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Alys Karstark
Her father had not wanted her to foster. Her mother had insisted on it. “Ned, you would keep all the children here if you acould,” she had said with exasperation. “But we need to be reasonable about this.”Her father relented, but did not send her far, only to Karhold. Sansa was glad of it. She found a friend in Karstark’s daughter, Alys, who was of age with her. They had lessons together, they embroidered and prayed and played in the snow together. Harrion took them riding the way Robb might have if they had been in Winterfell.In Alys, she found a sister. Ironically, Alys had some resemblance to Arya – she liked to hawk and run and laugh too loudly at a feast. She pulled Sansa into wild dances and dared her to learn how to shoot a bow.Sansa, unconvinced that this was necessary, allowed Alys to teach her. She pinned up her skirts and stood in the yard, aiming at straw targets with Alys standing behind her, correcting her stance, her hold on the bow, the position of her arms.Touching her arms, her legs, her waist.Sansa blushed and could not concentrate on the lesson.Alys smiled and seemed to provoke her.In the end, Sansa found more than a friend or a sister in Alys Karstark.
Brienne of Tarth
When the winning knight took off his helm before the crowd, Sansa gasped. The winning knight was a woman, tall and ungainly, with freckles and sandy-blonde hair. The Knight of Tarth was Lady Brienne, or so everyone around her whispered. The tourney crowd gasped and gawked and shouted and cheered. Sansa suddenly realized that she had stood during the last joust, her heart beating in her throat. She had already known that the knight from Tarth was the most gallant and honorable fighter. She had expected to see a young and handsome lad, but instead was faced with the most luminous blue eyes in a strong and earnest face that she had ever seen on anyone – man or woman.She realized that Brienne had asked for her favor several jousts back. Sansa had held it out to her, hardly hearing her words over the roar of the crowd. She had only thought then that it seemed ungallant somewhat to not show one’s face when asking for a lady’s favor. But now she cared little about it.“Is she truly a knight?” one girl behind Sansa was asking. “Can a woman be knighted?”“Nonsense,” the girl’s father replied. “It’s unnatural.”Sansa had half a mind to turn around and tell them off. Why could they simply not appreciate the talent, the bravery? It made for such a sweet song.That was when she realized that Brienne was riding to their side of the stands with the crown for her Queen of Love and Beauty. Sansa watched with bated breath, excited to see whom Brienne would crown, some part of her heart hoping it would be her. After all, did Brienne not ask for her favor before?Brienne reined in directly before Sansa. She was now so close that Sansa could see the beads of sweat on her forehead and count the freckles across her nose. “My lady,” Brienne said hoarsely, suddenly flushing. “If I may.”Sansa felt the color riding in her cheeks as well when Brienne reverently placed the crown of roses on her head.There was a moment of silence that seemed to last a lifetime. Then, applause and cheers and hoots broke through the stillness.Sansa curtsied, still bright red, and hoped she would get to see her champion at the feast later that night.
Cersei Lannister
Cersei ran the brush slowly through her little dove’s hair. What beautiful auburn waves, so thick and fresh. And this girl, so innocent and naïve. Cersei had been like that once. Or perhaps she had not – she could not recall a time when she had been quite so foolish. But surely, she had also been a young girl once. But then, the maids of King’s Landing and Casterly Rock and Highgarden learned the tricks of society at their mother’s knee. This girl, however, was enchanting in her strange innocence. It was as though her mother and father had never bothered to educate her on court life.All the better for Cersei.How sweetly Sansa Stark blushed at every compliment, at ever touch to her soft, ivory skin. How lovely she opened her eyes wide, big and blue. So many things about womanhood that Cersei could and would teach her.But, sometimes, Cersei doubted. This was a wolf girl, after all. Her sister’s monster had attacked Cersei’s own darling boy and Sansa had had a beast like it too. Although, Cersei had made sure that Robert made Ned Stark dispose of it. But the girl still had that savage wildness flowing through her veins. One day, she might show her teeth.That’s alright, Cersei thought, meeting the little dove’s eyes and shy smile in the mirror with a smirk of her own. A wolf might have teeth, but Cersei was a lion, and lions had their own claws.
Daenerys Targaryen
“Your Grace.” Sansa stopped in the center of the chamber, realizing that the Queen was not sat on the iron throne, nor was the audience hall full. In fact, they were alone. This was not what Sansa had expected when she had received the summons.Daenerys turned and gave her a small, half-smile. “Lady Sansa. I’m glad to see you.’“You sent for me, Your Grace.” Sansa lowered her head slightly in a sign of deference. She and the dragon queen had had their difference over the last couple of years of war. Daenerys was a woman of action, driven by her ideals and her ambitions, sometimes by a sort of idealism that Sansa would not have expected her to have. Sansa, on the other hand, had grown more cautious, more aware of the traps that politics and strife laid before Daenerys. The mother of dragons expected to be welcomed home with open arms, but quickly had that wish dashed. But even after, that hope dwelled somewhere deep within her – that this land that should have been her home would accept her.Sansa knew too well of longing for home. But she still thought Daenerys too headstrong sometimes, too openly opinionated. She did prove to be a good leader, however, when she cared to listen to counsel, at least.Now, with the war over, and much of the land in need of rebuilding, Sansa found herself in King’s Landing, the lawful wife to the Hand of the Queen, and once again in close proximity to Daenerys. In peacetime, they found a working rhythm a little easier than among the anxieties of war.“Tell me, my lady,” Dany began, thoughtful as Sansa came to stand beside her, gazing up at the new tapestries of dragons at peace and at war. “Do you enjoy court?”“Well enough,” Sansa agreed, uncertain where this conversation was going. But she knew Dany enough to see she was going somewhere.“And your husband? Do you get on well? I know he respects your opinion.”Sansa considered this. “Lord Tyrion is a good man,” she said finally. “But we are not…in love, if that is what you are asking, Your Gace.”At this, Daenerys turned fully to face her, eyes bright. “Sansa. I have come to rely very much on your counsel in these past many months… Casterly Rock needs a lord, and that lord is your husband. I had half a mind to send him to the Westerlands to properly oversee that lordship, at least for now. But that would leave me short of a Hand…”“Would you have me prepare a list of candidates?” Sansa asked, somehow feeling disappointed. I would rather stay at court with you, she wanted to say, but did not.Daenerys shook her head, quickly. “No, actually. I was hoping that you might agree to be my Hand.”“Me?”“Why not? If I can be Queen, my most trusted lady could surely be my Hand.” She reached out to take Sansa’s hand. “If she so wishes.”Sansa looked down at their clasped hands, their fingers intertwined, and something much like yearning gnawed at the pit of her stomach. “I’d like that,” she whispered.
Eleyna Westerling
Robb’s wife, Jeyne, was sweet and lovely, all doe-eyes and shy smiles. She and Sansa had gotten along splendidly from the very first.Jeyne’s sister was different – sharp wit and a heart full of ambition. A heart full of resentment for her sister as well. Sansa had not wanted to ask at first why this was – Eleyna Westerling frightened her a little. She presented a stunning, commanding figure at the Northern court, even though her position was always uncertain. But Lady Eleyna always knew how to carry herself with grace and dignity, her signature sapphire blue dress and tightly done up sandy-blonde hair a sight to entrance many a young squire.It took many moons and several turns of taking Eleyna into her bed before Sansa finally came up with the courage to ask: “Sometimes I get the sense you don’t like it here. Why is that?”Eleyna turned over onto her stomach in their bed, folding her arms under the pillow. “Really, Sansa. Politics in bed?”“It’s not politics. It’s… You seem unhappy and I don’t like that.”Eleyna shrugged. “I’m not unhappy. It’s only cold here.” Sansa looked at her expectantly until Eleyna sighed and continued. “My sister and I are somewhat at odds. Nor am I much endeared to your brother, though I probably should not say that about the king.”Sansa reached out to stroke her shoulder. “Has Robb offended you in some way?”Elayna laughed. “Except for the part where he took my father’s castle, deflowered my sister, and made traitors out of all of us?”Sansa frowned. “Jeyne loves Robb. She cannot help that. And my brother was at war with the Lannisters—”“Was that our fault?”“No, but what choice had he? Your father was sworn to them.”“Jeyne has always thought only of herself.”“I don’t think that’s true.”Eleyna did not answer, only stared at the headboard morosely.Sansa considered her for a moment. “But you came here to be with her.”“Is that what she told you?” Eleyna looked over at her sharply, eyes narrowed. In bed, her dark blonde hair was loose and fell over her face and shoulders in long, exquisite waives. She was pretty in a different way from her sister. In everything, it seemed, Jeyne took more after her father, while Eleyna took after her mother. The difference was striking sometimes. “I’m here because my father sent me here. I cannot find a good match in the Westerlands. But he is convinced that my sister the Queen can help me.”Sansa took her hand from Eleyna’s shoulder, hurt by the implication. “Do you wish to get married?” She bit her lip. “If you do not want Jeyne’s help, I could—”Eleyna was shaking her head before Sansa could finish. “You’re the sweetest, warmest thing this far North, Sansa. I would rather stay in this bed with you than wed. But I cannot say this to Father. And I’m tired of being looked at strangely by everyone. At least here I’m the Queen’s sweet sister. Better than being Lord Westerling’s traitor daughter’s sister.”Sansa winced. “Do they truly still think of Jeyne like that? Even now? With the peace?”“People like to think badly of others, so they don’t forget that kind of thing easily.”“I’m sorry.”Eleyna rolled over and rested her head on Sansa’s breast. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t resent you for loving your brother, you know.”“Why thank you,” Sansa teased, “that’s very kind of you to say.”Eleyna swatted at her. “Tell me, Sansa. Do you wish to wed?”Sansa leaned down and kissed her. “I would rather stay in this bed—with you.”
Frynne
After her first fortnight in Dorne, Princess Arianne took Sansa to the Water Gardens. Arianne said it was the most beautiful and joyful castle in Dorne. Sansa could believe it almost immediately – in this land of sand, sun and heat that always threatened to leave Sansa’s pale skin red and blistered, the Water Gardens were an oasis. The palace was full and lush with greenery, waterworks and water pools, overflowing with laughing children, noble and commonborn alike, all playing together in the water to avoid the sweltering heat.Some of the pools and nooks were quieter, and Sansa enjoyed sinking into the cool, azure waters of a pool and watching the sun bunnies dance across the water. Occasionally, Arianne or one of her ladies would join Sansa, but it was the girl Frynne who became Sansa’s companion. Frynne was common-born, the daughter of a smith. Her presence among Arianne’s ladies had startled her at first, but the Princess explained that Frynne had been her friend and companion when they were children.“We would always play in these pools with Princess Arianne,” Frynne explained, passing Sansa a colorful drink of something definitely stronger than cider and falling back into the water to float on her back. “Arianne would climb onto my shoulders and we would play the shoulder-riding game and win quite often too.”“What’s the shoulder riding game?” Sansa asked, her eyes drawn unwillingly to Frynne’s tanned, lithe body.“Oh, it’s very fun! One person plays the horse and the other the rider, and you pretend to joust with other pairs and try to topple them into the water.”Sansa giggled. “That does sound very childish and fun.”“Did you have such games in the North, m’lady?”Sansa shook her head, but she told Frynne about the games she used to play as a child with her siblings: building snow castles, doing battle with snowballs, sledding and sliding down ice-crusted hills into stacks of dry leaves.The days were long and lazy with Frynne. There were no politics, or intrigues, or hidden meanings to every word, only laughter, stories, colorful drinks and fruit. And when Frynne kissed her under the cloak of twilight one evening, Sansa began to think that if she could not go home, she might find a new one in Dorne.
Gwin Goodbrother
The treaty between the North and the Iron Islands required an exchange of brides – a suite of northern girls were sent with the Northern embassy to Pyke, of whom Prince Theon was to pick one to take to wife, and a suite of ironborn maidens were now presented to the underage King Bran for him to choose one as well. In a year, Bran would reach his majority and Sansa’s regency would come to an end. She did not know how to feel about this, but mainly she felt a little relieved. Bran was not quite the same since his little trip beyond the Wall – his warging and seer powers had left him a little otherworldly, sometimes speaking in cryptic riddles. Marriage did not seem a thing that excited or bothered him either way.But it did concern Sansa. After all, this was a political union first and foremost. The Islands had sent several girls, most of them around Bran’s age. There were two Goodbrother sisters that caught her eye – mostly the elder, Gwin. Her sister was pretty and sweet enough, very much a lady. Gwin was more like what Sansa might have imagined an ironborn lady to look like, although the only ironborn woman she had seen much of was Queen Asha, who was considered an exception even by her own.Gwin wore skirts to court, her chestnut brown hair pulled up in a tiny net, but there was a sharp edge to her face and her eyes, something highly intelligent and world-weary. Outside, she often wore breaches and accepted Sansa’s invitation of riding in the wolfswood gladly. She did not ride side-saddle, and was a better rider than half the ironbron delegation, from what Sansa could tell.“You must forgive me, my lady,” Sansa said, as they rode side by side. “But something tells me that being a wife and queen is not your aspiration.”“Do you think so?” Gwin flashed her a charming smile. “I did not think it was so obvious.” The pastel-blue of her tunic made her eyes seem almost aquamarine.“I did not mean it as an insult.”“I understand, Your Grace.”“Sansa, please. Princess, if you must. But I’d rather we be friends.”Gwin studied her. “My father sent me because he thought I would be insulted if the chance to be Queen fell to my little sister when I am older than she. Gwynesse is better made for marriage, though, I fear.”Sansa smiled diplomatically. “And what are you better suited for, my lady?”Gwin tilted her head up to look at the canopy of trees above them; her expression became wistful. “Oh. Hawking. Sailing. Dancing – but not like you would at court. The way the saltwives and thralls’ daughters do on the beach, where the water laps at your feet.”There was an expression on Gwin’s face that Sansa recognized as homesickness or at least a precursor to it. She had known that pain too well, and it almost made her wince. Sansa surveyed the exquisite curve of Gwin’s chin and jawline, her soft cheeks and elegant brows. She could make a beautiful queen, and perhaps a clever one as well. And Sansa had to admit she would like to keep Lady Gwin’s company for herself for even a little longer.She realized her heart was racing.“My mother enjoyed hawking,” Sansa said to fill the suddenly heavy silence. “She had promised to teach my sister and I when we got old enough but… She never got the chance.”Gwin looked over at her, catching the hitch in Sansa’s voice. “I lost my mother when I was a girl too. It really is terrible, isn’t it, how lost you can feel without a mother in the world?”Sansa nodded, swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat. She spurred her horse to not have to meet Lady Gwin’s eyes for too long. “Lady Wyla, who made suit to my brother before the treaties, grew up near the sea in White Harbor. You might find a friend in her in the North.”Suddenly, Gwin pulled up in front of her, making Sansa’s horse stop suddenly and clumsily stumble back. Sansa gasped, grasping at the reins. Gwin reached out and caught the bridal, holding the mare still. “If your brother does choose me, Princess, it is you I would like to have as a friend.”Sansa stared at her, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “I think my brother is leaning toward the Volmark girl, in truth, though I would prefer a Harlaw.” Sansa hid her eyes, a spark of coquettish mischief suddenly coursing through her. “But I do not see why we could not be friends, regardless, my lady.”
Harry Hardyng
“Al—My Lady?” Harry stood frozen in the doorway to her chambers; Sansa could feel his eyes on her.She fidgeted with the hem of her gown, a little listless, wishing he had not come up to see her before the banquet and the ceremony. Frankly, she was not entirely glad to have to face him at all. The deception had not been of her doing entirely, or of her will, but she could not claim to not have played a part in it. Petyr told her to not fear the fallout – there was naught Harry could do at this point, nor was there anything he would want to do. Any hurt pride he might hold against her would be devoured by his ambition. She did not doubt that. Harry had plenty of ambition, even if he did not build his life around it the way some people did.But she had not wished for him to marry her for ambition. Harry had fallen in love with Alayne Stone – or at least had been infatuated with her. Would he have the same feelings for Sansa Stark? I am still the same person, Sasna thought bitterly. But was that even true? She could be freer as Alayne, and Harry likely felt more at ease with a baseborn girl. Now, with titles and politics and duties between them, not to mention the lies he would surely blame her for, would any of those feelings remain?She was so tired of merely being a pawn, of only doing what she must, of everyone only looking at her and seeing Winterfell. But she had made a sort of peace with it before – no one would marry her for love.At least until Harry. She would rather he walk away from her entirely than marry her for power.Slowly, Sansa turned to face her betrothed. “My lord.” She curtsied, the courtesies and pleasantries comforting and grounding.Harry closed the door behind himself. “You are still very beautiful. Moreso, I suppose.”“Thank you, my lord.”“I thought you called me Harry now.”“I thought you called me by name,” Sansa parried, but her voice frayed a little at the end. She had to admit she was frightened. Silly, foolish girl. Have you not grown up at all? Perhaps she was incapable of it.“And which name would that be?” Harry asked, his tone suddenly sharp.Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She could not stand to justify herself to him.“You lied to me,” Harry said, his expression crumbling. He was hurt. She’d hurt him.Sansa blinked away the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes. She crossed the room to him in quick, hasty steps, but stopped just out of reach, not daring to cross the line into his personal space, uncertain if he would allow her to. “I had no choice,” she whispered.“Didn’t you? I thought it was strange that a baseborn girl would not let me bed her.”“Even a baseborn girl may have honor.”He scoffed but immediately shook his head and looked away. “But see I was willing to wait. Except— Well, what am I to do now? I’ve given my word, Lady Sansa. And not only to you, but to others.”Sansa swallowed down the tears that threatened to choke her. She would not lose her dignity. “I’m certain no one would fault you if you withdrew your promise. Under these circumstances.” She could almost hear Petyr hissing in her ear that she was being a fool, but freeing Harry was the only thing she could think of to assuage her guilt.Harry hesitated, giving her a sideway glance. “Do you wish for me to call off the wedding?”“No. Of course I do not. Only—”“It would very much ruin your plans. And the Lord Protector’s.” His lip curled in a snarl, the anger he felt seeping past the hurt now. “But I do suppose your feelings for me were a lie as well. Harry the Fool they’d better call me now.”“No!” Sansa rushed forward, resting her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look into her face. It was the most unladylike thing she had ever done as Sansa, but perhaps something of Alayne had taken root too deeply in her to simply be washed out like a vail of hair dye. “I may have lied to you about my name and origin, but I had little choice in that. But I am still the same girl. And my feelings for you have not changed.”Harry looked at her, thoughtful. He reached out and stroked the outline of her face with one hand. Sansa closed her eyes against his touch, pleading with the gods to just let her have this one thing. “Ala—Sansa. I don’t know what to believe right now. You must see.”‘Yes,” she agreed, distraught.“I will marry you, like I promised. But you must—you must swear to me that there will be no more lies.”She opened her eyes and looked at him with all the earnestness she could muster. “None at all, I promise. I never wanted to, to begin with. But you—Harry, you must promise me too.”He smiled a little at her, his lip curling up. “You doubt me?”“You have not always been honest with women either.”“That is untrue. I have not always been constant, but I have always been honest.”She leaned into his touch. “Well, promise me constancy then, as I have promised you honesty. We can redeem ourselves then.”“As you wish, sweetling. I promise.”
Irri
Queen Daenerys’ handmaids are girls mostly from the east. She had to take some Westerosi ladies as well, for political reasons, but the young women who had trekked with her across Essos and survived the pitfalls and trials in Mareen, remained her closest companions and confidants. At first, Sansa found this somewhat difficult – she did not know so well how to best approach these women, how to make friendly with them in the most successful way. After all, her diplomatic role in King’s Landing supposed that she was not simply socializing but making contacts, allies and sources.She spent much time listening and reading about various Dothraki customs and means of socializing. She began to approach the girl named Irri first, after finding out that she was originally the daughter of a Khal and thus could be considered of noble birth. But this turned out to be only so useful – Dothraki nobility was quite different from anything found in Westeros, and besides, the girl had been enslaved at a young enough age that she barely remembered herself when she was the beloved and pampered daughter of a king.Yet, the friendship was not fruitless. Sansa found she and Irri took well to one another, despite being quite different. Irri’s sharp wit and blunt honesty made Sansa laugh, as well as taught her a lot about the people whose favor and attention she was trying to court.There were other things she and Irri found interesting in each other. Such as the way Sansa, apparently, always smelled of flowers and Irri tasted of bitter grapes. The way they could always find the sweet spots on each other’s bodies, almost without trying. “A woman knows a woman’s body with more ease. It is known,” Irri would say as they lay in bed together, curled up after an evening of court gossip and lovemaking.That supposition might have scandalized Sansa as a girl. Now, she was far more learned in the ways of the world. In more ways than one.
Jeyne Poole
Jeyne’s hair was full of snow. She must have been out in the godswood for a long time for it to have accumulated so much that it almost entirely covered her pretty, chocolate brown braids, so that she looked like a snowmaiden painting, decked out in a while snow cap. She was kneeling in front of the old heart tree, the skirts of her dress and her gloved hands also covered in snow, her whole figure still.Sansa would have left her to her prayers if she had not felt a pang of worry. “Jeyne?” she asked softly. “Are you alright?”Jeyne looked up, startled. She blinked at Sansa through the bright daylight, large, brown eyes full of something Sasna could never quite understand or reach. They had both been through too much, and apart at that. “I’m fine.” Jeyne tried to smile for her sake, getting up slowly. “I was just…lost in thought.”“I did not mean to disturb your prayers.”“You did not.” Jeyne reached for her hand.Sansa took off one of her gloves and cupped Jeyne’s hand against her own lips, blowing gently over her fingers to warm them. “How long have you been out here?”“I’m not certain… Perhaps an hour?”“You should stop doing this. I will complain to Theon about you if you don’t.”Jeyne laughed in earnest now. “No, don’t. He has enough to worry about and I don’t want him coming all the way up here just to nag me. And he might.”“Hm.” Sansa pulled her in closer, winding her arms around her. “One thing about the sept that we did not appreciate enough as girls, is that it is much warmer in there than out here.”Jeyne rested their foreheads together. “I think we did. We did prefer it, after all.”Sansa grew serious for a moment. “No, I think—Well, I took the Faith from my mother. But you…you were raised to pray to the Old Gods alone. But I think you preferred the sept…” She bit her lip, not wanting to sound entitled.Jeyne kissed her, and said against her lips, “I preferred it for that is where you were. That is true.”
Kyra Snow
Sansa’s first kiss was a girl – a bawdy, laughing thing with large eyes and crooked teeth. Someone’s bastard daughter, who came to Winterfell sometimes on errands with her mother and played with Jeyne and Beth Cassel. Her name was Kyra Snow and she would gossip shamelessly about all the servants and some of the lords. She told them about all the boys and young men, which girls they liked and the scandalous things she had heard in town.“It’s truly awful the things she says sometimes,” Sansa insisted to Jeyne one day as they sat on the stairs leading down from the kitchens, with lemon cakes stacked in their laps. “If my mother knew, or Septa—”“So don’t tell them!” Jeyne insisted with a giggle, around a mouthful of lemon cake. “You pretend to not like Kyra, but you do!”“I am polite to her,” Sansa insisted with a sniff. “But she talks much and the most inappropriate things. Sometimes, I think she’s worse than Arya. She’s no lady.”“She isn’t a lady,” Jeyne said, rolling her eyes. “She’s a bastard, like your brother, Jon.”“Half-brother,” Sansa corrected pedantically.“Lord Cerwyn’s brother’s bastard daughter, we hear.”“No! But she’s Xenya’s age. Are you saying Rodrick Cerwyn was seeing Kyra’s mother and his lady wife at once?” Sansa clapped a hand over her mouth.Jeyne shrugged.“I don’t believe that,” Sansa insisted. “The Cerwyns are far too honorable. Her father is a landless household knight from some minor and impoverished housed, surely.”Jeyne looked put out by this assertion but did not argue, changing the subject instead. “Either way, Kyra told us yesterday while you were at the sept with Lady Catelyn that she knows all about kissing boys and that she could show us.”“Why would we want that?”Jeyne shrugged again, taking another bite of her lemon cake. “I dare you to kiss her.”“What!” Sansa squawked, flapping her hands. “I would absolutely not do that.”“Come on, Sansa. You owe me for that time with Horseface and the spiders.”Sansa sighed. She did owe Jeyne, she had promised, but…“Besides,” Jeyne continued. “Do you not want to know what to do when you meet your perfect prince or lord?”Sansa protested that sentiment but agreed to the dare. Kyra Snow was very happy to participate in a demonstration. Sansa, appalled as she was, liked the lesson far more than she ever let on to her friends, or even to herself.
Loras Tyrell
Loras swept the Tyrell bridal cloak over her shoulders, the green and gold of it bringing out a soft ivory glow in her white dress. Sansa flushed, looking up into his gallant, handsome face. She could not believe this plan had actually worked, that she was actually here, in Highgarden, getting married to a man as charming and handsome and gallant as Ser Loras, instead of in King’s Landing, suffering Joffrey’s cruelty and insults.Loras leaned in to kiss her, and Sansa closed her eyes in anticipation, her heart pounding. Loras’ lips brushed against the corner of her lips, gentle and chaste. A part of Sansa was disappointed. Of course, this marriage was arranged, and her husband may not feel very passionately about her… But certainly there would be love. Swet and gentle, if anything. Sansa had to believe that.She opened her eyes and looked into the face of her husband. Ser Loras smiled at her, a little bashful, a little awkward, to her surprise. She did not think he could look sheepish like that. He offered her his arm, and she took it, unable to hold back the smile and all the joy and relief she was feeling.Margaery came up to kiss her cheek and call her sister. Sometimes things really did work out just like in the songs.
Myrcella Baratheon
“Sansa!” Myrcella was knocking on her door impatiently, her voice much higher pitched than usual which made Sansa worry. “Sansa, please, I must speak with you.”“One moment, my princess,” Sansa called, quickly finishing off the last clip holding up her braids. Sometimes, she liked to dismiss the maids early and finish her hair herself. This had been such a morning, although now Sansa was wishing she had not done so. She gave herself a quick look in the mirror, pinched her cheeks to give them a little color, and hurried to open the door for her friend.Myrcella was indeed more than just her princess, but also her best friend. Sansa’s father had been Hand of the King since Sansa had been a small child, and she had grown up in King’s Landing. Once she flowered, she formally became a lady in waiting to the Princess Myrcella, but they had been friends and playmates even before that.Myrcella came in, alone, having abandoned whichever kingsguard was supposed to be tailing her that day out in the hallway, and immediately made her way to Sansa’s sofa. “Oh, Sansa, it’s terrible.”“What is it?” Sansa sat beside her and reached out to take Myrcella’s hand for comfort.The Princess’ golden hair glowed in the morning light and her fair skin shone with the fresh blush of youth. She was the loveliest girl Sansa knew. Myrcella had inherited all of her mother’s beauty and none of her spite. “My father is being convinced to send me off to Dorne!”“Dorne? But why?”“It did not seem like Myrcella had even heard her question. “Mother doesn’t want to, but Lord Tyrion has convinced Father that it would be a good idea as an alliance and your father is now starting to side with them as well.”“My father?” Sansa could hardly believe it. Surely her father would not do something that would make Myrcella miserable. Especially if is made Sansa miserable too. But perhaps it wasn’t all bad. “Well,” she said, reasonably, “perhaps it could be an adventure for us! Haven’t we joked about running away to Dorne? And you would needs must take your ladies.” Sansa reached out and tucked a strand of Myrcella’s hair behind her ear. In truth, the Princess was not just her best friend either.“Oh, Sansa…” Myrcella’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “But you don’t understand. I am going to Dorne to be married.”“Married?” Sansa’s stomach dropped suddenly. Of course, she knew that both she and Myrcella would need to be married someday. But she had somehow thought it would happen—well, later. Not to mention, she had always envisioned it as Myrcella marrying someone who would be closer to court. She did not expect them to be separated. On impulse, Sansa pulled Myrcella into her arms and let her bury her face into Sansa’s shoulder.“Yes,” Myrcella mumbled against her shoulder. “To Trystane Martell.”“They say he is very handsome,” Sansa said, trying to not feel too jealous. She would have felt better if the match would have been for his elder brother, Quentyn, who was not known for his good looks or Dornish charm. But of course, that was selfish of her.“I don’t care about that,” Myrcella gasped. She sat up and grabbed Sansa’s other hand. “Sansa, I—I love—”“Shh,” Sansa put a finger against the other girl’s lips. “We will think of something. I will speak to father or—or perhaps I could find a match in Dorne as well. Perhaps we can find you another match here.”“Do you think we could convince them?” Myrcella asked, hopeful.Sansa hesitated. She could not be certain of anything. But for her princess she had to try. Love always won in the songs after all, did it not? “Yes,” she said, with a brave smile.Myrcella smiled radiantly back at her.