in the Vale where no one could harm her. Where she would get to know her betrothed and hopefully form a friendship with him, at the very least.

She would hold onto the hope that they could fall in love until proven otherwise. No matter what her mother said about Robert, she would not give up on the idea of loving her husband and being loved in return until such a time where it prove itself an impossibility.

“Cella?”

Fingers hovering over a case, she paused, shoulders dropping. Turning around, she saw her brother stood near the entrance of the room she was staying in.

Pressing her lips together, she tried to ignore the stinging in her eyes. “I am going to miss you, sweet brother.”

“That is what I was coming to say.” A sad laugh slipped past his lips. “Mother said you are leaving soon. That some of the men will leave with you and escort you safely to the Vale while the rest of us return to Casterly Rock.”

Sombrely, she nodded. Her throat felt thick. Truly, she would miss her brother. Tommen meant the world to her, and she prayed to any God that might listen that they would see each other again. Pushing herself to walk forwards, she threw her arms around his neck when she was close enough.

“Write me as soon as you are settled?” Tommen asked. “I will miss you so much. The Rock will be so awful without you or uncle Tyrion. I wish I could some with you, or that I could have stayed at the Red Keep.”

“I wish I could take you with me.” She said quietly, tears threatening to slide down her cheeks. “I promise to write you as soon as I am given my new chambers.” She vowed to him. “And I will write you as often as I can, so you might be a little less lonely at home. Perhaps I could even persuade my betrothed to allow you to visit. I am certain when uncle Tyrion finds out, that he will come visit me too.”

Because Tommen and their uncle Tyrion were her favourite people in the world. She could not imagine living a life where neither of them were a part of it. Only once had such a thought ever entered her mind, and she had squashed it before the poison could grow in her mind. She refused to be like her mother; scared of everything that was not pure Lannister.

Doubt was a poison she could not afford to have in her life. Tommen was her brother and best friend. Even if she never got to lay eyes on him again, she would write him until the day she died. The same would go for her uncle Tyrion, until one of them were to die, she would write. Write and hope that the Gods would bestow upon her the kindness of seeing them again.

But the Gods were not known for being kind, and so she would savour every second with Tommen that she could. Was this how Sansa had felt when she last saw her family? Scared that she might never see them again? Never to feel the comfort of a siblings embrace again?

It was an awful feeling, one she knew all ladies went through at one time in their life or another. One she would remember, as it was the start of a new chapter in her life. The start of her greatest adventure.

No matter how scared she was, she was as equally excited. Finally, she was getting to move on to the next stage of her life. One step closer to being wed and finding herself love. She would find in her husband what her mother had not found in her father. Of that she was certain.

Lord Robb had met them at Widows Watch with a party of men to escort them to Winterfell. The large grey wolf that accompanied him was something she wished she had been prepared for, but unfortunately she had not been. She doubted that anything could prepare anyone for such a large creature; the Direwolf on the sigil looked nothing like the beast she had struggled to acclimatise to on the journey to Winterfell.

When Lord Robb told her that there was four other Direwolves at Winterfell, she felt more nervous than she had been since she had agreed to go to Winterfell.

“Of course you will be unlikely to see Shaggydog or Lady for at least a couple of days, as they disappeared with our youngest brother.” Lord Robb told her, as if it should be some kind of relief. All it did was pique her curiosity about why nobody was so worried about the youngest Stark having disappeared, until of course-

“Probably a good thing too. You would not want to be introduced to Shaggydog without being used to the other wolves. He's as wild as they come.”

It had been Lord Theon Greyjoy that had spoken, and it made her nervous. Though spoken as a jest, she could see in his eyes that he meant it. Part of her wondered why Lord Stark had allowed his children to keep such viscous beasts as pets, but then she remembered that Targaryens used to own dragons, and it made her feel a little better. If dragons were tameable, then she was sure she could not have too much to fear from the Direwolves.

“Lady Shireen.” The soft smile she was met with in the courtyard of Winterfell warmed her heart.

A woman whom she presumed was Lady Stark walked towards her. There was a few people in the courtyard. Including a man she presumed to be Lord Stark, and four children – only two of whom she believed to be Lord and Lady Starks children.

“Lady Stark.” She replied, a tentative smile on her face.

No one appeared to be staring, and that was all she could have hoped for. The fear had built itself into her chest and gnawed there until she was certain that someone would look at her, horror stricken.

“It is wonderful to have you here. Robb and Theon will help the maids take your things to the chambers we have prepared for you.”

Not that she had brought much at all. Mostly clothes and as many of her favourite books as she had been allowed. Ser Davos had carved her a wonderful Stag and that was, perhaps, the only real personal belonging she had taken with her. It was the kindest gift she had ever truly received.

Before she could open her mouth to respond, Lady Catelyn continued on. “After introductions, I am sure you will wish to bathe, and wind-down after having travelled for so long.”

“Of course, I would most appreciate it. Thank you, Lady Stark.”

A fond smile stretched across the womans face. “Catelyn. You are to be living here, formalities will not be necessary.” Her heart warmed as she allowed Lady Catelyn to introduce her family. “My husband, Eddard.” A dark man with a long face and grey eyes. Despite the cold look about the man, there was something kind in his eyes and Shireen knew instantly that there was more to the man than simply honour.

“My youngest daughter, Arya.” The girl looked just like her father. Dark hair barely held together in the bun on her head, and stormy eyes – eyes that locked onto Shireens face for a few moments, and doubt seeped into her veins.

“My son, Brandon.” He looked just like his mother and brother. Auburn hair that lit up in the sunlight, and bright, sparkling, Tully blue eyes. There was mischief in the boys eyes, yet there was also something there that made her think he could be far older than just a boy.

“And then you have Jojen and Meera Reed, whom we have also fostered.” The girl, Meera, was taller than her brother, yet she still seemed rather short. Both of them had brown hair and dark green eyes. The gaze of Jojen was intense and made her feel as if he could see through her.

The chambers she was given were smaller than she was used to, but she did not mind. All she wanted was to make friends and hope that maybe she can strengthen her fathers alliances. Her alliances. One day she would return home, and she hoped to do so with long lasting friendships. She knew that her mother had little faith that she would ever wed, and as much as she believed that was more than likely, she could at least go through life with a few friends.

More than anything, she feared of a life of loneliness. Of course she was aware that she was unlikely to wed, but if her parents marriage had taught her anything, it was that not all matches ended well.

Shireen would much rather live the life of an old spinster and have good friends in her life, than be wed to someone who makes her miserable.

“Mother said you had greyscale.”

Her heart froze in her chest as she met Arya's eyes; breath catching in her throat as she barely registered the hissed “Arya.”

“What?” The girl asked far too innocently. “I was just striking up conversation. Apparently its too unladylike to just tell someone you like their scars.” And then Arya's stormy grey eyes were on hers. “I have scars on my arm from where Shaggydog bit me, once. Apparently I'm supposed to keep them hidden, I don't understand why ladies have to hide them. They show how tough we really are.”

There was a grin on the older girls face, and she felt her cheeks burn as she lowered her head slightly. “I- Thank you?”

It was a situation that confused her. She had been raised by a mother who told her that her scars were ugly – who tried to help her hide the scars with odd hairstyles than never actually did their job. To be told that someone likes her scars was a situation she could never have possibly foreseen. They were always viewed with fear or horror – not whatever it was Arya was looking at her with.

“Being bitten by a Direwolf hardly seems like a big deal when faced with someone who survived greyscale though.” Arya babbled on as she stuffed some food into her mouth. “You must be incredibly tough to survive that.”

“I-” A smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose I am.”

The encouraging smile on Aryas face let all the doubt ease away.

Her mother was not keen on the northerners, and when father had stated that she was travelling to Winterfell to be fostered, Lady Selyse had raged at him for agreeing to such a thing. Worry had etched into Shireen then as well. Worry that some of what her mother told her held merit. Yes, it was far colder in the north, but so far, nothing else that her mother had said seemed true.

“Arya's never been able to hold her tongue.” A new voice came from next to her. Turning, she met Brandon's bright eyes, a smile was painted on his face. “But if you can move past her inability to never shut up and ignore propriety, you will be just fine.”

“I doubt it will be more than I can handle.” She said with a smile on her face.

For a moment, she wondered if the younger boy had rolled his eyes or not. “You may eventually wish you had not said that. The only person harder to handle that Arya, this far north, is Rickon, and we have a Wildling as a member of our household.”

Cocking her head to the side, she felt her eyes widen. “A Wildling? Really? Father said that any Wildlings that came south of the Wall were killed.”

“Well, her companions were, but she did not kill me so we did not kill her. Father took her inn and gave her work. Said if she wants to live in the south, she will have to live like a southroner.”

“But- we are in the north.”

A laugh erupted from Brandon and he shook his head. “Anything south of the wall is southron to a Wildling.”

She supposed that was a very valid point.

Sat outside the inn, she waved a hand in front of her face. The further south they went, the hotter it got. She had gotten used to Casterly Rock, and Kings Landing wasn't too much hotter. But with the constant riding and the thicker clothes, she felt as though she might sweat to death. The hotter it got, the more she longed for the summer snows in Winterfell. Snowball fights with Arya, where they teamed up against Robb, Theon, Bran – and eventually Rickon too. Sometimes, Arya would manage to persuade Rickon to betray the older boys so that they would have a fighting chance at winning their war.

Sometimes they even included the stable hands and others who worked in Winterfell, in their snow wars. When there was more of them, things would escalate to the point walls would be built to protect themselves against the onslaught of snowballs. Once, when they were much younger, Robb threw a snowball, and Jory dramatically jumped in front of Arya and Sansa, and feigned an overly dramatic death – resulting in all the children laughing, and Arya vowing to avenge him.

Oh, how she missed home.

“Are you alright?”

Looking up, she met Jon's eyes. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

“I am trying to cool myself down.” She replied honestly. “I would give anything for a little snow right now.”

A smile tugged at his lips and he sat down next to her. “My father used to tell me that in the north it snows during the summer sometimes. For a long time, I thought he was joking with me.”

With a laugh, she shook her head. “I suppose it would be strange for anyone who does not live in the north.” With a small sigh, she leaned back, fitting herself against the seat perfectly. “I used to hate it. I wanted to go south and really feel the sun – the way my mother had when she grew up. Being here though..” She pressed her lips together, her eyes focusing on her knees. “I just want to feel the cold again.”

“I am afraid to say, we have hotter weather to face before we start heading north.”

“I know.”

“If you think about it,” He paused for a moment, and she turned to look at him, a smile was stretched across his face. “each hellish day of heat and travelling takes us one step closer to the snowy Winterfell.”

“Sometimes I think I will never get home before Winter comes.”

“And we all know that Winter is Coming.”

With a laugh, she nodded. “Well, until it is here then those words hold very true.”

A grin split across his face for a moment, before it faded and he bit down on his lip. “I heard some interesting news.”

Cocking an eyebrow, dread seemed to flood through her entire being. She was wary when she responded with a simple “What?” There was too many possibilities of what he could have heard, and none of the options were ever any good.

“Mace Tyrell broke the betrothal to forge a different one.”

There was nothing else that needed to be said. The words said all she needed to hear, and somehow, she did not know how to feel.

With Margaery betrothed to Joffrey – there was no doubt to that – then that meant Tywin had won over Mace. It also left a lot for those who knew about the betrothal to question. Why would Mace retract such a betrothal? His daughter would have been wed to to future Hand of the King, their family would have gained a lot more power. Unless Tywin had convinced them that they were capable of winning against the Targaryens.

“You are lucky, I suppose, that most did not know about your betrothal.” She said slowly, carefully.

He snorted. “Oh yes, because most would not already assume that I am following in my fathers footsteps.”

Biting down on her lip, she reached across and took his hand in her own. “Jon, you are saving me from a family that hurt me. Let the world think whatever they want. Let them think you kidnapped me. That you plotted against the Lannisters. Why should we care what they think? You saved me, and that is all that matters.”

“Technically-” He met her gaze openly, so openly she felt as if she could see right through him. “I stole you.” His shoulders moved so slightly, she almost missed it; the smallest and slightest of shrugs. “Which makes the world right.”

“Rhaegar saved Lyanna from Robert – the world never remembers that; but he does.”

There was something that flickered in Jons eyes as he moved closer, lips pressing together tightly as his hand gripped hers more firmly. “You Stark girls always end up betrothed to the worst men.”

A part of her was tempted to laugh, but her throat felt dry and she gave a small nod. “Blame our fathers for that.”

“No.” He paused, as if thinking on what he wished to say next. “I blame the Gods.”

Walder stared down at the letter, and shook his head. “And what do you want me to do with this?” He snapped.

The boy in front of him quivered, and he scoffed at the sight. It often horrified him that when he looked around all he could see was bumbling idiots – and they were his relatives.

“Reply? The Lannisters are very eager t-”

“Ah yes, the Lannisters are always eager.” Another scoff. “I told Tywin I would think about it, and so I am. He can get his damn reply when I make up my mind.”

The boy nodded, looking embarrassed. It was satisfying to know that he scared them – all of them. What kind of person would he be if he did not scare his own family. With so many offspring it was often hard to find matches for them all. There was no new Tully's, although Edmure was still unwed – and had rejected his offer of a betrothal between houses twice. All he wanted was one of his children to raise up in the world. Not only had Hoster refused to attend his wedding, but his heir rejected the offer to join House Tully and Frey – it was a slight. A purposeful slight.

The Tully's had always thought themselves as above the Freys – he knew it in his heart.

But the Lannisters – they were a tricky bunch. They were obviously up to something; especially since Joffrey had been disinherited. Anyone would be furious if the royals stripped their heir of their lands and titles. Of course, Joffrey was not Tywin's heir, but he was set to inherit Storms End. Now Stannis had Storms End, and the littlest Baratheon – Tommen – was going to inherit Casterly Rock.

A betrothal between one of his offspring and the heir to Casterly Rock was all but a dream. Something Walder could only have prayed for in his dreams, yet it seemed as if there was a catch. Tywin Lannister would never have offered the hand of his heir to a Frey unless there was an ulterior motive. Until such a motive became clear, Walder would remain wary.

But not too wary, and not for too long. If he held off much longer, he may lose the opportunity of a lifetime.

The first time Shireen met Shaggydog, she had been at Winterfell for four nights. She had been taking a stroll to the library, as Bran had shown her where it was the day previously, when she turned the corner to come face to face with a black beast. Bright green eyes stared at her, unblinking, and sharp teeth were on display. Her heart had leapt into her throat and she was sure that she was going to die. After a few good sniffs at her face, he disappeared into the shadows.

As she approached the library, he appeared once more. Sat outside, eyes watchful and she froze on the spot. She had heard enough to know what wolf it was.

Finding her voice, she tried not to let any fear grasp a-hold in her chest.

“Hello Shaggydog.” She smiled and made to open the door to the library.

The Direwolf cocked its head to the side, and his jowls pulled back. It took her a moment to realise that he was smiling.

“Do you want to come in?”

Opening the door, she stepped inside. Too her surprise, the wolf actually followed her in, head looking around as if he was taking everything in. She let the door close behind her, and she moved to the nearest bookshelf.

Of everything she had been told about Shaggydog, she had not been prepared for – whatever the situation was. She turned to look for him, and found he had curled up by the table and had his head lying on his paws, watchful eyes locked on her. It was unnerving, not beastly or terrifying; which was what she had been expecting.

Some wild beast ready to pounce on her at a moments notice and eat her.

Finding a book that caught her interest, she moved to sit at the table. Rather than sitting as close to the wolf as possible, she chose a chair near the middle of the table and lay the book down.

Arya had invited her to go to Wintertown with her and Robb – 'I'm going to get the new smithy to make me a sword, I refuse to give up.' - but she said she would rather get used to her new home before venturing elsewhere. Bran and the Reed children had went to the Godswood with Nymeria, Summer and Grey Wind, so Shireen had decided the best place for her was the library. Books were her home, and if Winterfell was where she was to stay for a few years, then she would familiarise herself with the few things that comforted her first.

When the door creaked open, she missed it; absorbed in the captivating tale that was laid out before her. It was only when she realised that a second Direwolf – a slighter, paler wolf with yellow eyes – had joined Shaggydog, that she was pulled out of her new world. Not recognising the wolf, it took her a few moments to realise that it was Lady. The fifth Direwolf, the one that belonged to the missing Lady Sansa.

It took her a moment more to think that surely, a wolf could not have opened the door itself. And so she turned around. There was a boy who was slightly smaller than she with wild, auburn hair and Tully blue eyes, staring at her with confusion and curiosity written across his face.

It took her very little time to remind herself of her curtsies. “You must be Rickon.” She let a smile tug at her lips. “My name is Shireen.”

Nodding, he looked at the Direwolves. “Did he do anything?”

Confusion flooded through her. “What do you mean?”

“Mother says I have to start locking him up because she does not want him to harm or attack our guests.” His frown deepened before his eyes locked onto her once more. “Has he hurt or attacked you? Has he frightened you?”

Pausing, she felt as though this was something she should be careful with. “I- I was surprised when I first met him. I had heard stories from Arya-” The way his face scrunched up made her feel as though she should backtrack, instead she pressed onwards. “-so I was expecting the worst, but actually he has done nothing. The fright was my own doing.”

He nodded, as if considering her words. “Perhaps this will prove that Shaggydog does not need locked away. Lady likes his company, and with her being so jumpy and worried at the moment, I would not like them parted.”

“Why do you think that? She seems- content?”

A laugh erupted from the younger boy, and he shook his head. “You're lucky. The fact she isn't whining is a miracle. It's all she ever seems to do. Whine, cry and pace. I think it's because Sansa is on the move.”

“On the move?” She shifted on the chair, turning so that the boy had her full attention.

“Yeah.” A fond smile lit up his face. “She left Kings Landing. I asked mother and father to confirm it before I came to find Shaggy. She fled with my cousin Jon, and they are coming home.”

“Fled?”

A nod. “Yeah. The Lannisters are awful people, and I am surprised Sansa did not flee sooner.”

“She was betrothed to Joffrey, was she not.” A nod was the only answer she got, looking down, she fiddled with her dress. “He is my cousin.”

“I hate him.” Rickon spat, his body tensing.

Looking back up, she met his eyes, a smile tugged at her lips. “I believe I have found something that we have in common.”

Chapter Text

Once again, Bran found himself stood outside his fathers solar silently and eagerly trying to hear what was being said. Rickon was sat on the floor, Shaggydog's head resting on his knees. Arya was stood on the opposite side of the doorway, arms folded and head leaning against the wood of the door frame. Nymeria, Lady and Summer were sprawled in the corridor, looking bored. Shireen was stood by Arya, looking almost guilty while Jojen was sat with his hands tangled in Shaggydogs fur.

If he was being honest, Bran had no idea where Meera was. He had been walking to break his fast when he overheard Jory tell Robb that their father had an important matter to discuss with him. He paused, waiting until Robb had disappeared before deciding to follow after. Whatever it was, had to be of some importance for their father to call upon Robb so formally.

While slowly making his way to their fathers solar, he crossed paths with Arya and Shireen. One raised eyebrow from Arya, and he told her that father had something important to discuss with Robb. Naturally, his sister decided that spying was better than food and encouraged Shireen to go with them. Just as they entered the corridor, they had all but collided with Rickon and Shaggydog. A gesture of his head, and Rickon understood. Jojen had discovered them and rather than going to break his fast, decided to join them.

“Talla Tarly?” He heard his brother ask slowly.

“Yes.” Ned replied. “Her father is-”

“I know who her father is.” Robb replied, sounding uncomfortable. “I just. Why me?”

“Is it not obvious?” Their mother asked, her voice soothing. “Mace has made it obvious he wishes to ally himself to Tywin. House Tarly has always been impeccably loyal to the Targaryens. With what has come to light about the Lannisters, Lord Randyll has rightfully presumed that we are loyal to the Targaryens, and to prove his own loyalty he wishes a betrothal between our houses.”

“Could he not just betroth his daughter to Jon?”

The silence was almost deafening and Bran worried for a moment that his ears had simply just stopped working. The air was thick, as if there was some secret thats reveal was being threatened.

“No one would betroth their daughter to a man who has currently- disappeared.” Catelyn said, her voice almost haughty; as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. With that one sentence, Bran realised there was more of their mother in Arya than they realised.

“You wish for me to accept.” There was no question in Robbs voice, and Bran felt lucky that he did not have the pressures his elder brother had.

“You are a man grown, and yet to be wed. To reject this offer would imply that you had someone else in mind. In which case, speak now and we will arrange-”

“There is no one else.” Robb cut over their father. “Write to Lord Tarly and tell him that I will wed his daughter.”

Bran looked over at Arya, her eyes were as wide as his felt.

“What are you lot doing? Eh?” A new voice cut through the air, and Bran would swear until the day he died that Arya had jumped in surprise.

Turning, he saw Theon Greyjoy looking at them all, his arms folded and an eyebrow raised. Meera was with him, looking almost amused.

“Robb's betrothed” Arya said, her voice trying to be quiet so that their parents would not catch them, but loud enough for Theon to hear.

Something flickered across Theons face. Whether it was frustration or hilarity, he could not tell. And then the young man's lips twitched into a smirk. “Married? Seriously.” Then he walked towards the door and stood just behind Bran, hand pressed against the Wall.

“-allowed time to think it over.” Catelyn's voice flitted through the air.

“There is nothing to think on mother. Not only is Lord Tarly a good strategist, but he is loyal. A loyal woman will make a good, future Lady of Winterfell, and make just as good a wife.”

“I will send a raven to Horn Hill immediately. You may go and break your fast.” There was a pause, before their fathers voice was raised slightly. “And tell you brothers and sister that if they want to eavesdrop successfully they should not have their Direwolves run down the corridor after them. It gives them away.”

Meeting Arya's eyes, they nodded at one another. Sensing what they were about to do Summer, Nymeria and Lady got up and padded away. Arya stuck her tongue out. “Theon.” She hissed. “I bet I can get to the hall before you.” Then, throwing her arms out to give him a shove, she was gone, and with a stumble Theon was hot on her tail.

Never being one to miss out on the action, he sped after his sister. One day, he would win one of her damn challenges. Although, losing to Arya was far less embarrassing than still being in the corridor when Robb opened their fathers solar door.

If anyone was left in that corridor, it would be incredibly awkward. The best thing to do was get to the hall before Robb and be seated and eating. Otherwise they would be stuck with their brother glowering at all of them.

He arrived just behind Theon, who decided to sit opposite and glower at Arya. Meanwhile, a smirk was etched onto his sisters face as she met his gaze evenly, elbows resting on the table, chin balanced on her fists. Rickon bounded into the hall, just ahead of Shireen. Shaggydog padding along next to the girl, tongue lolling out of side of his jaw.

Meera and Jojen were just behind them, seemingly deep in conversation. There was something strange about the Reed siblings, but rather than being off putting, it made him curious.

Shireen took a seat next to Arya, sitting her opposite him – as he had decided to sit beside Theon – and Rickon was on her other side. Meera and Jojen sat to his left. Watching carefully, not a few seconds later, Robb all but marched into the hall, his eyes narrowed.

“I presume you heard what father said.” The petulance in his voice had a grin split across Arya's face, and Bran hid his own smile behind his hands.

“What ever do you mean, sweet brother?” Arya asked, obviously trying to force her grin away as she turned to watch as their brother took a seat next to Rickon.

“Your eavesdropping.”

“I didn't drop any eaves, what about you Bran?” The mischievous twinkle in her eyes made him choke back his laughter.

“Nope. Rickon?”

Their youngest sibling shook his head. “The only thing I dropped was my fork.”

“Drop the act. We know you were outside fathers solar.”

“Us?” Arya's eyes widened, and she feigned a look of innocence. “But I was showing Shireen how I could beat Theon in a race.”

“I was running after Arya to tell her to stop egging Theon on. Mother always said it's wrong to rub it in someones face when you are better than them.” Bran said, grinning when he heard the indignant protest coming from Theon.

“Excuse me? She is not better than I am! She cheated. As usual.”

“She is.” Rickon stated, looking up to meet Robbs eyes. “They ran past me while I was introducing Shaggy to Meera and Jojen.”

Robb looked almost infuriated. His fists had clenched, and eyes tightened; lips parting to protest.

“Seriously. A little girl is not better than me at anything.”

“Please.” Arya retorted. “Even my dick is bigger than yours.”

Rickon choked on his drink, Shireen's eyes widened in horror, Robb paled and Theon made a strange, strangled noise.

“I would put my money on that.” Meera muttered.

Bran simply grinned.

Squashing down a groan, he did not even have to turn round to know who it was impatiently tapping their foot behind him. His fingers tightened around the hammer in his hand, and he was tempted to ignore her. See how long it took before the little lady upped and left. Or perhaps she would increase he actions until she forced him to pay attention to her.

He was not sure which of the two scenarios he preferred.

A small cough, and he continued on with his work. Honestly, he could get fired because of her- antics? But no. She was adamant she could get him to make her a sword, and the more she pestered him the more he wanted to say no. At first, he felt a little bad. A young lady with the desire to be something her station did not allow her to be was almost admirable. The more she showed up at the blacksmiths, the more his will strengthened; as if they were playing some kind of game.

She was annoying. Relentless. Infuriating. Very quickly he began to get some kind of satisfaction of looking her in the eye and saying 'no'. The way her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared was one of the most unladylike things he had ever seen. Call him a sadist, he enjoyed it. He wanted to see who would break first. Would he eventually give in and make her the damn sword, or would she stop trying to offer him more money – even stop coming to the blacksmiths in general?

“OI!”

Letting his shoulders drop slightly, he placed the hammer down and turned around. She had two companions. A boy who looked an awful lot like her other two brothers, just a little younger with longer, wilder hair and sharper eyes. There was a girl with her, with black hair and a strange scar that took up a large part of her face and neck. He refused to let his eyes linger, no doubt the girl was used to staring and he doubted anyone would enjoy such bad attention. He knew he did not.

“Who are your companions today then? It's always someone new with you.”

A scoff slid past her lips. “Lady Shireen, and my brother Rickon. Mother said I had to get him out the keep before she killed him.”

“So you thought you would stop by and say hello? How kind of you.”

Lady Shireen's lips seemed to twitch upwards as she glanced at Arya. Lord Rickon looked bored, as if he wanted to be anywhere else in the world except there.

“No.” An indignant huff slid past Arya's lips, and he almost grinned. “I came because I want a sword. I told you I can pay for it. And Rickon wants one too.”

The way the boy cocked his head, eyes trained on his sister with a brow raised told him that no, the boy had not mentioned any such thing.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Of course I am.”

Rickon snorted. “I prefer daggers. They're more likely to save your life.” Then he turned to look at Lady Shireen. “Wanna go somewhere more interesting? I doubt Arya is likely to show you the market they have on at the moment.”

The boy gave his sister a pointed look, and she looked somewhat indignant. Before she could even respond, Lady Shireen nodded. “That would be nice.” Turning to look at Arya, she smiled lightly. “Come and find us after you-” Pausing, she chewed on her lip as if she was trying not to smile. “Get your sword.”

Turning, she followed Rickon who muttered something about hating visits to Winter Town.

“Traitor.” Arya huffed under her breath.

Nodding to himself, he folded his arms. “So Bran is the only one willing to play along.”

Narrowing her eyes, she placed her hands on her hips. “Play along? You make it sound like it's some stupid game. I want a sword. Robb and father refused to buy me one for so long I had to take matters into my own hands. Bran doesn't care that I'm supposed to be a lady; he says that maybe I could be the first lady knight on the Kingsguard if I tried hard enough – but I don't want that.”

“And what do you want?”

“To be my sisters sworn shield.” She straightened her shoulders and determination flickered across her face. “The Lannisters abused her, she needs protection. Lords employ a household guard, and when Sansa finds a good, kind lord to marry, I will be a member of their guard and be her sworn shield. Father always says that the lone wolf dies, but the pack surives. It only makes sense that if some of us have to separate, that some of us stick together. Have our own small packs, to make sure we survive – Bran and I made that pact a while ago.”

“That-” And he paused, feeling sorely tempted to just give in. Because he believed every word that left Lady Arya Starks lips. She was a wolf in a lady's flesh and he did not know if that was heartbreaking or beautiful. “That is very honourable of you. What exactly was your and Bran's pact.”

“That is between us. We swore to absolute secrecy. Our family will not suffer any more than it has to.”

Swallowing, he nodded. “I'm sorry.” And his throat felt thicker than normal. “You're still not getting that sword m'lady.”

Rather than looking annoyed, she deflated. “I know. But one day you are going to give in, and that will be one of the happiest days of my life.”

Shaking his head, he gave a laugh. “If I ever make you a sword, it will be to shut you the hell up.”

“Never going to happen.”

Dorne was impossibly close, and part of him wanted to feel relieved. What should be the worst part of their journey would be coming to an end. Yet whenever he thought about it, his gut twisted. Next was the impossibly long journey by ship up to the North. Despite it being faster than riding, it would still take them a while. Whenever he thought about their journey, his gut twisted. It was not guilt, nor was it regret. No, he could not understand the feeling. He just knew it was nothing good.

“What are you moping about now?”

Turning his head, he met Arianne's eyes. Technically, she was not his cousin. But he had been raised being told by his mother she was. The future Queen of Dorne would always be family. His families family, was his family. It was nice, in a sense. The North, the South, and the most Southron point in Westeros, united.

“Nothing.”

He was not moping. Jon Targaryen did not mope. Ever. If anything he would brood.

“Sometimes I really question what it was that drove you to do this? Was it your Targaryen blood telling you to steal her away, or was it your Stark honour?”

“My Stark honour?”

With a laugh, she shook her head. A smile on her lips that seemed to say 'you know nothing'. “Returning her safely home. The whole world thinks you are following in your fathers footsteps by stealing her away. But instead, you are doing the honourable thing by taking her home to her family.” Her smile morphed into something sly. “Not that you could spontaneously marry her anyway, you both hold to the Old Gods, and there are no heart trees this far south.”

“Sansa would deserve more than that anyhow.”

A laugh erupted from her, eyes gleaming. “Oh Jon. You really make this a challenge. Stark or Targaryen? What blood rules you?”

His mind screamed the north. For the entirety of his life, he was told that he was more Stark than Targaryen. But sometimes, his heart liked to disagree.

Looking at Sansa, it made him question a lot of things. It grew slowly and steadily, until all he wanted was to see her smile the way she had when she wore a crown of roses on her head. It was the image that made him want to get to Winterfell as fast as possible. To see her face light up as she was surrounded by her family. To see her safe from harm. He wanted to see her eyes glisten and shine with happiness, crinkling ever so slightly around the edges as her lips curved upwards. Like a painting come to life.

“I suppose we will find out sooner or later.” He replied honestly.

With a nod, Arianne reached over, hand clasping his upper arm. “Do what makes you happy. Our lives are far too short to stick to the stupid rules and normalities that have been put in place to control us. Break free and live your life in whatever way makes you happy. That is how I live mine.”

His lips quirked upwards. “As far as I was aware, that is how almost everyone in Dorne lives their lives.”

“And we are much happier for it, are we not?”

She had a point. Everything in Dorne seemed far simpler than the lives led by everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. The complexity and rules that were placed within their society was suffocating and drove many insane – his grandfather was a prime example of that fact. Though many Targaryens grew insane due to the incest that conceived th-

The entire world paused for a moment. His mind flickered back to a conversation he had with Aegon and Rhaenys, it felt like an age ago when in reality it had been less than a moon. They had agreed not to investigate during their fathers nameday festivities. But those festivities had ended, and despite the fact Joffrey had already been disinherited, it could prove to be useful to have evidence.

With a glance across to Sansa, he pressed his lips together. Joffrey was obsessive over her. More than any sane person was over a loved one or lover. Joffrey was hunting her, as if he was a cat and she was a mouse – except they are not either.

No. Joffrey was a lion and she was a wolf. But she was not a lone wolf, for she had him. Both a wolf and a dragon, and dragons were far more powerful than lions; especially insane ones.

The boys insanity would be his downfall. It counted as proof of his mothers affair with her brother, and it would result in him either losing support, or losing the foolish war he started.

He is not the only person to have a hand in starting a war. He tried not to wince, and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. War had not broken out yet – it was mere skimishes in the Riverlands; caused by the Lannisters who were hunting for Sansa. Sansa, who he would protect with his life; who deserved so much more than she got, and he would do everything he could to ensure her happiness and safety.

They shall not get her. He thought to himself. I will fight Joffrey myself if I must, but they will never get a hold of her.

No one had seen her. How? How had no one seen a Lady as beautiful as Sansa, or a god-damned Prince and his Direwolf pass by. Jaime had confirmed that their were scouts everywhere, with eyes on every possible route. If that was true, then someone had to have seen them. There was no way that they were yet to reach the Riverlands. There was only two of them, they should have arrived at least a day before he had.

“What do you mean, she has not passed through the Riverlands, yet?” He hissed out. “She had almost a full days head start, you should already have her!”

“It is not like any of our men can travel any further north, Joffrey. Skirmishes with the Riverlords mean that we have to stop looking out for your precious bride.” Jaime snapped in response. “And if her cousin has any brains about him, he would have guessed that you and my father would have called for a search party and would have arranged another way to get her home.”

Grinding his teeth together, he felt his blood boiling. “If you suspected this why-”

“I have sent small groups of men to as many ports as I can. If Sansa is travelling by ship at any time within the next fortnight, we will know.”

A small amount of tension eased from his shoulders. Sansa would be returned to him; hopefully with the cunt of her cousin, so that he might remove the bastards head for thinking he could steal his bride.

Sansa Stark was his. No one elses.

Part of him wondered if his father thought the same thing. If his father had thought that Lyanna was his, would always be his. If his need for Lyanna was what drove him to war.

He knew that he would tear apart the Seven Kingdoms for Sansa. No one, not even his grandfather, could stop him; and the Gods knew that Tywin was trying. For seventeen years, his family had been trying to plot out the perfect war, had been biding their time to wage their war and take power. Without Sansa, they had nothing – his grandfather had said that from the very beginning. So for Sansa, the war would be started.

He cared little for the Lannister plans, he had his own. Sansa and the Seven Kingdoms would be his. Had the great Tywin Lannister not realised that? Had his family failed to realise that they had made him need it all. All their talk of how the crown and the lady would be his. Meeting Jon Targaryen had ruined everyones plans, and so he was taking the lead. He would take them into the war they had wanted for so long.

And oh, his grandfather was trying so hard to make provisions. Running around like one of Tommens cats when they saw some string. Trying to gain as much support as he needed. Gods, they did not need support. They had money and strength. Tywin had already invested in the majority of sellswords in the Seven Kingdoms, all they needed was to use their force to conquer one Kingdom at a time, until they had enough men to take on the Crownlands. Then, when the time came their army would take on the Crown, and the Starks would have no choice but to submit because Sansa would be his.

The war would be won by him. The Kingdoms would be ruled by him. Sansa Stark would belong to him.

The world was his oyster, and it would bend to his will or it would break.

“Joffrey-” And Jaime's voice became soft. “You have to really think about what it is you are doing, and why you are doing it. When it comes to war, you have to be sma-”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at his uncle. “There is nothing to think on. Sansa is mine. Westeros is mine. The Kingdoms will bend their knees, or they will burn. The mountains will bend to my will or fall. Westeros will be mine, and the people will do as I say, or I will kill them. Either they accept the future I give them, or I will end them. Mother always told me the world was mine, and nothing will stand in my way. I will make Westeros greater and I will make Westeros stronger. No matter what sacrifices I have to make, I will take what is mine. These Kingdoms are mine, and I would sooner see them destroyed than allow the Targaryen bastards to keep them. Ours is the Fury, and the world is going face my wrath.”

His hands were curled into fists, his shoulders straightened. Meeting his uncles eyes evenly, he silently dared Jaime to argue with him. Had the world heard his words he would dare them to oppose him too.

If fear flickered through his uncles eyes, he ignored it. He was Joffrey Baratheon, future King of Westeros, and the world would recognise that sooner rather than later. Sansa would recognise it, and accept her title as Queen with open arms. It mattered not, what the rest of his family wanted. All that mattered was him, and his plans.

“The world will bend to my will, uncle. It will bend to my will, or I will break it.”

That would be the only vow that would ever matter to him.

“I blame the Gods.”

The words slipped into her mind at strange moments. Mixing with her dreams, and taunting her while she was awake. When she looked at Jon, she wondered. What was he thinking when they had spoken? How did he truly feel about the entire situation? Did he hate her for tearing him away from his family and home?

He blamed the gods for Stark women being betrothed to Baratheon men, but what else? There was something deeper. Something else that she craved to know. How did Jon Targaryen feel?

Her own feelings confused her. When Jon uttered those words to her – the way he had said them, and with his face so open – she had found herself wondering for a third time, what it might be like to kiss him. The first had been when he had intervened after Joffrey had hit her, the second was after he had crowned her his Queen of Love and Beauty.

It confused her.

Jon had told her he had stolen her. Twice, he had mentioned it. The romantic in her prayed that he meant it. That mayhaps, there was something good in this world that was tangible. The Gods worked in such strange ways and the more she looked at Jon, the more she spoke with him, the more she saw him in her dreams. When she was not Lady her dreams were usually night terrors, yet Jon had began to appear. Saving her from Joffreys clutches and whisking her away to live a life that one only heard about in songs.

“We will be crossing into Dorne soon.” His voice tore her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at him.

“As much as I am looking forward to seeing it, I cannot wait to travel home.”

His full lips twitched, and he nodded. “I look forward to seeing Winterfell.” Pressing his lips together, he turned to her, eyes locking onto her own. “Though I must say that I am nervous. Winterfell has only ever featured in stories from my father and maester. All my life it has been nothing more than an imagining or dream, to truly see it makes me as nervous as it makes me excited.”

A smile tugged at her own lips as her heart softened. “I am certain you will love it as much as all Starks do.”

“I have spent my whole life wishing to visit my mothers home, it seems unreal to finally be on such a journey.”

“I am sure Aunt Lyanna is joyful that you are finally going to see the north. I know that when I have children that I would wish for each of them to lay eyes on Winterfell at least once in their lives.”

“I am sure whoever you are to wed will allow you to take your children to visit your home.”

It was an issue that she had been trying to ignore since her betrothal to Joffrey had been retracted. No matter what, she was still a lady. She still had a duty to marry a lord and have his children. A life of a lady was not for their own choosing. Once returned to her family, her father would seek out another match for her hand, and she would leave Winterfell once again.

All she could do was hum in response to Jon.

Her fears of another awful betrothal were ones that belonged in the back of her mind. Fears that did not need any attention paid to them until the time came. The time when she would be parted from Jon and would be handed to another man who may not be as kind and good as him.

“Are you alright?”

Nodding, she forced a small smile onto her face. “Of course.”

Pressing his lips together, his face seemed to harden and it was almost impossible to tell that he was Rhaegars son for a moment. “Sansa-” And his face softened. “You can tell me anything, I will never break your trust.”

“I-” Pausing, she felt foolish. “I fear that I will be wed to another man who views me as a possession, not a person.”

“You will not.”

Turning her head, she rose an eyebrow. “You cannot be certain. My father could-”

“I am certain.”

And he sounded it too. It made her stomach twist, not in a displeasing manner, but it twisted all the same.

“How?”

Raising his shoulders, he let them drop. “Let yourself live Sansa. Soon enough, we will have returned to Winterfell. Until then, let your heart rule you and not your mind.”

The problem was that her heart knew what it could want, while her mind knew that it should not.

“I blame the Gods.”

They had a plan for her, and it was more terrifying a thought than she ever could have imagined.

“They are in the Riverlands.”

“And Jon and Sansa are not.” Rhaenys sighed impatiently.

“Lord Hoster writes that there have been four skirmishes, and the Lannisters are not travelling too far into the Riverlands. They are positioned along the borders mostly, but the Mountain is rampaging through the Kingdom with a small group of so called scouts doing as he wishes. 'On Joffrey's orders'.”

Pressing her lips together, her eyes fluttered shut. “What else?”

“Joffrey was first seen in the Riverlands two days ago.”

Her eyes flew open, and he wondered, for a moment, how someone could still look so beautiful while looking so murderous.

“Apparently he looks murderous and has been leading a group of scouts himself; rampaging through villages trying to find Sansa in case she is hiding there.”

Watching carefully, he noticed the muscle in her left cheek twitch while her hands tightened on her skirts.

“Have we heard any word from Stannis?”

“He will not get involved unless a full scale war breaks out. The Reach have obviously declared for Joffrey; with the exception of Randyll Tarly who sent a raven declaring his loyalty to House Targaryen. The Vale refuse to declare for anyone, although Lysa Arryn writes that her husband has been incredibly sickly of late. If Jon was to perish, I doubt the Vale would get involved at all. Lysa is as paranoid as they come.”

With a nod, Rhaenys was obviously thinking to herself.

It worried him that lesser houses were taking their own sides in the more-than-likely, coming war. Though the Tarly's were the first, and only known, House to have done so, it made it a possibility for other houses. They had to be careful. With Jon having supposedly stolen Sansa, the Kingdoms were sitting on a knife edge. Their family could not make another move. Joffrey and the Lannisters had the board, whatever they did next would dictate the Capitals next move.

“Have we heard from Jon?”

“Not yet.”

“Sansa?”

“She will write when she can, Rhaenys. I do not think either of them took parchment or ink with them. I suspect we will hear something when they reach Dorne.”

“I worry.”

His lips twitched into a fond smile. “As do I.”

“Watch this.”

Really, she did not want to. Arya had dragged her away from her music lesson so that they could hide by the archery range. At first, she had thought that they were just watching, but then Arya had revealed her bow and Shireens stomach dropped.

“If Theon thought losing to me in a foot-race was embarrassing, he is just going to love this.”

Shireen liked Arya. The older girl was like nothing she had ever imagined a Lady to be like. Of course, her lady mother was against most of her antics, but Shireen enjoyed most of them. It made her feel a little more real, like it was something she had needed in her life. Without siblings, she got lonely, and finally she understood that it was true loneliness she had been experiencing.

In Winterfell she had a chance to make friends. She had Arya who dragged her everywhere by the wrist, and pushed her to try new things – things that would make her mother gasp in horror. She had Bran, with whom she could discuss more intellectual matters with; for a boy so young, he spoke with a manner of a man triple his age at times. Robb treated her with kindness, and she could share jokes with him, and he helped her when she asked about the management and upkeep of Winterfell – she was to be Lady of Storms End one day, knowing about the management and upkeep of other keeps could be beneficial in her future. Rickon swept in and out of her life like wind, one moment she could share a laugh with him, and the next he would disappear a look of infuriation on his face; he was passionate about everything and it made for interesting conversation.

Then there were the Reed's, who she could laugh with over the antics of the Stark children. They were different and held strange conversations that she always found to be ever so interesting. And then there was Theon, who she viewed as one of the Starks, even if that was not his true family. He was brash and rude, but told funny jokes and could be kind when it was needed. Despite his aloof demenor, she found him to be a rather interesting person.

Once Theon stepped to the side, showing off his skills to Bran, Jojen, Rickon and Robb, Arya took her position. With a wink at Shireen, she fired, her arrow hitting the dead centre of the target – right next to Theon's arrow.

All four boys turned around to find a smirking Arya. Looking between her friend and the others, Shireen took a step backwards. Despite not having been in Winterfell for too long, she already knew the Starks and their wards rather well, and she did not want to be in the way.

Theon had thrown his bow to the ground and was charging after Arya, who turned and proceeded to run off as fast as she could. Robb, being Robb, ran after the two of them, yelling after Theon to not hurt his sister too much.

“Can you shoot?”

The question caught her off guard, and she found Rickon and Bran stood by the fence looking at her. The question had most definitely come from Rickon, as there was an amused smile on Brans face.

“No.” She answered honestly, as Jojen moved to stand next to Bran.

“Wanna have a go?” Rickon asked, fingers picking at the wood on the fence.

Shaking her head, she knew in her heart that she did not want to try archery. Weapons would always be Arya's thing, not hers. “Definitely not.”

“Come on.” Rickon pressed. “It will be fun. You could probably shoot better than Bran.”

“Lets leave that to ones imagination.” She let out a laugh. “I would really rather not.”

The indignant expression that had appeared on Bran's face at Rickons comment disappeared after she spoke, making him look more relieved than anything else.

“Oh, come on. It's fun.”

Shaking her head, she felt the blood rush up to her cheeks. “Perhaps another day.”

The intensity in the boys eyes almost made her take a step backwards. “I will be holding you to that, m'lady.” And he bounced off the fence, gave a small bow and disappeared.

“Oh, you are in for it now.” Bran laughed.

Meeting his eyes, she raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“He will show up at a random point in time and tell you that it is 'another day' and you will have no choice but to go through with this. But- I think it'll be good for you. You never know when knowing how to use a weapon will come in handy. Especially with everything that is happening in the world.”

A part of her almost snorted, but she steeled herself and tugged at the sleeves of her dress instead. “But we are safe inside the ke-”

“You never know.”

And she was certain that the tone in his voice alone would haunt her until the day she died.

Chapter Text

Fingers digging into the wood on the table, he ignored everything that left the maesters mouth. Was he supposed to care about neighbouring houses? Probably not. Robb was set to inherit everything, not him. He had made sure his parents knew that he was not a bargaining chip, like his sisters and other lords and ladies. Looking after a keep was boring. A few times, he had followed Robb around, wanting to learn how to run Winterfell, and the older he got, the more boring everything seemed.

Not a day went by where he was not thankful that it was Robb inheriting Winterfell and not he. Of course, that did not mean he intended on ever leaving Winterfell. It was his home, and if Robb or their parents thought that they would ever get rid of him, they were incredibly wrong. He would remain there until there was nothing left for him.

Or I die.

He tried to ignore those thoughts. Death always felt more imminent than it should, and he could not help but wonder why. Robb had promised not to travel south, yet the feeling in his gut told Rickon that sometimes, the future was set in stone. What the Gods wanted, the Gods got.

He hated them for that. Hated the bastards that thought they could play with mortal lives as if they were chess pieces.

“Stop it.” Arya hissed, making him look up from the mess he was making of the wooden table.

There eyes met evenly, and he narrowed his own, daring her to challenge him.

“Stop what?” He retorted.

Giving a mock, silent laugh, Aryas lip curled upwards. “Being an idiot maybe.” She muttered in a monotone. “Or how about you stop destroying the table. Just because you don't want to learn about ancient warfare doesn't mean I don't. I happen to find it interesting.”

“Only because you want to show off your knowledge to the stupid smithy.” A sly grin slid onto Rickons face. “Imagine mothers face if you told her you wanted to court a blacksmith.”

Her face flushed red and her knuckles turned white as her hands curled into fists. “I do not want to court Gendry. And I hardly want to show off-”

“Show off is your middle name.” He retorted, raising a brow. “And honestly, sweet sister, I did not take you for someone to hide from themselves. It's so, painfully, obvious that you like the stupid smithy – you actually took the time to learn his name.”

When her teeth ground together, he felt satisfaction flood through him. Despite the fact she looked as if she would happily murder him on the spot, he found that having one up on her was more than satisfactory. A wolfish grin began to spread across his face as he kept his eyes locked on hers.

“I hate you.” She spat.

Shaking his head, his grin twisted. “I'm not hearing you say I'm wrong.” Leaning forward, he felt more smug than he had since he worked out his brothers little secret. “I mean, how romantic. The Lady and the Blacksmith. It's like one of those songs Sansa dotes so much on. Just imagine. Arya and Gendry, names remembered for centuries to come-”

“Oh shut up-”

“No, I'm serious. I would never have imagined the fearsome Arya Stark would ever have found it within herself to fall for someone. I thought you said love was for girls.”

Leaning across the table, a snarl was etched on to her face. “One day, you are going to find someone, and I'm going to throw all this in your face.”

“Ha!” Rolling his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You would never know. If I fell in love, I would steal her away- you would never know.”

“Trust me, little brother, I always know.”

“Knowing is my thing, Arya. Then again- You're still in denial about that.”

It bothered him, that she was so unwilling to listen to him. To believe that he just knew certain things. Bran did not always believe him, but he still listened. Because even if no one in the world believed, to hear another perspective or option was always beneficial.

Sansa had always believed him. Whether she was just playing to entertain him, or she truly believed him, he did not know. But she had told him she believed what he told her, and he missed that. Missed having someone who fully believed in him.

Part of him hoped that Sansa would arrive home soon. If everything went to plan, it would be less than a moon.

The Gods were not kind. They did not play to mortal wishes and prayers. The Gods played their own games, and he knew in his heart that he would not hear Sansa's voice, or see her fiery hair for a long time yet. Robb would travel south before Sansa made it to the North; of that he was certain.

“Just think, in a few days you will be on a ship headed home.” A smile was painted on to Ariannes face. “But a few days is still a few days, so-” Holding out a dress, something twinkled in her eyes. “Consider this a holiday, hmm. Wear nice dresses – not that awful, itchy cotton; try this. Silk. The finest. And then we shall drink wine and laugh. Perhaps we can even stop Jon from brooding for a while.” A laugh slid past her lips. “Now, change.”

Never had she worn a silk dress before. Once she had worn velvet, it had been her favourite – but nice dresses did not last long in Winterfell. Most of her clothes were cotton or wool. So silk would be something new.

Arianne did not leave the room, instead she moved to lounge on the bed. Without a folding screen she had no choice but to get dressed in front of Arianne. Nerves ate at her as she slowly removed her dress. Having seen the style of dress, and been around Arianne enough, she knew that her shift would have to be removed as well. Her face burned as she let the material fall to the ground before getting herself into the dress Arianne had given her. Low cut and flowing, a beautiful mix of white and silver. The material felt so strange against her skin. Nice, but strange. So different to anything else she had ever worn.

Yet as nice as it was, she felt exposed. The flesh of her arms and chest showing. Looking down she felt as if too much of her body was on show.

“You look beautiful, as always.” Arianne almost seemed to purr and the blood in her cheeks burned as hot as dragon fire.

A wicked grin was on the Princesses face and a laugh tumbled past her lips. “Northern Ladies.” Shaking her head she pulled herself off of the bed. “You are all so proper. It makes for such fun. Now, I do believe we were going to drink some wine and stop that cousin of mine from brooding.”

Part of her went to correct Arianne and say ours, 'that cousin of ours'. But she held her tongue. Instead, she let Arianne take her by the hand and lead her out of the room and through the palace. It almost felt as if a game was being played. As if she was being tested for something. Perhaps by correcting Arianne she would lose.

Yet the more she thought of Jon, the less the word cousin seemed to fit. Cousin meant distant family. Related, but not close. Before she had met Jon, she had known of him. Wrote a few letters, but never much and never too much detail. They knew of each other, and that was what it meant. But now she knew Jon. Knew him as well as she knew her family, yet in her heart it was different. She doubted Robb would ever crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty – he did oftimes when they were children, but it was games then. Never had she paid too much attention to the way Robb smiled. Part of her wondered if the corners of his eyes crinkled the way Jons did. Nor had she ever imagined what it-

“Oh no.” The dramatic gasp tore Sansa from her thoughts.

“What?”

“It's awful, Sansa, truly awful. I- I think that all the time you have spent with Jon- His brooding- It's- It's contagious.”

Staring at Arianne, she blinked carefully. The princess was suddenly in fits of laughter, her hand tightening around Sansa's. “Oh, you Starks. Such beautiful people should not brood as often as you do.”

Pressing her lips together, she gave a small smile. “You have only met one Stark. How could you know if we are all beautiful?”

“Sansa dear, everyone in Westeros talks about how Stark Jon looks. And I must say, he is very attractive. If the rest of your family looks anything like either of you then I must presume they are beautiful as well. I can imagine eyes like ice and skin like snow, and it's beautiful. And beautiful people should not brood.”

She could not disagree with Arianne. For her family was not unattractive. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, in her eyes. Her father and brothers were all reasonably attractive, she supposed. Never had she considered them ugly, but she did not often dwell on their appearances. As a child, she used to insult Arya, yet the older her sister got, the more beautiful she seemed to become – growing to look more like the portrait of Lyanna every day.

Jon- Jon was not unattractive. In fact, Sansa had to agree with Arianne, Jon was very attractive. He was no golden haired prince, but she did not want golden hair or blue eyes. Jon looked nothing like the princes or knights she had dreamed of as a child, he was better. A long face and full lips with hair so dark he could blend into the night like a shadow.

The kind of prince who could steal a princess away in the middle of the night.

Which he had. He had stolen her away like she had spent her childhood dreaming of. Yet unlike in her dreams where she was stolen away from Winterfell by a silver haired southron prince, she was stolen from the south by a man who looked like home.

All she wanted was home. Something that looked, and felt, and smelled like home. Jon looked like the north, and he felt like the north, and he smelled like Robb and father had after a long days training. Sweat and steel.

It was home.

“Jon!” Arianne's voice cut through her thoughts once more. “What have you done to poor Sansa? All she has been doing is brooding. It's awful and I want you to cure her.”

Focusing on Jon, she watched as his eyes widened when they landed on Arianne and herself. He had been talking with Oberyn, a glass of wine already in hand. Pressing hips lips together, his eyes seemed to squeeze shut for a brief moment.

“Perhaps it is a Stark trait.” Jon replied dryly, his eyes focusing on her face. “You look beautiful, Sansa.”

The blood rushed back to her face. She had been so lost in thought that she had forgotten how exposed she was. That she was stood outside with more flesh on show than she could ever deem proper.

“I must say,” Arianne started, a teasing tone to her voice. “She looks just as beautiful without any clothes on at all.”

Despite the humiliation that flooded through her, her lips quirked into a smile while Jons eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he choked; Oberyn laughed lightly.

“I do not doubt it.” Ariannes uncle smiled. “Clothes have an awful habit of hiding the most beautiful things.”

“Shall we discuss something else?” Jon asked, his voice sounding dry.

“The weather?” Arianne asked jokingly. “Or perhaps how beautiful you look under your clothes?”

“I think I would prefer discussing the weather.”

“Can I see father?”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she found it difficult to suppress a sigh. Truly, she loved her son. He was her precious babe and she wished she could keep him safe from the horrors of the world for an eternity. The world was ugly and evil and one day he would discover that; would see it and feel it and fear it for himself. But until then, she would protect him from those horrors. Even the ones that lay in his own home.

“No.”

Slowly, he blinked, confusion etched onto his face. “But mother, why? If he is ill, I wish to see him. Lord Baelish says he might die. I want to see him.”

Reaching out, she let her fingertips brush against the skin of his face. He was so young, and his mind seemed even younger. There was something sickly about his mind, yet she did not care. All she cared about was having him safe and having his future secure.

“It could be contagious.” She said quietly. “You can be so sickly as it is, you would not wish to risk being infected with your fathers illness, would you?”

His lips turned down and his eyes dropped the the ground. There was not a trace of guilt in her being as she stroked her thumbs across her sons cheeks. It was for the greater good. She and Petyr had a future, and nothing would stand in their way. Nothing at all.

“Especially since your betrothed will be arriving so soon, you would not wish to be ill when you met her, would you?”

“No.” A petulant huff slid past his lips. “Though I do not see why I have to be betrothed. I have you, mother, why would I need another lady?”

“My sweet boy, every lord needs a wife. You will wed her and she will give you children. She will help you look after the Vale, guide you and love you when I am not here to.” After he gave a reluctant nod, she smiled at him. “Now run along my little lord, dinner will be soon.”

After he had run off she tugged at the ends of her hair, frustration pounding through her veins. She would have to speak with Petyr about being so careless with his words around her son. The young boy should not have even considered his father dying being a possibility; she had spent so much time trying to make him think that it was nothing more than a little illness, something Jon might come back from.

But Petyr just had to let slip that there was a possibility that Jon would die. With those words in her sons head, he would wish to see his father before he died – something she had been desperately hoping to avoid. A drawn out death made illness seem more likely than a sudden death.

Despite his questionability, she felt lucky with Petyr around. He knew what he wanted, and his goals and ambitions made her want him all the more. He was everything she had ever wanted and more.

“And here I thought Arianne was joking when she said you had been brooding.”

Pressing her lips together, she looked up at Jon. “Ladies do not brood.” She stated simply.

A grin flashed across his face. “Of course not.”

She had not been brooding; simply lost in thought. After visiting the gardens, she had decided to take some time for herself. To just sit and think about where her life had gone and where her life was going. A small breather surrounded by something new yet familiar.

Gardens had always been her favourite places.

“Walk with me?”

With a smile she accepted his arm.

It almost stung to think that it would not be long until she no longer had Jon's company. Unless he cared to stay in Winterfell for a period of time; and despite the fact she would love that, she was almost certain Jon would be rushing home. With Joffrey and the Lannisters causing chaos, Jon would be needed in the capital. He could not abandon his position for an extended period of time, just because she wanted him to stay around.

“I think Ghost is getting impatient.” Jon stated quietly. “He has not been able to sit still since we arrived, and I know he dislikes being this far south as much as I do.”

“He will get to see his siblings soon enough.” She smiled slightly at the thought. “Just as I will get to see mine.”

A small laugh slid past Jon's lips. “Who would have thought a Lady would have much in common with a Direwolf.”

“Imagine Cersei's face if she heard that comparison.” She muttered, more to herself than anything, but a grin still cracked on Jons face.

“You are a Stark. If you could not be compared to a Wolf, the world ought to be worried.”

“I do believe that I am the last Stark anyone would ever think to compare to a Wolf.” She smiled lightly, but the thought still stung. The north had never considered her a true Stark, that much had always been made painfully clear; and when she was younger, that had not bothered her. The older she got, the more Stark she wished to be.

“You seem more than Stark enough to me.”

His voice was earnest and her heart froze for just a moment. Jon had never met a Stark other than her, and so she was certain that his opinion was skewed.

“Thank you.”

With a nod, his lips twitched ever so slightly. “I do not think that someone has to look a certain way, to be something. You do not have to look like a Stark to be one. Though I must say, you looked more than Stark enough at the Tourney.”

Had the weather not been so stifling, she was sure her cheeks would have flooded with colour.

Again, all she could manage was a simple “Thank you.”

The silence that fell around them was different this time. As if there was something left hanging in the air, and it seemed to suffocate her. It was tight like a corset – something she had the displeasure of wearing during her time in Casterly Rock.

“Do you think you might ever wish to visit Kings Landing again? You would be more than welcome to bring Lady with you.”

She felt as if her heart was pounding so fast that it might explode. There was something in Jon's grey eyes that she could not quite understand. Something so intense that she felt that in the right moment, she would shatter under his gaze alone.

“I- I would very much like to visit again.” Her heart was beating so fast she felt as if her chest might break.

“Good.” His eyes flickered down her face for a moment before meeting her gaze. “Because the closer we get to Winterfell, the more I realise how much I am going to miss you when I have to return home. I would quite like to see you again, after this is all over.”

They had time. She wanted to tell him as much. That they had time before they arrived at Winterfell, that he would not have to leave Winterfell immediately.

But her mouth and voice would not work.

“I-” Licking her lips, she felt far to tense, as if she was waiting for something and she did not know what. “I will miss you as well.”

Nodding, he moved closer to her. “Sansa-”

“Jon! Sansa!”

Annoyance flickered onto Jon's face as her turned to see Prince Trysten. “What is it?”

“Arianne wants to see you both!”

Staring at the targets, she tapped her fingers against one another. What would her mother say? What would her mother do if she knew that for even a brief moment, Shireen was considering doing something so unladylike?

Shooting had never interested her. Swordplay did not interest her. She would much rather bury herself in her books and learn about everything and anything. She liked learning, and there was so much to learn in Winterfell. Lessons grew boring when Arya ran off without her, she liked having a friend. Yet she did not like missing too much, because she wished to know everything.

Archery was something she could read about, she did not need to know how to do it – she was a lady, and ladies did not shoot. But Arya could do it; and she had said she would maybe try it one day. But what if she hurt herself? What if she hurt someone else? What if she made a fool of herself?

“You think far too loudly.”

She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Bran walking over, a small grin on his face.

“Sorry.” She smiled weakly.

He simply shook his head in response. “Don't be. I live with Robb and Arya; you have nothing on them.” A laugh slid past his lips, and she was unsure as to whether or not she should laugh as well. “Anyway- what are you doing out here? I would think that a lady would be wanting a full nights sleep.”

“I was not very tired.”

“And it's playing on your mind?” Shaking his head, the smile didn't falter. “I would not recommend attempting it without him around. He'll be offended.”

Why did that not surprise her?

“It's not very ladylike. My mother would-”

“Your mother would never need to know. And, you are in the north. A lot of northern ladies learn; although Sansa never learned. She was against learning things that men do. Father always called her a real southron lady.”

A smile of her own blossomed and she resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. “I am a real southron lady, does that excuse me from ever trying?”

“Nope!”

Her heart dropped as Rickon almost bounded towards them, Shaggydog on his heels.

“An agreement is an agreement.”

Frowning, she bit the inside of her lip. “But I never agreed-”

“Perhaps another day.” Rickon mimicked. “That's agreement enough for me.” Folding his arms across his chest he tilted his head, a mass of auburn curls swung back revealing more of his face. She was almost surprised by how much hair he really had; thick enough to make any lady jealous at that.

“Another day, does not necessarily mean today.”

“Tonight.” He corrected, a small smirk on his face. “And I suppose I can let you off for that. But one day;” His smirk developed into a wolfish grin. “One day you will do it. Anyway, if you weren't here to try it behind my back, why are you down here?”

“I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“Urgh.” He rolled his eyes before shaking his mass of curls back into their original place. “Bran does that all the time. It's so annoying.” Looking at his brother, he tutted. “Why think when you can just do?”

“You are eight.” Bran hissed. “Stop acting li-”

Rickon barked out a laugh. “And you talk like you're fifty half the time.”

A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched the two boys narrow their eyes at one another. Part of her wished that she had a sibling; someone she could be best friends and worst enemies with at the same time. But she had the Starks, and there were no rules about living vicariously through anyone else.

“I think I may retire for the night.”

Bran smiled and gave a nod, while Rickon narrowed his eyes at her. “That's boring.”

Shaking her head, she made her way back to the keep. It wasn't boring, she just did not want to get in the way.

“I am starting to think we should never have left.” She said, almost bitterly.

Violet eyes met hers evenly, and Viserys shook his head. “And be used as a bargaining chip to help win a war. You said it yourself, you do not wish to be wed. Neither do I.”

It was not that she did not wish to marry, she simply wanted a choice. She wanted to marry someone she fell in love with; who could sweep her off her feet and make her feel alive. She wanted to explore and have someone who wished to explore the world with her – someone who could show her new and exciting things.

She knew she was more than unlikely to find that in Westeros.

“Rheagar would not force us to wed if we did not want to.” She said simply.

That she firmly believed; if he wanted them wed, they would have families of their own and would not be walking through the streets of Braavos together.

“Be that as it may, he would guilt us into helping make political alliances-”

“I highly doubt-”

Pausing, Viserys turned to look at her directly. “You misunderstand me, sweet sister. I do not think he would ever suggest us marrying directly. I do not think he would ever put any kind of pressure on us to wed anyone at all. But political alliances are the best way to win a war. I want to stand by my brother and I will always support him. But the moment he and Aegon began discussing the options of winning this war, I would feel that it was my duty to wed and bring more support to their side. I would feel guilty for standing by unwed, watching the events unfold. By being out here, I can distance myself from the guilt. I do not want to marry. Not now, maybe not ever.”

Viserys was a lot of things, she never took him as someone who would feel guilty about remaining unwed.

Freedom was all Viserys ever symbolised. He was free to roam the world. Free to sleep with as many women as he wished. Free to be whomever he wanted.

Half of her life, she had witnessed him making comments about marrying herself of Rhaenys, both of whom were technically set to wed others. But in that moment she realised they were, and always would be, jokes. She supposed he was simply trying to keep Aegon on his toes.

'A king should always expect the unexpected' had been Visery's favourite phrase to use on the young Targaryen.

“Our ship home is in a moons time. Enjoy yourself, Dany. You may never get another opportunity like this again.”

“Shireen.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Shireen.”

Tap. Tap Tap. Tap.

Groaning, she sat up. There was no light in the room, other than a faint flickering coming from under the door.

“Shireen.” The voice sounded more desperate, and she groaned as she slid out of her bed.

Opening the door, she saw Rickon and Shaggy. Shaggy looked as if he was keeping guard while Rickon was practically vibrating with excitement, a candle held tightly in his hand.

“Come with me.”

Taking a moment, she drank him in. Boots pulled onto his feet, despite the fact he was still dressed in nightclothes. A cloak was sloppily pulled over his shoulders, and there was a crease on his face from where his pillow must have been.

“Quickly.”

Rather than closing the door and going back to bed, she simply nodded. Sensing the need to rush, she sloppily pulled on her boots and pulled on a cloak. As she slid out the room and closed the door, Rickon grabbed her hand with his free one.

“Come on.”

Rushing down the halls of the Keep, she wondered what in the world could be going on. She felt as if she had spent little to no time at all in bed.

Rickon's hand felt sweaty in her own, yet his grip was impossibly firm. Part of her wondered how horrified her mother would be at the improperness of it all. Rushing through the keep at night with a young lord in nothing more than her nightdress and cloak.

Slipping out of the keep, the cold air nipped at the flesh on her face and legs. Rickon adjusted his grin on her hand and continued marching her through the Godswood and to the Wolfswood. Despite the fact she was sure Rickon could handle himself – despite only being eight – and the fact they had Shaggydog with them, fear clung to her heart. It was late, it was dark, and they were in the woods.

When a twig broke, she nearly jumped out of her skin, causing Rickon to pause mid-stride and look at her with panic in his bright blue eyes. A laugh erupted from nearby, and relief flickered across Rickons face before annoyance replaced it.

“Shove off, Theon.”

Turning, Shireen saw Theon and Robb walking towards them, Greywind sniffing around behind them. Relief flooded through her as well as embarrassment. It had not been murderers or Wildlings, just more of the Stark household.

“You two can get into this later, let's hurry.” Robb seemed to be whispering, despite the fact it was just the four of them.

Moving once again, they approached a clearing. There was seven silhouettes in the darkness, three of them were clearly Direwolves. As they got closer, Shireen could make out Arya, Bran, Jojen and Meera. As they approached the group, her heart began pounding faster. Why were they all out there?

“This is the best spot.” Rickon murmured, and it made he wonder just what it was the best spot for.

Arya, took a few steps backwards to stand next to her, a wolfish grin on her face. “Just- look up, it should be worth it.”

Waiting, she felt silly with her head tilted up as she stared at the sky. Stars shone back at her, and she wondered if they were simply there to stargaze. Part of her would not mind such a thing, the sky looked impossibly clear from where she stood. Most of her life she had never gotten to see past clouds. The only time she ever truly got to see the sky was on rare days, and always from the windows around her keep.

Each and every star was so clear in the sky, it was as if she had never seen them before.

And then she felt the air leave her chest is a silent gasp.

She had heard of flying stars before, but this was something new altogether. Groups of stars shooting through the sky leaving a trail of gold behind them. It seemed so surreal to watch them fly through the sky and disappear from view.

So taken with what she was seeing, she barely heard Rickons quiet voice.

“Make a wish.”

I wish to wed someone I love, and who loves me in return.

It was tradition to make a wish when she saw the flying stars. It was rare that they ever crossed the skies, but when they did she used to sneak out with her siblings to watch them in the Wolfswood. And every time she would tell them to make a wish.

Arya used to laugh at the prospect but would come into Sansa's chambers rather than her own and ask Sansa if she believed the wishes would ever come true. Robb would never say anything, but he was the one who used to tell Sansa that wishing on the first star at night was lucky, and that wishing on flying stars was even luckier. Bran would stare at the sky in wonder and silently breathe out his wish while gripping onto Sansa's hand as tightly as possible. Rickon had only seen two before, but both times he had closed his eyes tightly as he made a wish before his lids would fly open and he would stare with so much hope that Sansa's heart almost broke at the sight.

She was not with her family this time.

Instead Jon was on her right, eyes locked intently on the sky, and Arianne was to her left watching almost carelessly.

When the star shower ended, Sansa felt as though part of her had gone with it. The child that still lingered in her wishing and hoping that for once, her wish would come true.

Walking back to the chambers she was staying in, she remained quiet. Heart squeezing painfully at the thought that she did not get to watch the phenomonon with her siblings.

“Rhaenys used to tell me that if you made a wish while watch a star shower, it would come true.” Jon's voice broke the silence and she looked up at him, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

“Robb said the same to me. I always encouraged my siblings to make a wish.”

“Did you make a wish tonight?” And there was something in his voice that made her pause, as if there was something more to what he was asking.

“Of course.”

There was an almost teasing smile on his face. “And what did you wish for, my lady?”

“I cannot tell you, for it will not come true.”

Something flickered in his eyes as he nodded; as if he was wrestling over whether or not he should say something.

“I wished for you.”

Chapter Text

“He is trying to take the Riverlands.”

Biting his lip he met Rhaenys eyes, fingers curling on the table. He hated Joffrey. The stupid brat was waging a war over a petty matter; and the Riverlands were paying the price.

“We cannot know what he-”

“My Prince, I beg to differ.” Varys cut in. “My little birds can confirm that Joffreys plan is to attempt to take one Kingdom at a time. With the Reach already having declared for the Lannisters, should he take the Riverlands and the Vale – well, I dare say we would not stand much of a chance. The Crownlands would be almost completely surrounded, with only the Stormlands to aid us – should they decide to enter the fray.”

“Joffrey will not take the Riverlands. And not all of the Reach have sided with the Lannisters. If a full scale war breaks out, House Tarly have declared for House Targaryen.” Rhaenys sounded confident as if she was convinced her word was law, he almost smiled at that.

The fire in her bright eyes was encouraging, yet it felt strange to have her where Jon was supposed to be. His brother was supposed to be his right hand and advisor, yet Rhaenys stood proud and tall by his side with her eyes aflame. Despite how strange it was, it reminded him that truly, she was destined to be Queen.

“Joffrey is an idiot, and cocky as hell, but he is angry and unpredictable. Once he gets something in his head, he will follow it through to the end. If he thinks this plan is one that will work, then that is the plan he will use.”

Keeping Tyrion around was probably the smartest decision they ever could have made. He may never have liked his nephew, but he still knew him. That made him a brilliant ally to have.

Looking around the council hall, he drank everything in. Jon Connington was sat at the Small Council table, as was Varys – who looked more bored than anything else, and Pycelle. Tyrion was leaning against the chair Varys was sat in – the strangest of friendships had formed there, and he had no idea whether he should be worried or glad for it. Ser Barristan was stood on the opposite side of the room, behind Tyrion and Varys, while Rhaenys was stood to his right. Pressing his lips together, his eyes scanned the room again. And again.

Lord Monford Velaryon had returned home due to his Lady wife due to soon give birth.

“My lords, and Princess, might someone be able to tell me where our Master of Coin happens to be? Due to these pressing times, I would have expected him to be here.”

“Baelish is currently in the Eyrie.” Varys said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The Eyrie?” He repeated, blinking slowly. “And what in the Seven Hells is our Master of Coin doing in the Eyrie at this time?”

“Unfortunately, my Prince, I do not know. All Baelish has said is that he was visiting an old friend. His long and complex history with Lady Arryn, no doubt plays a large part in his visit. Along with the fact that Lord Jon has been incredibly ill of late.”

Pressing his lips together he closed his eyes, frustration flooding through him.

“And no one thought to mention this.”

“You were rather preoccupied with dealing with matters with your father.”

*****

“If we are going to succeed-”

“If?”

Looking up, he resisted the urge to grind his teeth together.

“Yes. If. Nothing is set in stone. Winning a war cannot be guaranteed.”

Rhaenys nodded as she took a seat, the glass of wine held a little too loosely in her hand. “That is very true. For all we know Joffrey shall come by and slit our throats in our sleep.”

“I doubt he would be so kind.”

A smile tugged at her lips, and he strained to return it.

“Do you remember when we were younger, and we planned out our future. How we would keep hold of Westeros. How Summerhall would be rebuilt for Jon. How he would be my Hand and you the Queen. How we would have more control over our Small Council.”

“Removing Baelish as Master of Coin and replacing him with someone more easily trusted. You wish for me to befriend Varys, and keep an eye on him.”

It had been their plan when they were younger. It often unnerved Rhaeyns with how much Varys knew, and so she had vowed that when they ruled the Seven Kingdoms, she would keep the mans company often. It would be easier to learn the secrets of the realm if she was quote-in-quote friends, with the man who knew everything.

“I do believe Tyrion has a habit of keeping his company as well.”

A dry, bark of a laugh escaped her lips. “Well, since Jon, Dany, Viserys and Sansa are gone, I do not suppose I have much company to keep.”

“If we can know everything when Varys knows it-”

“Then we can be a step further ahead.” She nodded, a sly smile on her face. “Tis a sin the realm never sees this side of their future king.”

“This side of their future king can be seen by the realm when I am King. Which I hope will not be for a long time yet.”

“What are we to do about Baelish. Father is more than unimpressed about his disappearing to the Vale in these times; Tyrion is a very good advisor, perhaps-”

“Replace Baelish with Tyrion?”

Rhaenys nodded. “Baelish wants nothing but power. He is slimy, sly and simply creepy. His brothels are disturbing, and the way he treats young women is disgusting. Hiding away in the Vale during our time of need shows a lack of responsibility. So far, Tyrions help is invaluable. Either after the coming war you give the following suggestion to father, or whenever you see fit: we could have him named Master of Coin, and have him instated as the Lord of Casterly Rock. We both know that Tywin has never wanted Tyrion to inherit the Rock.”

“Tyrion would most certainly be a far better option than Baelish.” He agreed. “I shall mention it to father when I can. Until then, I appreciate his contribution to any and all meetings as an unofficial Small Council advisor.”

“He will appreciate being appreciated.” A smile painted itself onto her face. “Speaking of appreciation, I would much appreciate a raven from our sweet brother. They should have arrived in Dorne by now.”

Part of him was certain that he had been far too bold, and had ruined everything. There was no coming back from such a thing. He was never the best when it came to expressing his emotions, but he wanted her to know. Wanted her to know that she had the option of someone who was falling in love with her. Someone that would never harm her or use her. Someone that cared about her and wanted a life with her.

She feared a loveless political match, and he wanted her to know that someone could offer her something more. When whatever war was breaking out was over, she had the option of someone who would love her and care for her, and at the same time was a strong political match.

The only political match better than himself was his brother.

“Y-you-”

Unfortunately, he was more than certain that he could have expressed how he felt in a million better ways.

“Jon!”

Her bright eyes were wide as she stared up at him, as if she could not believe the words that had left his mouth. White teeth scraped against her bottom lip, as if she was trying to find words but could not.

Fix this. His mind hissed at him.

“My lady,” Because when all else fails, his formalities are all he had. “I am so sorry, I did not-”

“Did you mean it?”

“Wh- what?”

It was his turn to feel confused. Did he mean it? Of course he had. Why else would he have said it?

“My lady? Of course I meant it. I know it was bold and impro-”

“You meant it. You wished for me?”

Feeling like a green boy, he simply nodded. Fear flooding through his body. What kind of prince was scared of a beautiful woman? And yet he was. He was terrified of her telling him that he disgusted her and that she wanted nothing to do with him. Terrified that he may have even ruined their friendship.

“Jon-” She stepped towards him but paused, as if she was unsure about what she was going to do. “Jon, I-”

“You are free to feel differently, my lady. I do not mean to make you feel pressured or-”

“Sansa.” He blinked, feeling like a little boy being caught doing something he should not by his mother. “Not my lady. Sansa.”

Even when everything felt as if it was falling apart, he could count on Sansa to take the lead and hold strong. Nothing seemed to tear her down for long, and it was something he envied, something her respected. He had wanted a woman he could respect and be on equal footing with to wed, and Sansa was that and more.

“Sansa, I apologise for any discom-”

“Jon, please stop apologising.” Pressing his lips together, he watched as she stretched out a hand and rested it on his cheek. “Stop apologising, and kiss me.”

The last two words were so quiet that he thought he had imagined them. The burning look in her eyes told him that no it had not been his imagination, and his heart began pounding so fast that he swore it was going to stop.

The feeling of her hand on his cheek made him feel even weaker, the warmth being the only thing keeping him there. So he focused on her eyes as he leaned towards her, his eyes flickering down to her lips for a moment before he shut them entirely.

Her mouth was warmer and softer than he had expected. Whatever he had been expecting when he finally kissed Sansa Stark, it was not this. Tentative, as if they were both scared of seeming over eager. It was brief, but sweet enough that it felt like an eternity. Her fingers trailed down the side of his face as she pulled back from him a small, nervous smile on her face.

“I would not mind, if your wish came true.”

While a smile spread across his face, arms tightening around her; something niggled in the back of his mind.

Uncle Eddard is going to kill you.

Father is going to kill you.

Part of him wondered which he should be more scared of.

“Talla arrives tomorrow.” He stated, almost boredly.

“Urgh.”

“We are having a feast to welcome her.”

“Urgghh.”

“The wedding will be in just over a fortnight.”

“Urrgghhh.”

“Robb's put it off because he wants Sansa to be there.”

“Urrg- What!?”

Arya shot up, hair flying everywhere as she stared across at him. Grey eyes were as wide as saucers, and he felt a small smirk tug at his lips.

“Huh?”

“What do you mean Robb postponed it so Sansa can be there? You said it's in a fortnight! But-”

“I said it's just over a fortnight away, actually.” He let out a mock sigh. “But, if our estimations are correct, Sansa and Jon will be here really soon and will both be able to attend Robb's wedding.”

“They will be here in just over a fortnight?”

“Roughly.”

“Really?”

“Really! Now- Can you fix my bed please, because it looks worse than Rickons did after Shaggy was locked in his room for a day.”

Arya snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don't be so bloody dramatic Bran. Your bed looks fine. And by your bed, I mean my bed. It's comfy and I'm tired. I have to look my best for Robbs betrothed arriving.”

“Get out of my bed.”

“No.” She flopped back and tangled herself in the sheets.

“Arya, get out of my bed.”

The furs wriggled a few times, and a barely audible 'no', hit his ears.

“Arya!” Walking forward, it was unsurprising that she had tangled herself up so that no edge of the furs was showing – he could not pull them off the bed; not easily anyway. “What if I told mother that you were trying to buy a sword?”

“You wouldn't.” Was the muffled response.

“Watch me.”

Her heart was in her throat as she entered the Eyrie. Fingers clutching at the material of her dress as she fought her hardest to appear as ladylike and confident as possible. One day she would be wife to the Lord of the Vale, there was no room for nervousness.

As she stood before the Lady of the Vale she felt a slight tremble in her spine, yet she kept her head held high as a small smile on her face. It was her duty to make the best first impression possible.

“Lady Myrcella Baratheon, we welcome you to the Eyrie with open arms and hope that you shall enjoy your stay here.”

The beating of her heart increased as the Lady of the Vale gave her a rather weak embrace. She was careful to return the gesture in the same manner.

“It is an honour and my pleasure to be here. I am looking forward to my future here, my Lady.”

She would not lie to herself and say that she was not disappointed that her betrothed was not around. He was not there to welcome her, and she did not see him when she was shown the way to her new chambers. She did not see him when she supped with Lady Arryn and her guest Lord Baelish. He did not show when she was given a brief tour of the Eyrie. In fact, she did not see him that first day at all. It made her heart ache.

He does not wish for me to be his bride.

It was late at night and she sat at the desk in her new room, a quill in her hand. Tears pricking at her eyes as she carefully carved out a letter to Tommen. Writing of her travels and hoping that he was well. She wrote that she was yet to meet her betrothed, and that she was worried that he did not wish to meet her – that he would not like her. She wrote that she was nervous and scared – that she wished she could return to Casterly Rock and hide from her fate and duty as a lady for a few more years.

Signing the letter, she gave a small sigh. The Lannister name became more tainted by the day; despite being a Baratheon, the name Lannister was still attached to her person and she hated it. She was a Baratheon and wanted the world to know that she was nothing like her mothers family. Not that she was much like her father, but she liked to think she had the honour of a Baratheon – or the honour most Baratheons had; her father was sorely lacking in honour.

The rapping at her door went by unheard as she stared out of the window, looking down into the abyss that was below. The rapping became impatient, before the door all but flew open.

Turning her head, she felt her heart pause and her breath catch in her chest. The boy appeared to be of a similar age to her, though he was slightly smaller than her and appeared almost frail. His hair was shaggy and brown, and his eyes were large and wide. Pale teeth tugged at his bottom lip as he stared at her curiously.

“You are Myrcella?”

Nodding, she felt almost dumb. “Y-yes I am, my lord.”

“Hmm.” And then his gaze changed, as if he was judging each and every inch of her. “Mother did not wish for me to meet you yet. But I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Smiling slightly, she felt some of her nerves disappear. “I had been wondering why I had yet to meet you.”

Nodding, he stepped further into her chambers, eyes scanning everything. “My mother worries a lot. She wanted to make sure you would not be a danger to me.”

Frowning, she felt her chest tighten once more. “I am not like my family. I do not wish for war. I do not wish to harm anyone or take anything that is not mine to take. I -”

“Mother says you look more Lannister than your Lady Mother.”

Her heart froze, hands almost shaking as dread flooded through her being. No matter what she would never escape the Lannister name; she would never escape the negativity associated with her mother.

“I have never met a Lannister before, so I cannot say anything on the matter. My mother does not trust them. She trusts them so little that I cannot understand why she agreed to this betrothal. Lord Baelish was the one to convince her to agree to it.”

Lord Baelish. Her stomach twisted and lurched to the point where it took all of her self control not to show her discomfort to her betrothed. No one in her family had anything good to say about Lord Baelish, not even her Uncle Tyrion.

“Lord Baelish convince-”

“Yes.” He almost snapped and she fought the urge to take a step backwards. “For some reason my mother trusts him, but I think he is up to something. He gives me funny vibes.”

“He is a schemer.” She said quietly. “I have been told it would be in my better interests to never trust him.”

Nodding, he seemed to relax slightly.

“Some might say the same about Lannisters.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, fingers digging into her dress. “I am a Baratheon, not a Lannister.”

“My mother does not trust Baratheon's either.”

“And what about you?” She could feel the curiosity grow inside her. “If you follow in your mothers footsteps with everything, then surly you should trust Baelish as well.”

A scoff slid out past his lips. “I trust my mother and I trust my father, though my mother does not.”

“You need to trust someone else, surely. You need allies in this world – friends-”

“Mother says there are no such thing as friends.”

Something twisted in her chest. What was her betrothed trying to accomplish? His words spoke of being nothing but loyal when it came to his mothers opinion – with the exception of Lord Baelish – yet he broke a simple rule and came to visit her. His actions defying the word of the woman he so adamantly trusted.

“If you do not wish for a friend, why were you so eager to see me?”

“Because sometimes my mother is wrong.”

If she screamed a little, then she would like to think no one heard her. Unfortunately, there was at least one person who heard her. Staring at her with annoyance written all across his face, and eyes so intense she was sure his gaze could halt an army. Rather than say anything he simply pressed his lips firmly together and folded his arms.

During her time in Winterfell she had heard a lot about Rickon, yet most of what she had heard did not add up with what she had experienced. Despite Bran and Arya talking about how wild he was, he had always seemed relatively composed and calm around her; if only slightly improper.

“I-” Her breath was caught in her throat.

Though she felt as if her reaction was completely justified. It was hardly as if she had expected to find Rickon hiding in the back of the library in the early hours of the day. She had not been able to sleep well and had thought that a couple of hours reading before the day began would be soothing. Rounding the corner of a bookshelf to find Rickon glaring at a battered copy of A Brief History of the Wall was not something she could ever have prepared herself for.

“I am so sorry. I did not think anyone was here.”

A small scoff seemed the slide past his parting lips. “I gathered that.”

Biting down on her bottom lip, she wrung her hands together. “I am truly sorry.”

“Don't tell anyone where I am.”

Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins and she looked down at her feet. “I do not mean to be rude, but I thought that you ran off when you did not want to be found.”

“Robb made me promise to be at the feast tonight. I have to stay. Says I have to meet his bride to be whether I like it or not. He also made me promise to be at his wedding.” His tone was bitter, as if the mere thought of such an event horrified him.

“Why would you want to miss that?”

A strained expression crossed his face. “Too many lords and ladies trying to find matches for their children. Too much talk about the possibility of future betrothals. Too much false pleasantries. It's all just too much. And this has to be a grand event too because it's Robb, and Robb is the heir to Winterfell.” A scoff slid past his lips.

“I heard people were different in the north; but you really do not like being a lord, do you?”

A bitter laugh echoed through the library. “I get to run off whenever I want with my Direwolf. I get to live in a keep and have a great family. I get to do what I want, when I want. I get to live my life whatever way I want and still wed a high born lady.” His lips curved upwards and his shoulders rose slightly. “I love the title of lord. I hate responsibility. I hate writing. I hate reading. I hate talking to people I don't like. I hate talking to people who pretend to like me and wear fake smiles. I hate big fancy events. I hate politics. I hate liars. I hate wearing fancy, itchy clothes.” Shaking his head he pressed his lips together once again, so tightly that the skin around his mouth turned pale. “I love being a lord, I hate pretending I'm better than everyone else.”

Something in her head whispered that the boy in front of her was eight, but Bran, Jojen and herself often spoke far beyond their years.

After a moment, she strained a smile. “I have yet to meet a Stark who acts as if they are better than anyone else.”

Perhaps that was the right thing to say, or perhaps it was the wrong thing to say. She doubted she would ever find out.

“Are you not here to read?”

*****

Talla was not overly tall. She was slender with a round face and wide brown eyes; her smile was one of the prettiest Shireen had ever seen. The ladies skin was rather pale, despite having lived her whole life in the Reach. Despite the seeming shyness that radiated off of her, there was an eagerness to her that made Shireen feel almost envious.

“Urgh. Sansa would like her.” Arya mutter as the made their was to the hall.

“You do not?”

The older girl shrugged. “I have nothing against her, she just seems too ladylike. I doubt she would skip out on lessons to watch me kick Theon's ass, that's for sure.” Then a grin stretched across Arya's face. “Speaking of which, tomorrow is going to be perfect for archery.”

It's easy to predict that Arya will be abusing the fact the men will all have sore heads from drinking too much ale at the feast.

“Theon will be trying to show off tomorrow, but it just won't work. I'll make Robb look amazing by pissing Theon off.”

A smile tugged at Shireen's face as they sat at the top table. Arya was sat just next to Bran, who was sat next to Lady Stark. Robb was sat between Talla and Lord Stark, with Rickon, Jojen and Meera to the right of Talla. Theon was aptly sat on Shireen's left.

“What are you two talking about then?”

She had been caught by the same question enough times to have perfected coming up with cover stories. “We were just discussing how Arya hates sewing.”

“It's a useless skill.” The older girl hissed.

“Actually-” Bran cut in. “Sewing is an incredibly useful skill to have, it could save your life one day, you know.”

Arya pulled a face, and it was obvious that she intended to argue Bran's point.

“Remember when the maester sewed up your arm? Or when he had to stitch up Robb's side? Or when-”

“Or the time he had to sew up my leg because somebody doesn't know how to shoot an arrow properly?” Theon interjected.

If Bran giggled, Shireen pretended not to hear it.

“How do you kno-”

“The point-” Bran tried to say calmly, though there was still a trace of laughter in his voice. “Is that sewing is useful. Just because you don't like it, does not make it useless. I mean, I know if I ever needed stitched up, I would want Sansa to do it. Her stitching is far better than Maester Luwin's.”

Shireen had never been to a real feast before. Some of her fathers men had been to Storm's End and her father had held what he called feasts, but none of them felt the way she thought grand feasts were supposed to feel.

The hall was full of people – some she recognised, and some she did not. Despite the fact Robb's wedding was not for another fortnight, the keep was slowly starting to fill with guests. The music was rather upbeat, and she began itching for a chance to dance. The constant sound of chattering was as pleasing as the music, and there was more food than she had ever expected to see in Winterfell.

Arya kept winding Theon up as they ate, and Bran interjected every so often taking different sides periodically. Shireen kept herself as a neutral party, not wanting to get involved in the arguments. She did not fancy being on the receiving end of a glare from either Arya or Theon.

“Would you like to dance?” It was Jojen who asked her first. A smile lit up her face and she accepted his offer.

Jojen was quiet and strange, but she liked him. She was certain her mother would despise him, but her mother seemed to despise almost everyone.

“I suppose this will be the first northern feast you have ever been to.”

“Yes.” The smile remained on her face. “So far, it is certainly the most enjoyable I have ever been to as well.”

It was the closest she had ever seen Jojen get to a grin. “Northern feasts are far more enjoyable than the southron ones.” He shook his head. “Far too much drama occurs in the south. Why the cannot lead simple lives confuses me. All their ridiculous political games, and the amount of betrayal – all for more power.” Shaking his head, he gave a small sigh. “I do not understand how they can subject themselves to it.”

“Maybe it s just what they are used to. Maybe they do not know any other way.”

“Maybe.” He agreed. “I think they have made their lives so complicated that living simplistically seems like such a convoluted solution to their problems.” Pressing his lips together, a gust of air escaped through his nose. “There are far more pressing things for them to worry about, their political games will not save them when winter arrives.”

And once again, she finds herself wondering why so many northerners seem to talk as if they know things that no one else does.

She danced with Bran, Theon and Arya before she finds herself sat at the table once more; fingers playing with a half empty basket of fruit. A pretty lady would expect young men and lords to ask for a dance, but she did not. She had learned a long time ago that the only people who wished to dance with her were those who considered themselves family or friends.

Robb was dancing with his betrothed, a merry smile on his face that she knew came from a little too much ale. Theon was talking to a serving maid, and she was almost certain that he would be leaving the hall with the maid before the hour was up. Bran was dancing with Meera while Jojen danced with a girl she did not recognise. Arya appeared to be dancing with everyone and anyone, despite her claims that she hated dancing with a passion.

“What are you doing?”

Turning her head she saw Rickon all but glaring at her.

“Pardon?”

His arms were folded and eyes narrowed. It was evident that Lady Catelyn had been successful in her attempts to cut the young lords hair.

“Why are you sat here?” He sounded almost offended, as if she had no right to be sat there.

“Um-” Swallowing thickly she felt her eyes scan the room. “Should I be sitting somewhere else?”

“No.” He sounded frustrated. “Why are you sitting? I thought you liked dancing.”

Pressing her lips together, she nodded slowly. “I do.”

“So why are you not over there.” He gestured to the mass of dancing people.

The smile that tugged at her lips was bitter. “I have danced with the only people who would want to dance with me already.”

Annoyance joined the frustration on his face, and she waited almost patiently for an exasperated sigh that never seemed to slide past his lips.

Taking a few steps forward, he snatched one of her wrists up off of the table. “Dance with me.”

Part of her wondered, as she stood up, if she really had a choice in the matter. Not that she truly cared, she loved dancing and if Rickon was willing to share a dance with her then she would not argue.

“I did not think you liked dancing.” She said quietly as they find a place in the mass of dancing people; she can see Arya and Bran from the corner of her eye laughing over something.

“I hate it.” Rickon replies as they begin to dance to a song she does not recognise – it's northern, as is most of the melodies that she hears in Winterfell; she can barely remember the last time she heard a southron ballad.

Pressing her lips together, she does not reply. Despite the guilt that twists her stomach, she tries to enjoy herself. It was Rickon's decision to dance with her, she did not pressure him to do something she he did not want to do.

“Shaggy would dance with you as well if he were allowed to be here.”

Looking up from the floor, she noticed that his face had relaxed and there was a hint of a smile. His eyes almost gleaming.

“I am sure he would most enjoy a chance to dance with everyone.”

Rickon shook his head. “Shaggy doesn't like everyone.”

“Just like you then?”

“Just like me.”

When the tune came to an end Shireen expected her dance to end. Instead Rickons grip tightened for a brief moment, and they continued.

“Theon is leaving with that maid.” Rickon stated, watching over her shoulder, turning her head just in time to see the two slip from the hall.

“How is he yet to become a father?”

Rickon gave a shrug. “Robb once said he was poor in 'that area'. I don't question it.”

“Could you imagine if he did father a bastard?”

A wolfish grin lit up Rickons face. “Father would be so angry. I can barely imagine the storm that would follow.”

“Can you imagine Arya's reaction?”

The two of them burst into fits of laughter, and she finally felt relaxed once more.

“She could never claim that she had a bigger-”

“Excuse me?” A young lady had appeared by them, eyes locked on Rickon. “May I cut in?”

Rickon looked from the lady to Shireen and back. As far as Shireen was concerned, there was no need to think about the answer. Whether Rickon cared much about the event and the people or not, he had a future and whether he cared or not, he deserved to have as many options for a great future as possible.

As if he knew she was preparing to pull away, his grip tightened once again. “Sorry, I promise my only dances to Lady Shireen.”

“Rickon you should-”

“Lets go find Shaggy and Lady.”

As she was dragged from the hall, she hoped that Arya would not mind if Shireen did not show for a second dance.

As the sun began to set, her eyes fought to stay open. She had not slept the night before, her heart and mind racing. All she could think about was that Jon had wished for her. Jon had kissed her, and it had been as wonderful as she had imagined it to be.

Yet her mind kept reminding her that they would be in Winterfell soon. Jon would have to return to Kings Landing after they arrived. It did not matter how much she wished to be with Jon, she could not be safe and have him at the same time.

Part of her felt guilty. Half of the Seven Kingdoms thought they were following in Rhaegar and Lyanna's footsteps, how awful would it be if they were to prove them all right? She could imagine Cersei's smug smile and narrowed green eyes. Tywin Lannister telling everyone that he had told them all along; that they should have listened to him in the beginning.

“What are you thinking about?” Jon was looking at her carefully, as if he was worried she was about to break apart like cracked glass.

“That if anyone finds out, that Tywin will use that.”

“Let him. A broken betrothal is a broken betrothal. We are now free to do as we wish.” Jon gave a small shrug. “No one knew that I was betrothed. Everyone should now know that your betrothal was broken.”

She could not help the smile that tugged at her lips. “And if the whole world goes to hell over it?”

“The world is already going to hell. If they want add more fire, let them. Why should we care about what they think of us? This is their issue.”

Nervously, she took his hand in her own. The tension in her back making her ache. A whole new world of stresses had unleashed, and she had been too worried about what anyone else might think to include what had happened in her raven to Rhaenys.

“Arya always said I care too much about too many things.”

“That is not always a bad thing.” His shoulder bumped against her own. “Though sometimes you need to let yourself live a little. At least, that is what Aegon, Rhaenys and Dany always tell me.”

“So, you are following their advice?”

“They would be incredibly proud of me.”

With a small smile, she nodded. In the end, she supposed that it did not matter how stressed she was; she had Jon with her. For a short while she had Jon. She would have to listen to him and learn to live in the moment. It was not as if she had much time left with him.

“How long do you think it will be until this is all over?”

“I wish I could say a fortnight. But I do not know. Any longer than a year, and I will return north and steal you away to Braavos. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

“All you Targaryens seem to want to run away with me to Braavos.”

Jon turned so his eyes burned into her own. “I would like to think that I will be the only Targaryen who you will run away with.”

“So long as I am the only Stark you wish to steal.” Her lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

“Why would I ever want to steal anyone else?”

Chapter Text

“Bran.”

Rolling over, he squeezed his eyes tighter.

“Bran!”

He curled further into the furs, praying to the Gods that he could drift back to sleep as quickly as possible.

“Brandon!”

“What?” He snapped as he turned to stare at the silhouette of his brother.

Part of him was almost surprised to see Rickon. No one had seen the younger boy in almost a fortnight – not since Talla's welcome feast anyway.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, dread seeped into his bones. Rickon's clothes were torn up and dirt all but covered his face. Mud was embedded in his auburn curls and dark, heavy bags sat under bloodshot eyes.

“Lady disappeared three nights ago. Shaggy and I can't find her anywhere.”

“Shit.”

And suddenly he felt as if he did not need another wink of sleep. Hauling himself out of bed he rushed to pull on his boots and grabbed his cloak.

“Summer.”

It had not clicked with him, the fact that all the Direwolves seemed to have been on edge over the previous few days. Arya had been whining about the fact Nymeria had been spending to much time sleeping on her bed, sat outside Sansa's room, or staring out to the Godswood. Grey Wind had been quiet and sulking in the shadows, jumping every so often as if he was being haunted by a ghost. Even Summer had whined every so often, spending more time away from Bran than usual.

Bran followed his brother down the hall. Mother was likely to kill him if she discovered he was not in the keep in the morn. But he had promised to keep Lady safe, and he could hardly do that if Lady was gone.

“And just where do you two think you are going?”

Of course Robb would find them slipping past the gates. Grey Wind whined behind their brother, and Bran almost flinched at the noise.

“We have a job to do.” Rickon replied, almost haughtily.

“And what might that be?” Theon retorted, appearing by Robb's side.

Before Rickon could say anything smart in response Bran cut in. “Lady has been missing for three days.”

“I thought Lady was off with Rickon and Shaggy.” Robb said slowly, eyeing their younger brother warily.

“I was hiding in the keep.” Rickon replied in a defeated tone, as if he was revealing his biggest secret. “Lady disappeared three nights ago, and Shaggy and I went to try and find her.”

“You couldn't find her and decided to ask Bran for help?”

“Summer isn't as wild as Shaggy. He will find Lady faster.”

Robb nodded. “Grey Wind-” The Direwolf moved to look up at his partner, his tail beginning to swish. “Help them find your sister.”

A bark echoed throughout the night in response, and Robb locked his gaze on both Bran and Rickon. “I want you both back here by nightfall in two days time. I doubt I can stall mothers rage for much longer than that.”

With a nod, Bran attempted to smile at his brother. “Don't worry, we won't be long.” After three steps her paused - “Oh, and don't-”

“If you think I would tell Arya what you two are doing then you must think I'm an idiot.”

They were approaching their third stop, and their last before Widows Watch. She wondered whether the apprehension she felt was due to how close she was to home, or something else entirely. All she wanted was to get home and be free from the stress of hoping that she would arrive there safely. She wanted to see her family again-

She wanted to see her Lady again.

Lady, who she once enjoyed sharing a mindspace with in her dreams. Instead her dreams were filled with the taste of blood in her mouth, and the sight of dead animals. The taste of dirty water did nothing to erase the metallic taste of blood. An ache that was rooted into her bones as she ran for what felt like hours; dirt and blood matted into her fur.

It haunted he while she was awake. The taste of blood lingered and the smell of the damp forest and pray seemed to be everywhere.

“Sansa, are you okay?”

Jon's voice cut through her thoughts and she slowly looked up at him, feeling impossibly wary. How did one tell someone else that when they dreamed, they became their Direwolf?

“I feel rather nauseated.” She replied, her breaths feeling far heavier as the image of a Stags torn out throat flashed in her mind.

What in Seven Hells was Lady up to?

Ghost made a very quiet whining noise and she tangled a hand in his snow white fur.

“It will not be too long until we arrive in the North now. Not everyone is good at travelling by ship.”

She wanted to argue that it was not the ship that was making her ill. The nausea and sickness had only started a few days prior. It started once Lady seemed to leave Winterfell.

“I- I-” She held her tongue. There was nothing she could say that would not make her sound insane.

How could she possibly tell Jon that Lady had left Winterfell and the string of fresh kills lingered in her own mouth when she woke? That the sounds of blood gargling in a dead animals throat echoed in her ears throughout the day.

It was traumatic. Part of her wondered if that was half the reason Rickon was so wild. That if he was linked with Shaggydog the way she was linked with Lady, he had become used to the shared taste of blood and the sight of animals being slaughtered. Being so young when he received his Wolf and bearing witness to their most primal side would surely affect anyone – it was most certainly affecting her.

Ghost seemed to almost whine a second time, causing Sansa to look down at him. It was rare that Ghost made any sort of noise. Did he know? Could he sense that his litter mate was on the move? Did he know why she was feeling so ill?

“Ghost?” Jon looked at his Wolf curiously, lips pressing together in a hard line. “What is it?”

Ghost looked at the door to then back to Sansa, and then back to the door before looking up at Jon. Frowning, Jon moved to the door. “I will be back in a moment.”

After he left, Sansa ran a hand through Ghosts soft fur. It was calming, being around the wolf. He was no Lady, but he was a little part of the North. Something sent to the south where it did not belong.

“It will all be okay.” Though she did not know who she was trying to calm; herself, or the wolf whose muscles felt so tense she was scared he was going to shatter under her hand. “We will be okay. We will be home soon, and we will be reunited with our siblings.”

It felt almost natural to say we when talking about herself and Ghost. Both of them had families in the North. She and her siblings kept his siblings as their companions. They had both been away from the North for an extended period of time. Both of them were bred and born in the North. The cold ran in their veins and allowed them to survive in the Winters.

The winters were harsh, but the Starks would endure. And when the cold winds dragged the ice and snow south, the only sound that would be heard would be the howling in the night.

“Sansa-”

Looking up, her heart almost stopped in her chest. Despite the fact he was trying to keep his face neutral, the worry was evident.

“There are Knights of the Vale waiting at the port.” Closing the door behind him, his eyes glanced around the room. “There is nothing on this ship for the Vale, the only reason we are stopping here is so the Captain can stock up on food supplies.”

“Jon-” She stood up, wringing her hands together. “They might be waiting on another ship. We cannot know that-”

“If they were not a problem, Ghost would not be so on edge.” He replied, looking at his wolf. “He suspects they will be an issue for us.”

“You cannot know-”

“But I do.”

For a moment, she felt as if it was Rickon she was talking to. A more Stark looking version of her wild brother; always claiming that he just knew things. Sometimes, she believed her brother. Whether she wanted to or not, she felt that it would be better if she did believe Jon.

“And if you are right, then what do we do?”

Harrenhal was by far the worst place he had ever set foot in. It looked awful. It smelled awful. The sounds were awful. Everything about it was awful. But it was his.

Curse or no curse, he could walk through the ruined fortress as call it his own. His foothold in Riverrun. Surprisingly it had been easier to take the most infamous hold-fast in Westeros than he had imagined. With his uncle, and Ser Gregor Clegane's help, it had almost been a breeze. Day by day he got closer to what he wanted: The Targaryen scum dead, and Sansa by his side.

“You know that your grandfather has betrothed you to Lady Marg-”

A strangled noise left his lips. “I do not care about that, in case you have not noticed.” He snapped. “What I happen to care about is having my lady returned to me. Father fought for Lyanna, I will fight for Sansa. Unlike my father, I shall be successful.”

All Jaime did in response was nod, and frustration ran through him like dragonfire.

“What happened to your tongue, uncle? If you wish to no longer use it, I will happily cut it out for you.”

“If you want your people to love you when you are King-”

“Love me?” His laugh echoed throughout the ruins of his new hold-fast. “I do not want peasants and butchers, wardens and lowly lords to love me. I want them to look at me and tremble. I want fear to ice their blood when they hear my name. Love is weak. Fear is power.”

“Power does not make a King.”

“No. But a King can create power.” Tightening his jaw, he met his uncles eyes evenly. “Take me to Ser Gregor. We have a Kingdom to take; seven of them, to be precise.”

There were no great plans, and not even a single good plan. The Soldiers of the Vale stood waiting. The closer the ship got, it became more obvious as to how many of the men there were. Ghost stood, a snarl as white as his fur painted onto his muzzle. Pulling the makeshift hood further over her head, she wrung her hands together nervously. Jon stood next to her, all traces of armour gone.

Their plan was relatively simple. Travel light, travel quick. They were just two normal people.

Ghost had been the only real problem with the plan. A large Direwolf was the obvious give away as to who they were.

Jon kept his eyes on the pier, and she tried not to think about how close they were getting. How one wrong move would have them carted off somewhere. Carted off to Joffrey who would likely take Jon's head.

“Ghost.” He spoke so lowly, she had thought for a moment that she had imagined it; up until the giant wolf began stalk away from them.

Long fingers tightened around one another. Nerves kicking in as they began to dock.

Each step she took felt heavy. Her heart in her stomach, legs and hands shaking. Jons hand came to rest on the small of her back.

“We do not have to make it far.”

Just far enough. She thought somewhat bitterly.

“Hmm.” Jon hummed, making her realise she had spoken aloud.

As they were walking off of the ship, she felt her heart shoot up to her throat. Jon pulled her closer to him, his face lowering ever so slightly. Turning her own her to look at him, his lips twitched into some semblance of a smile.

“Do not fret so much, I am sure Alys will love the gift you bought her.”

She was far to aware of the guards walking past them, and she knew Jon could feel her shaking. “But she is so fussy.”

And then they were off the ship. Land was beneath her feet, yet the air was stuck in her lungs. They were off the boat but not away from the prying eyes of soldiers. They were littered around the port, eyes peeled. Despite the warmth that radiated off of Jon, and the comfort still was not enough to ease the fear that bubbled in her chest.

“We just have to make it away from the pier.” His voice was so low and quiet that she wondered if he was talking to himself.

Turning, she smiled nervously up at him. “And then we just have to find our way ho- North.”

Because it was not Jon's home. It was so very, very far away from Jon's home.

Of course, finding their way north would be more difficult without a ship. It would be far more difficult without having Robb and father meet them. Without a horse, or without many supplies.

“I will get you home. I promise.”

It was a hard promise to keep, when home was so far away. When the only way to get there was through the Vale and the Riverlands. The Vale was searching for them, and Joffrey was in the Riverlands. All she could hope for was that somehow she could manage to get a raven to Robb. The only issue would be getting a hold of a raven.

She wanted to let everyone know that their plans had changed. That Jon's hunch had been right and that Vale soldiers had boarded the ship they were on, despite the fact there had only been two merchants on the ship headed to the Vale. She wanted to ask Robb and her father to send men to come south and bring Jon and her to safety. She wanted to tell Rhaenys and Aegon that the plan had seemed to perfect to work, and in the end it had not.

She wanted to admit how scared she was that they were going to lose in the end. That it did not matter who sided with who in the end; if Joffrey and the Lannisters caught up with them before they made it to the North then they would win. Jon would die, and she would sooner die than have the Lannisters own her any longer.

Jon's grip on her remained until the port was slowly disappearing behind them. The soldiers were behind them, yet she still felt wary. As if at any second-

“DIREWOLF!”

Refusing to pause or turn she sped up; trying to match Jons sudden faster pace. His grip on her had tightened, arm around her waist rather than resting against her back.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” His grip was almost painful and if the panic was not flooding through her, she would have found it far more awkward to be walking quickly while pressed so tightly against his side. “He better stay away.”

“He will.” She said, as if she knew it for certain. “Direwolves seem to connect with their owners. They know our hearts better than we do.”

She thought of Lady, and the Direwolves journey. Had she sensed that Sansa would need her? Was she rushing south to help her?

He hummed in agreement. “Sometimes I think we are a little too connected.”

“I feel the same way about Lady.” Though she was talking more to herself than Jon, she knew he had still heard her.

“Dreams?”

For a moment, she was confused. It was a simple one worded question. But it was so unexpected that she did not understand what it meant.

She replied so quietly, so softly, as if her breath was nothing but wind carrying a little part of her soul. “Yes.”

He has them too. It was the only explanation. The only reason he would possibly have asked such a thing.

“Turn down here.” It was the only real warning she got before she was dragged off into a side street.

Jon's grip on her was like iron. As he lead her through the maze of streets, his grip remained ever the same. As if he loosened it for a moment she would disappear into nothingness. The tension in his side and in his arm was enough of a give away. He was just as terrified as she was. Scared that they would get caught and be delivered to Joffrey. Jon was doing all he could to ensure that future never happened.

The next time she saw Ghost, she was sure an hour had past. Yet soldiers were still hunting after him.

“State your business.”

Her heart jumped up to her throat as her stomach sank, and Jon looked up at the man. Brave and unwavering.

“I am escorting my wife home.”

For someone who hated lies and deceit, Jon seemed to have mastered the art of telling lies when necessary.

“What are your names?”

“Sam and-”

“Arya Snow.” She had not had to think twice about what name she would use, part of her suspected her sister would be thrilled at the prospect of Sansa feigning to be her – only in part.

The soldiers lips curved upwards slightly. “Snow, eh? And what on earth is a northern bastard doing in the Vale?”

“Work here is far better than it is in the north sir.” Jon replied, sounding almost bored. “Fishing can get a bit difficult when it snows every season.”

Nodding, the soldiers expression faltered. “I suppose so. Off you go then, get your pretty wife off the streets before the rest of the men lay eyes on her.”

If Jon froze, hand pulling her further into him, she would pretend it never happened. The implications were enough to scare her, Jon's response made her blood freeze.

“Come on.” He all but hauled her away, trembling as they moved.

If she felt the soldiers eyes linger on them, she would ignore it.

“What?” The horrified look on Arya's face sent his blood running cold.

“Vale soldiers boarded the ship, hunting for Sansa and Jon. Apparently they have been searching a number of ships.”

“Did they get them?” And suddenly his sister was standing, a fire in her eyes as she trembled. “Did they-”
“Do you think we would be calmly discussing this if they had got them?” Their father looked up at Arya; his expression gave nothing away. “We were lucky enough that the Captain of the ship is loyal to us and was kind enough to send us a raven. Jon and Sansa got off the ship and used Ghost as a decoy to get themselves away. What happens to them from here we will not be privy to. Sansa and Jon are without guards or friends in the Vale. The likelihood of hearing from them until they either arrive or are capt--”

“No.”

Robb tore his eyes from Arya and stood up, lips pressed into a thin line. “My sister will not be returning to the Lannisters.” Standing up, he felt himself shaking. “If anything we have heard has told us anything, it is that she will not be returning to the Lannisters.”

“Robb, if they find her, Jon cannot hold off an army on his own. They would run him through and take her.”

He resisted the urge to grind his teeth. If he were Sansa; if he had been used, abused and tormented, and had the fled his captors, he would do whatever it took to avoid being taken back to his prison. Arya had told him what she would do if she were Sansa and the Lannisters found her again. As different as his sisters were, part of him would not doubt that Sansa would be willing to do the same thing if it meant keeping away from the Lannisters.

“Sansa would do what she had to do.” His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, blood pounding in his veins. “Sansa and Jon should not be alone in this.”

“There is nothing to be done, we do not know where they are-”

“We don't have to know where they are.” It was as he spoke that his will became iron. Nothing in the world could change his mine. “So long they know where I am.”

Arya was staring at him, wide eyed and almost shocked. Disapproval was already forming on his mothers face.

“I will ride to the Riverlands. I will take Theon and a number of other men with me, enough that people will talk. We can ask Howland Reed if he will join us, and set up camp by the Kingsroad near the boarder between the Vale and the Riverlands. If we can ride down as close to the Trident as possible, we could be closer to where Sansa and Jon are likely to be.”

“No.” His mothers voice was firm and exactly what he expected. “I will not allow you to-”

“I was not asking for your permission. I was telling you what I intend to do. We have gained information telling us that the prince and the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North are alone in a Kingdom that is working with our enemies. You want us to sit back and do nothing? How will that look to our people? That we are willing to sit back and let them walk all over us. That we are willing to do nothing while important members of our family – important people in these Kingdoms – are being chased and hunted. If I am to be Lord of Winterfell, I am to prove that I am capable of doing what is right.

“I will prove to our King that I am loyal to him and his family. I will prove to our Lords and Ladies that I am not a Lord who will let his enemies take from him. I will prove that I am a Lord who takes action. And I will prove to Sansa that she is not alone. That she has not been abandoned. I promised to meet Sansa when she reached land. I intend to keep my promise to my sister.”

Sansa had been left alone for too long. They had sat back and done nothing for too long. His sister had been left to suffer and the first people to try and help her, had not even been her own kin. The royal children had been the ones to step up and step in. He was not going to fail her again. When she was born he had made a vow to her and the gods that he would protect her, and that was what he was going to do.

He had spent an entire childhood pretending to be a knight that saved her from dragons, and evil men. Now it was time he did it for real.

“I want to come with you.” Arya's voice did not surprise him, the raw emotion on her face did. “I swore to protect her. I have to go.”

“No!” Catelyn was staring incredulously at Arya. “You will certainly not be going anywhere.”

“I will go with you.” His father was staring at him, lips pressed together and an unreadable expression on his face. “You are not Lord of Winterfell yet, Robb.”

Catelyn was angry. It was as obvious as the tension in the room. Her sharp blue eyes were burning as she stared at him. “You intend to go south. To leave us here? How am I to look after all these children by myself?”

“You will have Maester Luwin and Osha. I have spoken to Bran and he has agreed to help keep Arya under control.”

“And what about Rickon?”

“He will be fine. We shan't be gone for long.”

For all he knew the words were a lie. They could be gone a long time, sucked up into the war. Yet he could not fault his son for his determination. One upon a time he had done just the same. Marched south with his best friend to rescue his sister. Although there was the addition of revenge thrown in. So far, everything was fine and well. No harm had come to their family – yet.

“We have three children being fostered. What about Robb's wedding to Talla?”

“Robb will wed Talla before we leave. We will take a small number of men; with many of our lords and bannermen already here, I have asked for volunteers to join us in the south.”

Cat pursed her lips and shook her head. “You know as well as I do that Robb does not wish to wed Talla until Sansa is home.”

“If he wishes to ride south, he will do so on my terms. We need them wed to seal our alliance with Lord Tarly.”

“I just worry. The last time a young, recently wed Stark left Winterfell rode south, he was gone for almost a year, returned with a dead sister, and a new King sat on the throne.”

Reaching out, he clasped his wife's hand within his own. “Robb has me, and I pray that the Gods would not be so cruel to play the same game twice.” Standing, he let out a sigh. “We will come back, and then – only then – we will talk to Arya.”

He knew it was something Cat was dreading. Something neither of them were wishing to discuss with their daughter. But it was a topic that would have to be broached, and it was a plan that was already being put into motion. But it was no longer the time to talk about it; he also knew his wife. Knew that she would likely bring it up if Arya did anything particularly Arya.

“It isn't fair.” Arya all but howled. “I want to go south and save Sansa too. It was supposed to be me. Not Robb. I was the one that knew something was wrong. I was the one who fought for Sansa when no one else would.”

He gave a small cough, feeling almost offended that she would say such a thing.

“Okay, fine, you and Rickon fought for her too. But I was the most obvious about it.”

Rickon gave a loud and obnoxious cough. Blue eyes narrowed as he looked at their sister.

“Okay, fine. But I'm older than you two so I should be the one that goes south.”

“But I'm male so I should be the one to go south.”

“Who cares if you are male or not.” Arya all but exploded. “I don't care about whether anyone has a damn cock or not. I am just as capable as Robb, more capable than Theon. I deserve to go south.”

“You are needed here. Think I can do the whole 'Lord of Winterfell' thing without you?”

Of course, he knew he could probably do it just as well without her, she needed something to help drive her. Arya needed something to motivate her to keep going. If having her assist him in taking over the duties as Lord of Winterfell would keep her preoccupied then so be it. It benefited him just as much. The idea of being a lord terrified him, it was not something he wanted for himself. He didn't want to take over for his father or Robb. Winterfell would be a challenge for someone who knew nothing about running it. Though his mother would be helping him, part of him wanted to do as much of it as he could. Help his mother; make sure she was not as stressed as he knew she would be.

“I suppose. You know less than I do when it comes to running a keep, and that is saying something.”

“Please, I know a lot more than you do.”

Arya shook her head, expression relaxing. “You know nothing.”

Not true, but he would not pursue an argument. “Rickon, Shireen, Jojen and Meera have volunteered to help when they can.”

“We won't need their help, but okay.”

Rickon snorted. “Considering I know more than you two put together, I'm pretty convinced you will definitely need my help at some point.”

Rickon definitely did not know more than he or Arya put together, but Bran was willing to play along if it made them happy. They all needed a little happiness; even if it was going to become increasingly hard to come by.

“Are you alright?” She knew the moment that the words left her mouth that it was a stupid question. The tension in Winterfell was thicker than the snow. She just wanted to know if they were going to be alright.

“No.” The answer was straight to the point. “Robb is leaving with father. I know he promised to come home with Sansa, but-”

Reaching out, she knew she was taking a risk when she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Either he will, or he will not. All that matters is right now, they are alive. You just have to cherish that for now and always.”

He had not flinched when she touched him, nor had he glowered or snapped at her. “I know. I just -” Cutting himself off, he shook his head. “I lost Lady, and I might lose Father, Sansa, Robb and Theon as well. Maybe even Jon.”

She knew that the Starks loved their cousin, despite having never even met him. Family was everything to the Starks and it was inspiring. Part of her was jealous that they all loved one another so much – were willing to do so much for each other – and she had never even seen such love before arriving in Winterfell.

“I know it must be hard, I cannot imagine how any of you must be feeling at the moment. But I would be happy to assist any of you, help you take your mind off of it if that is what you wish.”

A smile tugged at his lips and he shook his head. “Thank you, my lady.”

It was all so measured and controlled. She was scared that in any second he might snap. Might become more like the Rickon she had gotten used to.

“I don't think they will be returning. I think- I think I'm resigned to that.”

It broke her heart. Tore her apart to hear someone say such a thing. “No.” She shook her head. “To think like that is to destroy hope within yourself. Never lose hope, Rickon. It is all we have.”

Nodding, he stood up from where he had been sat. “I s'ppose. But – But sometimes I just know things. Like I knew Sansa going south would end badly. Like I knew that Theon would do just fine accompanying Robb to the Last Hearth. Like I knew we would be given Direwolves when father went to kill the deserter. I have that same feeling about Robb going south. Something bad is going to happen. Someone is not coming home. And I think it is more than just one someone.”

She wished she knew what to even think. To know things seemed impossible, and yet Jojen Reed seemed to know things. She knew by looking in his eyes that he knew more than she could ever imagine. Rickon knew more than he should, but not like Jojen. It was different, and yet nothing in her seemed to disbelieve him.

Some people were gifted.

“Let us pray to the Old Gods and the New that for once, you are wrong.”

Looking up, he blinked. Bright eyes filled with surprise and curiosity. “You believe me.”

“I have no reason to disbelieve you.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes she wondered if the Gods had been against them from the start. Her heart had torn, fear iced the blood in her veins. For once, she felt as if she did not have the answers. There was no perfect, fail-safe plan. No position to knock any players into that would make it any easier. No way to even communicate with wise words or advise.

Even if she could send advice, what would she say? For once, she did not know how to handle the situation. It made her feel weak. Hands trembling as she drank the wine from the glass she held. Legs nervously bouncing as she tried not to think about it.

All she could do was think about it.

Her baby brother – someone she was supposed to protect – was stranded, without help or aid, with Sansa. Her friend and her brother left to venture north on foot, while in what could now be considered as enemy territory. The Vale was after them, and suddenly everything was happening at once.

“Rhaenys?”

She shook her head, hair falling into her face. A warm, clammy hand grasped her shoulder, yet she proceeded to ignore it.

“Rhaenys, come on. Everything will be alright.”

Pressing her lips together, she lifted her head. “You cannot know that.”

It did not matter that she belonged to the most powerful family in Westeros. There was nothing she could do to help. For the first time in her life she felt truly powerless. What good was she to her family if she could not help them.

“Jon knows what he is doing.”

The blatant lie had her staring at Aegon, lips pressed tightly together. The heat from the tears in her eyes was frustrating. She wished she could just will the salty liquid to disappear.

Aegons bent down, facing her. His hands rested on her cheeks. “Remember when Jon was a boy of six, and he disappeared into the Kingswood and no one could find him?”

Nodding, she felt the hot liquid begin to roll down her cheeks. Aegon used his thumbs to wipe the tears away. “Remember when he came bounding back two days later, and found out you had been crying with worry because you thought something awful had happened to him.”

Of course she remembered. She had been going spare trying to work out what had happened to her baby brother. The lack of finding him had made her frustrated and upset. How could a prince go missing for so long without consequence? Jon's young face flashed in her mind, wide eyed and pouted lips.

“Remember what he said to you?”

“Please stop crying, Rhaenys. I'm a big boy now and I know how to look after myself. I promise if I ever go missing again I will find my way home. I will always find my way home.”

Jon had Ghost, and Sansa. Ghost would never let anything happen to either of them, but that did not stop the hurt in her heart. They were still alone in a place they had never been before, and the enemy could be around each and every corner they walked around.

“It is different now. This is not Jon being a rebellious child; this is Jon on the run from the enemy with someone the enemy wants more than anything. Ghost is both protection and a danger to them now. The Direwolf would never let anyone harm them, but his mere existence in the Vale could give their location away to the enemy.”

“Trust in Jon as he trusts in us. We will find a way to help him.”

“Is it true?” She asks because she has to know. Because she has to understand if everything she tried to prevent is occurring anyway. “Is father considering riding to the Riverlands to end this?”

“Considering and doing are two different things.” His voice was soft and careful, an answer in of itself.

“Aegon...”

Standing up and taking a step back, he nodded. Hands running down his face, a sigh slid out past his lips. “Yes, he is considering it. He has been discussing these matters with the small council since he returned from Dragonstone. He thinks that by quashing the skirmishes in the Riverlands he can end it all for good before it becomes a real war.”

“And you? What do you think?”

“I agree.”

Her heart continued to break as she nodded. “I thought so. I hoped not. I hoped it would never come to any of this-”

“As did we all. But we cannot continue like this. The longer the Lannisters get away with this, the more likely this will turn into a full scale war. Something we would all rather avoid.”

“If father rides out... Are you-”

She did not have to finish the rest of her question. The answer was as clear as day on his face. There was no hope of changing his mind either, his expression told her as much.

Shaking all she could do was try and breathe.

Trying to pretend that neither boredom or worry consumed him, he watched Robb and his new bride dance together for the first time as man and wife. The wedding was incredibly rushed, and their mother had all but been beside herself at how it did not meet most of the standards for an heir to Winterfells wedding.

“Mayhaps she had hoped Robb would get the wedding she never had.” Arya had whispered ever so quietly earlier in the day.

He had nodded in agreement, before stating that their mother had four other children who could have far grander weddings when everything was all over. Not that he would ever want a grand and fancy wedding, he doubted Arya would want such a thing either. The mere idea of Rickon even getting married was laughable. The youngest Stark seemed adamant that he was going to spend the rest of his life in Winterfell. No lady would likely wish to wed a man who ran off for weeks at a time, just because he felt like it, either.

So it all really depended on Sansa. Sansa had always wanted a grand and fancy wedding. Sometimes some of her plans seemed so outrageous that he had simply sat there silent, unsure of what to say. As much as he loved his big sister, she could often be too much of a girl for him to deal with. Yet part of him wondered if she had stayed that way. If she still hoped for a grand wedding with all of the North there to see her wed the love of her life before the Gods. If she still wanted a grand feast with a tourney to celebrate her nuptials.

“I want to dance.” Arya hissed from next to him. “It's boring just watching.”

Arya had apparently been ever so bored while watching the ceremony. It was short, sweet and before a heart tree rather than within their mothers sept. It had surprised almost the entire family when Robb suggested the wedding be before the Old Gods.

“I am to be Lord of Winterfell, not a southern keep. Starks keep to the Old Gods, not the new. I will honour that by marrying in front of the Heart Tree.”

It was strange, that the older they got, the more they began to prefer their fathers Gods. Raised keeping to the Seven and then seeming to convert. Rickon had never kept to the New Gods, saying the sept made him feel 'funny' – and when he was older claimed it made him uncomfortable – while Arya was too impatient for the New Gods, she eventually began heading to the Godswood to pray at the age of nine. He had drifted between to two faiths. Always going to the sept with his mother, Robb and Sansa; yet he also wandered out to the Heart Tree some days finding just as much – if not more – solace there. Robb spent more time in the sept than the Godswood, but knew that Robb had been spending more time by the Heart Tree since Sansa's departure than he had in the sept.

Sansa had not had much time for the Old Gods until her betrothal to Joffrey. After the announcement any time she spent in the sept was at her mothers request, and she showed only to keep up the pretence of contentment. She had suddenly began occasionally heading to the Heart Tree when she believed mother would not know.

Bran had never asked her about the drastic change of belief, but sometimes there were things that people did not need to know.

Mother had always said that the Old Gods were more cruel and cold than the Seven. Many did not believe in the Old Gods because it was hard to let in Gods who did very little in return.

Gods never do anything. Bran thought bitterly to himself. They mess with peoples lives and let them suffer. There is no God in existence that ever really helps.

“Gendry said he was considering volunteering to go south with Robb and father.” Arya muttered, staring ahead at their brother and new good-sister. “Says they might need a smithy.”

Slowly, he turned to look at his sister. Lips pressed together, and voice low, he felt a little wary. “Arya- This is not a war they are going south for. This is Sansa and Jon. They are not planning or wanting to attack the Lannisters.”

“What if the Lannisters attack them.”

He knew he had to be careful. Arya was temperamental at the best of times, and to throw her into one of her moods during their brothers wedding would be disastrous. But there were some things that just had to be said. Some things that had to be put to a halt before anything stupid happened.

“Surly you would be far more worried about your brother and father than t- Gendry.” He was not trying to offend, simply remind. He hoped that Arya understood that. “I know he is your friend but-”

Her nose twitched and she scoffed. “Friend? A friend would make me my sword. He's just the smithy. My nemesis.”

A laugh slid out past his lips. “Your nemesis? Really. I thought the only person in Winterfell with a nemesis was Rickon.”

At the mention of his name Rickon leaned forward, eyes focusing on them. “It isn't a joke. Chef Arthur is evil, and will one day pay for what he did.”

Nodding solemnly Arya met Brans eyes. “I have two nemesis'. Gendry and Theon. And it is no laughing matter. When you find your nemesis, you will understand.”

“If having a nemesis is this dramatic, then I hope I never find one.”

The truth was often hard to swallow. She had learned that at an impossibly young age. It was a lesson she had learned around the same time she had learned that anything she wanted she had to take for herself.

“Sansa is my cousin.”

It was knowledge she already knew, but instead she simply nodded.

Sansa was in the Vale of Aryn with Jon Targaryen. Lord Baelish had been beside himself when the Knights had returned empty handed. Even more beside himself when it was confirmed that the two had been on the ship; as they had seen a large white Direwolf, confirming that the Prince and Lady had been travelling north.

According to Lady Lysa, it would be easy enough to hunt out a Direwolf in the Vale, and that neither Jon or Sansa had been to their Kingdom before and so would not necessarily know where to go. They could quite easily be found if everyone worked together to find them. Lord Baelish seemed to stitch himself back together and was somewhat enthusiastic about the idea.

“Joffrey would be so pleased to be reunited with his betrothed and her dear cousin.”

Pressing her lips together she looked to Robert, fear pressing against her heart. “Joffrey is not betrothed to Sansa.”

Cocking his head to the side, curiosity shone in his eyes.

“Once the Lannisters have leverage, everything we want will start falling into place.”

She did not know what Baelish or Lady Lysa wanted, nor did she wish to know. It made her blood run cold and her heart stutter.

“I thought they were.” Roberts head cocked to the side. “Mother said the Prince stole her away because he was jealous.”

Myrcella shook her head. “Lord Eddard broke the betrothal and my grandfather wanted to wed Sansa to Tyrion. I think the Prince is just trying to help return her safely to Winterfell.”

When they hear wood scrape against stone they flee. Padded feet rushing them away from the hall and away from each other.

Officially, Myrcella is yet to meet Robert Arryn. Lady Lysa has kept them apart and it frustrates Myrcella. She feels like a prisoner locked away in a tower. She feels like Sansa, trapped in her betrotheds home with no real friends. Looked down upon as if she is nought but a nucience or a pest; a pawn in a game she does not want any part in.

Except she is not Sansa. No one lays a hand on her, and no one spends enough time around her to truly demean, belittle or attempt to manipulate her – not that that her mother ever successfully manipulated Lady Sansa. Unlike Sansa who had Tyrion, she had Robert. Her betrothed was not cold or cruel to her. He visited her when he could, watching her cautiously as if he was a broken bird and she was a hungry cat. They did not talk about much; he liked sweet foods and fell sickly a little too often and his favourite colour was blue like the summer skies – blue like her eyes.

Sometimes they talked about politics. He was a growing boy whose mother treated him as though he was but two and toddling. She kept him in the dark shadows and he was starting to rebel. She was a growing girl whose mother taught her about power and lies from childhood. She was taught to stand in the light and she was starting to rebel.

So Myrcella told him what she could, and when they were able they would listen in to what Lady Lysa and Lord Baelish were discussing. Learning about the world outside the Eyrie; and Robert's naïve mind would try to turn it into something he understood. But he was maturing and knew that the blanket his mother kept him under would not last forever.

“I'm the Lord of the Eyrie.” He had said quietly one night. “With my father almost- almost- ill. I should be in charge.”

She hummed in agreement, fingers absently playing with the fabric she had been embroidering moments before hand.

“I know nothing of ruling my own lands.” The admission was even quieter, and his head was lowered. Even in the dim candle-light, she could see the colour of his cheeks darken.

He's ashamed. Her mind whispered.

“I do.” She replied somewhat cautiously. “I know about ruling a keep and it's lands. I could help you learn if you wish, my lord.”

“Robert.” He had replied. “You are allowed to call me Robert.”

And the world felt a little less lonely.

“When?”

His door had been all but slammed open. He didn't have to look up to know that the fury and desperation was rolling off his sister in waves.

Almost lazily, he rolled onto his back before sitting up. Digging his hands into his furs, he cocked his head to the side. Arya was staring at him, her emotions clear as day on her face. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, and skin as pale as snow. Her hair was wild, as though she had been caught in a storm.

“When, what?” He asked, feeling almost cocky.

Then defeat took over his sisters expression. The desperation so clear in her eyes that he almost wondered if he knew his sister at all.

“When will we see them again. You say you know these things, so when?”

His jaw almost dropped in shock. Arya Stark did not believe he knew things. Arya Stark did not believe in fate or magic. Arya Stark barely even believed in the Gods. There was only one reason she had come to him. Only one reason in the whole world that she would be desperate enough to 'stoop so low' and ask him.

Arya Stark was scared.

He didn't know. It did not work the way Arya wanted it to work. He only knew what he knew, not what he wanted to know.

“Eventually.” He replied, sounding almost bored.

“That- That is not an answer Rickon.”

With a shrug he flopped back, head hitting the pillow. “Bran said the future wasn't set in stone.” A small sigh slid out past his lips. “Six moons.” The lie tumbled past his lips, because Arya would start screaming if he told her the truth. She would scream and yell and cry herself hoarse. And if he was lucky; really, truly lucky – his lie would be some kind of truth.

If they were lucky. If the future wasn't set in stone-

Maybe he was wrong about everything.

“Are you sure?”

“Bran said the future wasn't set in stone.” He repeated, closing his eyes.

Despite the darkness, he could still, practically see his sister vibrating with frustration.

“Rickon-”

“It's the best I can do.”

And even if it wasn't enough it was still the truth. All he could do was his best. Even if his best was a thinly veiled lie.

For Arya, he would try. He would try and make it work the way she wanted it to work, because Arya never revealed when she was scared. Not to Robb. Not to Bran. Not to him. So he would try, because seeing Arya scared was the most terrifying thing in the world.

Watching Robb and father ride off was one of the hardest things he had ever done. The Direwolves howled as their brother ran after his partner. Did the wolves feel the same pain he had at the loss of their brother? He believed they must.

There was a large number of men riding from Winterfell and his heart ached. Arya was stood on his right, next to their lady mother. Eyes glistening and hands curled into fists. She had barely uttered a word all day; a terse goodbye to father, Robb and Theon, along with a promise to do as she was told. Rickon had been just as quiet, eyes never straying from the men on the backs of the horses.

He hoped it would not be so grim and quiet until the men returned.

When everyone began returning to the keep, his mother remained staring out after the men. Tears had filled her eyes, fingers clinging to her dress.

“Mother? We should go back, you might catch a cold.”

Her head turned, and her eyes met his. “You are right, let us go and warm up. Perhaps the cook could prepare an early lunch.”

When her hand clasped his own, he smiled as best he could up at her. “A hearty broth sounds nice.”

The thought of some warm food made his stomach murmur, it had been a long morning. Stress made him feel hungrier, a trait he thought might come from his lady mother.

They walked back to the keep together, her hand holding his own. A small part of him wondered if she was trying to seek comfort without asking for it; ladies were so strange. Whenever Arya got upset she would turn up in his chambers angry and rant about things he didn't really care about; apparently she used to go to Sansa and they would comfort one another, but Sansa wasn't there anymore and it was 'unladylike' to complain to others about her problems. He thought it was silly that ladies were not supposed to bother men with their problems, men complained to ladies all the time.

“Are you going to be alright, mother?” He asked quietly, looking up at her. “I am sure it will not be long until the return.”

Her hand tightened around his own. “I hope so, Bran. Your father and Robb are both brilliant men, I just wish they did not have to go.”

“I don't think anyone ever wants anyone to go anywhere. But because someone puts a crown on their head and lays out some rules, we bend to their wants and suddenly families are torn apart; spread all over the kingdoms to try and please people they don't even like. It's ridiculous.”

A small, quiet laugh slipped past his mothers lips. “Yes, it is rather ridiculous, isn't it.”

They had lunch in her solar. A nice, hearty broth and a rare glass of wine. With father, Robb, and Theon gone, it felt emptier than he had gotten accustom to. Arya was still quiet as she ate, Shireen happily talking to his lady mother – no doubt trying to take her mind off their missing family members. Rickon was talking to Meera about weaponry, much to mothers displeasure. Talla was telling Jojen all about Horn Hill, her face alight as she spoke.

“Why do things have to change?” Arya muttered under her breath, spoon dragging against the bottom of her bowl.

With a shrug, he gave a small sigh. “That's just life.” With a glance to their mother, he lowered his voice. “Did Gendry go?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I don't know. I didn't see him. His friend Hot Pie had been arguing with him over whether he should go or not – somethin' about unstable finances. But I really don't know.”

Each breath felt as though it was burning her chest . The pain in each and every muscle throbbed with each step she took. The certainty of her own demise slowly consumed her. It would not be soldiers, guards, highway men, murderers, or wild creatures that ended her. No. It would be the aching of her body that would become so intense that she would simply drop dead from the pain.

“We need a horse.”

A simple nod was the only response she gave, her body feeling weak from the near-constant running.

“I could steal one, but-”

But it was stealing; something neither of them would be overly comfortable with. Taking something from someone who has so little would be cruel. Wrong. Nor was it the small people's fault that their Warden had turned against the realm. To steal from them would be wrong, and neither herself or Jon had the ability to pay for much of anything.

“Sansa, are you alright?”

Once again, she nodded. “Of course.” Her voice wavered, and her eyes burned.

The pain was not something she was accustom to. She could remember when she was just a girl, Robb used to complain that training with Ser Rodrik made him ache and hurt. Part of her suspected she was feeling something akin to what Robb had felt then.

She almost snorted out a laugh when she realised that Arya would not be hurting if she was with Jon. Arya had trained with a sword and a bow. Arya loved to run around, as wild as her Direwolf.

“I am not accustom to this kind of exercise.” She admitted, feeling embarrassed.

A small laugh slipped out past Jon's lips. “Neither am I. Fighting, I can do that. Constantly running for my life? If Aegon could see me now, he would never let it go.” It was as he spoke, she realised he sounded rather out of breath. “I am truly sorry about all of this, Sansa. I-”

“It is okay, Jon. We should have known this would never have been as easy as we hoped.”

And honestly, what had they been thinking? That the Gods were on their side? She should have known that the Gods were working against her. They had been for so long; putting together some plan she really did not want to be a part of. She wanted a nice life; a good life. Nothing story worthy. Just a nice husband, happy children, and being able to write to – or see – her family whenever she wished to. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for?

Maybe it was what she was destined for. To struggle for survival at all costs. To be torn from her family and die alone. Perhaps the Gods would be cruel enough to rip Jon from her before they got to the Riverlands – the Riverlands that were being torn asunder by Joffrey Baratheon. Who would most certainly catch them if they crossed into the Kingdom on foot.

“It is a shame we could not ride Ghost as though he were a horse.” She stated, thoughts of her own Direwolf slipping into her mind. She wondered where Lady was, how far from Winterfell her Wolf had gotten. The taste of blood was an almost constant in the back of her throat, and it horrified her to think she was adjusting to it.

“I do believe that would draw an awful lot of attention to us.” Though a faint smile tugged at Jon's lips.

“I hope he is alright. I would hate to think that something awful may have happened to him. That the men-”

“He is fine, Sansa. I promise.”

She wanted to say that he could not possibly know that, but then they were connected. Just as she was with Lady; she knew that Lady was fine. That Lady was getting further and further away from Winterfell by the hour. She knew that – so long as nothing terrible happened to her or Jon – she would be reunited with her Direwolf before long. It made her heart sing to think that she would soon be reunited with her Lady.

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

She didn't question him, because it was quite possible that he was telling the truth. He uttered the words with such conviction that she believed him; believed that maybe Ghost was going to be perfectly okay. And if Ghost was okay, maybe that meant they would be okay too.

Instead, she took in a deep breath. “We need a horse.” Rubbing her hands together, she tried to squash down the guilt that began bubbling in her stomach at the thought of theft. “If we continue like this, I do not expect we will get very far if we are discovered. If we keep a note of where we took the horse from, we could repay the owner once we are safe.”

“Or we could steal from one of the knights whose job it is to hunt us out. No doubt we can take a Knights horse from a tavern somewhere.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “I would certainly feel less guilty over that.”

“Exactly.”

Chapter Text

Please, I shall add 1000 gold dragons to your pay if you do this. I begging you Podrick.

Brienne of Tarth did not expect a Lannister of all people to beg. When her new, recently employed, and wholly unwanted squire had been handed to her care - thrust upon her along with a handsome payment - she had hoped that would have been the last or he Lannister dealings.

Apparently not.

Her plan had been to finally swear fealty to Renly, and yet every time she tried to it felt wrong. As though he had never truly been her path.

Sighing, she adjusted the saddle on her horse, and glanced at the wine stained parchment once more. 

Podricks loyalty to his former master was incomprehensible to her. That much loyalty to one person, from a family who cared for nothing but their own.

Yet the letter indicated nothing of the sort. Intercept lady Sansa, escort her safely home. My father intends to ensure she does not make it.  

This is not the desperate message of a man loyal to his family. She knows little of the Starks, only that they are honest and true. If Lady Sansa was ever much like her Lady Mother - Whom Brienne had had very few, but always very positive interactions with - then ignoring Tyrion's plea would be undoing.

It was her duty to defend, and defending a lost and hunted Stark was more noble a cause for now. 

Ending a war was a priority with benefits. Perhaps, if she saved the Stark girl, and the Crown Prince she would finally be recognised as a true potential warrior. 

Sighing she gestured her head to Pod. “The Vale, you say?”

Pod nodded loyally. “Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps, once we reach Winterfell, we can fetch you a new sword. The one the Lannisters gave you will not be entirely adequate for this mission.”

“We need to talk.” 

It was almost horrifying, the way Theon sounded so serious. The way he looked so serious. Stating Robb in the eye so sharp, so clear, so sure .

“What about?” 

His heart hammered in his chest. There were far too few and yet far too many conversions that started that way.

“I am loyalty to House Stark, now and always, you know that.’

Blinking, he nodded, hand coming up to rest on Theons shoulder. The touch lasted barely a moment before Theon shrugged it off. 

“You also know I'm not a Stark. I'm not like the Reeds. I'm no Shireen. I was taken as a prisoner, and fortunate enough to have been raised as a child by loving parents.”

He despised it.

Despised the reminder that Theon was never in Winterfell willingly. His best friend was never truly one of them. If he could change that he would. 

He will, one day. 

Theon, as always, is better at guessing what is on Robb's mind first. “Even if I was free to go, I would never. Not in a way that matters. I am here by your side.”

As it always was.

As it always should be.

“But as a Lord of Winterfell and future Warden of the North, you cannot cross the borders. Not without penalty.” Theon was certain. He was sure.

Robb would never be able to change his mind.

“If I cannot find them in a fortnight, I will return empty handed. If I do not return in a fortnight then I have found them, or I have failed.”

No . 

He would accept the answer. 

However sure and certain he was of his decision, Robb knew it hinged on his own response. If he said no, Theon would stay by his side. Where he belonged.

Robb and Theon. As it had always been. As it should always be.

Best friends forever and always.

Robb could not imagine his life without Theon next to him. The longest they had been separated was scarcely two days for causing trouble in their lessons. 

Two weeks?

“For Sansa.” Theon says steadily. “ Our sister.” Despite how solid and steady his gave is, the upwards twitch of his lips was the rare kind of tentative. The rare smile, Robb believes he is the only one to see.

Best friend privilege.

“Two weeks, and the only reason you will not make it back by then, is if you have found them.”

Theon nods his head, lips pulling into his usual smug smirk. “As you wish, my lord .”

Robbs heart stutters in the same way he has been ignoring for years, as he nods once in return.

“I trust you.”

Theon pulls him into a hug. “I go, for you. Because you cannot.” Pulling back, his steely eyes are burning into Robbs. “I will go as an extension of you, not in replacement.”

Robb is a man married. Robb is a man grown. Robb is the future of Winterfell.

“If you are to be an extension of me, you ought to have my protection. Grey Wind should be an adequate companion, no?”

Still, his eyes burn with tears he hopes no one but his best friend sees.

Theons close enough he feels his breath on his face. “Yeah, Robb, that would be adequate.”

“Are you serious?” Arya is understandably furious. “That's what you two, and Robb , have been keeping secret?”

It was inevitable Arya was going to find out. No one has seen Lady since she disappeared. Everyone picked up on it, and Rickon has decided sleep is not nearly as important as finding their sisters Direwolf.

“And I wasn't invited?”

Guilt coils in Bran's chest as he shrugs. “Rickon dragged me out of bed, Robb caught us at the gate. If we took you with us, there would have been a hunting party and we would have had no chance at finding Lady.”

Arya snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, cause obviously you all did a phenomenal job at finding her. Nymeria and I would have found her before she was out the Godswood.”

Bran wants to argue that it is very unlikely to be true. Unfortunately Arya is ridiculously stubborn and incredibly motivated. If anyone could have done it, it would have been a Rickon-Arya competition based team up.

So all he really can say to that is “Probably. Maybe they are scared of proof of your prowess.”

She frowns deeply at that. The fury and rage he was expecting had yet to burn into a wildfire. It hurt more knowing she was genuinely upset and hurt, than furious over being slighted. 

“I would never exclude you from something if I didn't think it would cause you more problems. Mother is already talking about your potential betrothal options.”

Arya's head snapped up, eyes boring into his with the kind of fear that rarely saw in her face.

“No.”

Swallowing, he plays with his own fingers. “Does she know about your cr-”

“ Brandon .”

“Maybe she would be okay with it.”

“A smithy?” Arya raised a brow. “I'm absolutely certain she would find that worse than the time Robb drunkenly kissed that stable boy after Theons sixteenth name day celebrations.”

Bran winced. He didn't remember the incident at all, but he sure had heard about it from Sansa and Arya. Funnily enough Theon had never used it to make fun of Robb, other than one comment which was along the lines of if you're gonna kiss a boy at a birthday banquet should it not have been the birthday boy ?

Bran does remember that part because Robb and Theon were banned from going into Wintertown together for at least eight moons.

Not that Bran or Arya thinks Robb and Theon have ever kissed each other. Robb is a proper Lord, and Theon likes to try and impress everyone too much.

Personally, Bran doesn't get the big deal. He knows Sansa has kissed Jeyne Poole for practice before her betrothal. Arya kissed a pretty serving girl a few times not for practice, but because she wanted to and she should be allowed to indulge in her childish crushes before she's sold off - her words, not his. 

Bran isn't really sure he wants to try kissing girls. It's why he wants to join the Kingsguard one day. No need for kissing anyone.

Sometimes he thinks Jojen's smile is nice enough that he could be willing to try it, but he's not a girl. Practicing kissing with boys would make his mother furious. 

And is it worth his mother's wrath if it turns out he does not like it? 

“I think, if he has not left with Robb, maybe you should chance it? Before you are sold off.”

Is he a good brother? Maybe. Encouraging a sister to follow her heart should be considered a good thing. Is he a bad brother? Well telling his high born sister to follow her heart is probably a dangerous endeavour that is going to get her heart broken.

“We have a back up.” Is all Arya says. “A deal that should get us both what we want one day.”

Bran knows his face is crumpling into something weird. “One day is going to be sooner than we expect Arya. I expect that isn't going to be completely achievable anymore.”

It wasn't what she wanted to hear, and Bran did feel bad, but their mother sounded adamant about Arya being the next to be betrothed.

Two days of riding on horseback and her legs were in pain.

Yet, something was calling to her. Pulling each foot forward. Step, by step, tugging her into the woods. 

Distantly she heard Jon calling for her, but this was it . 

The tight rippled of the overwhelming chokehold in her chest had tears slipping down her cheeks as she took each step. 

Nausea bubbled in her stomach and yet she knew it would not come to pass. It was the emotion. 

The desperation.

A howl echoed in her mind, as as she blinked she could feel the dirt under her paws. Could see the light pooling under the trees with each desperate pad of a paw. The howl was louder here, with her eyes closed. A second, snow white set of paws bounding just ahead.

Ghost had found a friend .

And so she slipped further into the woods, eyes open and then closed. Closing just enough to get her bearings. Just enough to hope she was getting close.

Then she closed her eyes mid step, and watched as a sniffing muzzle came round a tree and glanced up.

With her eyes closed, hands clutching her arms, and eyes screwed shut, she could see herself .

Opening her eyes, the tears flooded down her cheeks. 

Ignoring Jon's calls for her, a wail bubbled out through her chest. “ Lady !” 

Lady ran. 

She ran.

They collided and it was the first time in Sansa Starks life where she was ever so thankful to be slammed into the ground. A mass of fur and heavy, panting break burying itself into her neck as she sobbed. Arms wrapped as tightly around her Direwolf as possible.

Despite everything, her Lady had come for her. Her Lady had found Ghost.

It was almost as if they were half way home already.