A/N: Hey guys! As always thank you so much for reading this story! Your reviews have been beyond helpful and I'm really hoping that this chapter is something that you guys will enjoy reading. To recap, Tommen was attacked by Joffrey and found by the Starks. He was brought to the Inner City, Winterfell's underground sanctuary. Robert has gone behind Cersei's back and arranged for his two youngest to foster at Winterfell with the Starks. This chapter is mainly Arya-Sansa centric and takes place the day of the goodbye feast for the King and Queen. And as always, if you guys have any questions or suggestions for how you think the story should go, let me know!

*Disclaimer*

*As always, I own none of this. All characters, plots, and anything else come from the brilliance that is George R.R. Martin.

Chapter 4

Winterfell, 298 AC

Arya wanted to fight. She'd been stuck watching everyone let that ponce, Joffrey, win at everything under the sun just because his father was the king. If she had to witness Jon, Robb or even Theon willingly lose to that blond prick one more time she was going to scream. If only I had Needle with me, I'd show him how good he really is. Mother had confiscated her braavosi blade until the king and his family left Winterfell. Arya shuddered remembering the lecture she'd had to sit through that day. Lady Catelyn had been as fierce as Visenya when she declared that 'No daughter of mine, lady or not, will be carrying a blade in the presence of royalty!' Now she was stuck looking through the window of Septa Mordane's solar, ignoring the comments of Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel…again.

Can they think of nothing original? Honestly, with how much they seem to despise me you'd wonder why they put so little effort into their insults. Arya chuckled, the two girls really reminded her of chickens sometimes. Clucking around and picking at the dirt until they found a scrap of something interesting that they'd automatically turn on one another for. ''Lady Arya, your stiches are terribly uneven, I thought you were trying for a direwolf, not a horse face." Jeyne tittered cruelly, a demure look upon her face as Septa Mordane agreed. "Yes, Lady Arya, your stiches could use some serious work. Are you even trying, girl?" She rolled her eyes. Those insults might have started a screaming match a few years ago but now? Laughable. Syrio and Nymeria would be on the floor if they saw how stupid these girls are. "Of course, Septa Mordane, Jeyne. I was going for something a little more creative than you or Beth, I've heard that such designs are considered shallow and remarkably unpleasant in their stale repetitiveness by the master seamstresses of Essos, Dorne, Asshai, the Free Cities, and just about everywhere except this room really.' Arya replied innocently, a sweet smile upon her face 'If you'll excuse me, Septa Mordane, I believe that Lord Stark had business he wished to speak to me of at this time. Good day, Beth, oh and Jeyne, do remember to close your mouth, flies might come out." With that, she gracefully rose and left the room.

As soon as the door was behind her, Arya's gentle smile turned absolutely wicked and she resisted the urge to whoop. Their faces! Jeyne looked like she had swallowed a toad! And I don't think that I've ever rendered Mordane speechless before! The brunette made her way to her to the kitchens, feeling like the cat that ate the canary. Inside, the staff were all working on the nights feast. The royal party would be leaving soon and they'd been up since dawn preparing for their last feast in Winterfell. "Gage, do you need any help down here?" Arya called out to the Head Cook. The large man smiled, eyes twinkling kindly under bushy white brows. "I think that some of the ladies were about to start making lemon cakes, if you'd like to assist them I'm sure that you'd be welcome." Arya grinned and bolted off, her skirmish with Septa Mordane, Jeyne, and Beth set aside for the moment.

****Later that day****

Sansa laughed as Arya recounted her verbal spar with Winterfell's ladies-in-waiting and Septa Mordane. She loved watching Arya like this, carefree and animated, just being herself where no one would judge her. I can't believe that I used to hate her. How could I have been so naïve and vain? The redhead continued to laugh as Arya's arm-movements got progressively wilder. "Oh, you should have seen their faces, Sansa! Jeyne looked like she was going to faint! And Septa Mordane! You'd have thought that there was a toad in her mouth for how green she was turning!" Arya fell back on Sansa's bed, giggling with delight. Oh Gods, did she just…. "Did Arya Stark, the wolf of Winterfell, just GIGGLE?" Sansa all but cried with laughter as her little sister just giggled again in response.

The two kept laughing until a knock sounded on the chamber door. They paused looking down at their Direwolves. Visenya, Rhaenys, and Sansa's own wolf, Lady, stayed at their spots by the bed, calm and quiet. "Come in," the redhead called, unconsciously smoothing out her clothes. Bran poked his head through cautiously, "Is it ok if I stay here? Everyone else is busy right now and Rickon is sleeping." At a nod from his older sisters, the boy entered the room, Summer following behind. "So, what's the latest news about Tommen? I haven't been by the hospital wing yet." Bran asked, elbowing Arya to move over on the bed. "Well if you'd stop elbowing me I'd be able to tell you!" Sansa just sighed at Bran's sheepish expression. "Sorry, Arya" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Those two.

"It's fine, just tell us you need room next time instead of elbowing me in the side. And Tommen is stable now, thanks to Maester Aemon and Maester Luwin. Myrcella has been with him most of the day I think." The three children shared somber looks. No one envied either Baratheon sibling their current situation. "And what do the King and Queen have to say on this, Sansa?' Arya asked curiously, 'Surely they've noticed Tommen's absence from the meals and training grounds? And Myrcella constantly running off whenever Joffrey is there?" The redhead just scoffed as she reached out to pet Lady. "Queen Cersei may hate many things but her children are more precious to her than any amount of gold. She's been suspicious of Tommen's frequent vanishing acts when he's visiting Maester Aemon. Theon and Robb have been running interference as much as they can but it's good that Winterfell won't be hosting the royal party for much longer.' Sansa paused, choosing her words carefully, 'As for Myrcella, I'm not entirely sure. Queen Cersei doesn't seem too concerned which I find odd considering her usual protectiveness. I'm not sure whether to take that as a sign that Myrcella and Tommen avoiding Joffrey is normal or that she is too distracted to notice. I fear for the continued safety of the youngest royals if my first guess holds truth."

There was silence as her siblings absorbed the new information. Finally, Arya spoke, "At least Father has already taken care of that. The King has agreed to foster Tommen and Myrcella here at Winterfell on the condition that both are given consideration for betrothals within the Stark line when all of us are a few years older." Bran's face screwed up in disgust at the prospect of marriage, causing his sisters to laugh. "Bran I don't think that you'll have to worry about marriage with Myrcella. She's far more likely to be considered for Robb if she marries a Stark at all." Sansa reassured her still scowling brother. I think that Cersei would die before she saw Myrcella married to a second-son, even of an ancient house like Stark. She's far too proud to accept anything less than first-born sons of High Lords.

The three continued to talk and joke until dinner was announced. It was the last feast that the Royal Court would be present for so it was supposed to be massive. Sansa remembered seeing Arya help one of the cooks with the preparations, covered in flour and grinning with joy. When she had asked what her sister had been helping make all she got were secret smiles and Arya's sing-song reply, "You'll find out tonight, Sansa!" The staff of Winterfell truly loved her sister. And for good reason. She's the heart of this House. Said sister's cries tore Sansa out of her thoughts. "Sansa, can you help me braid my hair?! Nymeria is talking to Mother and Father!" Walking over, Sansa could see that her sister had already put on her dress, one of the gowns that she and Nymeria had designed together. It was a stormy color that brought out her sisters' smoke-like eyes. "And why can't you braid it yourself? I thought that Nymeria had taught you how ages ago?" Arya shrugged, "She did, I just don't want to tonight. Besides, you're the best person with hair that I know."

Sansa sighed, her sister might be the heart of Winterfell but she still had some growing up to do. "Fine, but just this once." She ignored the pleased smirk that passed Arya's face. Just you wait, baby sister. One day when you have daughters or nieces I'll make sure that they know just how good you are with hair. The two girls finished getting ready, Sansa straightening out her pale blue dress. She was quite proud of it, and even Arya thought that it complimented her features. Lady followed her human, a matching collar of leather embroidered with winter roses around her neck. Together, the girls with their wolves made the walk to the Great Hall. I wonder how Queen Cersei will be behaving tonight. Word had to have reached her about the fostering of Tommen and Myrcella. The doors to the great hall opened to reveal the room completely full. It was loud and smelt of hundreds of different foods and drinks, most unfamiliar to Sansa. Must be Southron dishes. Northern ones are not nearly so perfumed and Esossi cuisine is full of spice. The sisters took their places at the highest table. Sansa was seated beside Myrcella and Arya in between a pale Tommen and Bran. Robb was seated near Lord and Lady Stark who had surrendered their usual seats to the King and Queen as a sign of respect. Joffrey was seated closely to his mother, listening to her thinly-veiled insults with a sick smile.

Ugh, I'm beyond relieved that Father and King Robert did not consider a betrothal between Joffrey and myself. As a little girl, Sansa had always dreamed of being a queen. Of ruling over others and having incredible tourney's where she would be crowned the eternal Queen of Love and Beauty, just like her Aunt Lyanna. That dreamed changed though, when she was around eight name days old. She was spying on a meeting between Father and one of his liege lords. Sansa didn't remember the man's name but his words had shattered her image of the world up until that point. "You've read the ravens, there's been a wedding. The bride was of an age with your boys, barely seen her twelfth name day before her father shipped her off to a man old enough to be her grandfather." Her father had sighed, a sound so haggard and tired. It sounded so strange coming from a man she'd always associated with strength and nobility. "Another one of Walder Frey's child-brides? What number is he up to now? Fifteen?" The liege-lord had chuckled, but it sounded worn like her father's sigh. "Six. The man seems to have a new wife every month, the Widower indeed."

Sansa recalled having wondered what happened to all of those girls. How could a man have seen five wives die already? Why did they die so soon? The fear of being overheard had carried Sansa back to her room. There she waited for her mother, if anyone would know the answers to Sansa's questions, it would be her. When Lady Catelyn came to tuck her eldest daughter in later that night she asked her to stay, to answer something that she'd been wondering about. "Of course, dear one.' Lady Catelyn had said, smoothing her daughter's sheets. 'What is on that brilliant little mind of yours?" And she had answered. Her mother had been shocked to hear her little dreamer ask about Walder Frey and his child-bride. "I thought that ladies marry knights and princes, like in the songs. Why would a father give his daughter to a man that's called the Widower? Father won't make me do that, will he?" For the first time in her short life, Sansa saw her mother falter. Her face, always so calm, so beautiful and ladylike, cracked. It was like seeing a completely different person and it had scared her. Sansa still remembered the feeling of bone-deep fear as her mother remained silent, absentmindedly stroking her daughter's hair.

It had taken her ages to respond, that look of loss still on her face. "Sansa. Sometimes, people do things that aren't always right. There are many in the world who will try to tell you what you are worth. That girl was seen as a bargaining tool, as are most ladies and lords south of the Neck. For them, marriages are a contract and daughters are the ink with which to sign.' Her mother had paused for a moment, before taking Sansa's face in her hands, a look of burning intensity holding her in place. 'Life isn't a song, Sansa. But that doesn't mean that it can't be beautiful, that there aren't people of kindness and nobility in the world. You are special, not because you are a lady of a Great House, but because you are Sansa! No one else in the world will ever be the same as you. You must never let anything or anyone make you feel less than human, less than yourself. You are not property, you are my daughter. Do you understand?" And Sansa did, understand that is. That day had forever changed her perspective on marriages and life in general for people in Westeros. Now, six years later, Sansa was glad of that realization. Yes, the Crown Prince was handsome. His mother was Cersei Lannister after all. But any beauty that blood had gifted him was made horrid by the cruel light in his eyes and the sinister curve of his smile. It was unsettling, to say the least and Sansa was glad of the distance between them as she tried to ignore his occasional glances in her direction.

Beside her, Myrcella was also aware of her elder brother's stares. The darker-haired girl was stiff and refused to look at him. She is brave, I'm not sure if I would have the same strength to sit near someone that had tormented me for so long. Nearby, Robb also watched the interaction, or lack thereof, between the royal siblings, a slight frown on his face. I wonder what his feelings are on the matter. Robb had looked ready to hunt down the blond pipsqueak and end him personally after Tommen was found. He, Jon, and Theon had all taken a liking to the little boy and seeing him hurt must have been nearly as bad as if it were Bran or Rickon. She was taken out of her musings when she felt a little tug on her sleeve. Myrcella leaned over, careful to avoid her mother's gaze. "Sansa, is it ok if we leave the feast? I'm not hungry, not anymore." Sansa glanced subtly at her younger friend. "Of course, just let me tell Mother and Father."

Her parents were talking quietly to themselves, when Sansa walked toward them, Myrcella close behind. "Princess Myrcella, Sansa, what is it? Is there something wrong?" Her father asked, concern etched on his tired face. "Nothing at all, Father. Myrcella and I were just going to retire for the night. The Queen is busy with Prince Joffrey so I thought that you should know where we were if she asks after Myrcella." Lady Catelyn nodded, a look of understanding crossing her features briefly before disappearing beneath a serene smile. "Thank you for the thought, we'll make sure that the Queen knows before she retires for the evening. Goodnight Princess Myrcella, Sansa." Ducking out as quickly as they could, both girls made for Sansa's chambers. They took the long way, ducking in and out of several passages just in case someone was following them. You can never be too sure with the Queen…or Joffrey.

Finally, after what felt like an age, they reached Sansa's door, only to halt as they saw someone standing in front of it. The figure turned around and laughed as the girls drew closer. "Took you two long enough, my surprise is going to get cold if you don't hurry up!" Arya huffed, a grin on her lips despite her annoyed words. "I thought you were at the feast, Arya?" Myrcella asked innocently. "I was, and so were you. But it got boring and when you both left I figured that it would be okay for me to as well." Arya explained as if it was obvious. That makes…sense, I suppose. "And why are you waiting outside my door, rather than sleeping in your room?" At that, the grin returned, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Old Gods and New, help me. "Because you haven't seen your surprise yet, stupid." My surprise, of course. Hopefully it isn't anything that'll damage my room…again. "Fine. Where are Rhaenys and Visenya?" The brunette moved aside to give her sister more room as she opened the door. "Rhaenys needed to go use the bathroom and Visenya didn't want her wandering by herself when there was a feast going on." Myrcella, who had been listening intently, spoke up once the door closed behind them. "What do you mean? Can Rhaenys and Visenya communicate with you? Is that how they knew where to find me that night?" Both of the Stark girls nodded, Sansa motioning for her to sit down while Arya went to get something from a hidden cupboard. "The Direwolves can communicate with anyone, but only bond with those carrying Stark blood. When a Stark is born, a direwolf will be born that takes a liking to them. Together, the two will have a soul bond. They're two halves of the same whole, and once they're both a certain age they can talk to one another mentally."

Arya approached the pair with something hidden behind her back, interrupting their conversation. "I give you, your surprise!" She brought her arms back around to her front and bowed with a flourish. In her hands was a tray of lemon cakes, carefully glazed and set. That must have been why she was covered in flour earlier. Arya took the time to make my favorite food. "Oh, Arya! Thank you for the lemon cakes, now I know why you and the cooks were being so secretive earlier." Sansa swept up her sibling in a hug that was returned with awkward patting and a slightly strangled voice saying, "Ok, I love you too but you're kind of choking me, Sansa!" Myrcella laughed as Sansa quickly let her sister go and smoothed out her clothes. "Sorry about that, Arya. I was afraid that your surprise was another prank, not something so thoughtful." "Hey! My pranks are thoughtful! It takes me ages to plan them!" Sansa chuckled at Arya's protests. May she always be like this.

*** The Kings Chambers***

"You're not leaving my son and daughter with these savages! I refuse to allow this and once Father hears of it, neither will he!" Cersei shrieked at Robert. How dare he! He has no right to decide the future of my children when it is convenient to him and ignore us when it isn't. Robert, the great king that he was, ignored her and continued to drink his damned wine. "My children are not objects! They will not be traded off like goods in a market, you drunk pig!" Cersei made to grab the wine pitcher but froze when she felt Robert's hand grab her wrist. His grip was like iron yet he remained calm. The only way she could tell that he was upset was the cold fury rolling in his eyes, bringing fear into her heart. If he hurts me, he will pay. A lion does not cower before a stag.

Robert spoke calmly, his face inches from her own. "Myrcella and Tommen are Baratheons. Not Lannisters. They are my children and I am their king as much as I am their father. It is within my rights to foster them wherever I choose, with or without your consent. If you write to your father then I will gladly hear his response as I'm sure that he will agree. A match between either of our children will bring the North back into the fold. Fostering Myrcella and Tommen here will at the very least strengthen relations between the nations for a generation but giving them the option of marrying will tie us together for a hundred years." He stopped, his grip loosening. Before her very eyes, she watched Robert Baratheon age beyond his years. Cersei, as much as she hated the drunk, used to care for her king. And she had never, in her time beside him, seen such a worn look on his face. "My lord, are you well?" The look upon his face was beginning to worry her. It is not time yet. The plan is not ready. "No, Cersei. I'm tired, more tired than you could ever believe. I haven't slept a full night since the rebellion, did you know? Every time I try to close my eyes, I see the faces. So many faces. The only way I don't see them is by drinking. When I blackout I don't dream, it is black and I can breathe. Being in Winterfell, being around Ned. It's made it worse. Everywhere I go there are ghosts. Brandon, Rickard, Lyanna. They're in the walls, in the halls, even in Ned's youngest. No matter what I do I can't escape them."

Cersei rose, thoroughly unsettled by her husband's surprising honesty. I must speak to Jaime. Robert's mental health had always been in question with the Lannisters. He drank enough for ten, whored his way through the city, and swung from jolly to enraged with the slightest misstep. Despite all of that, he'd been relatively harmless and Cersei could get away with quite a bit. But this? There is something wrong inside of him. I've never seen him this way before. She needed help if she was to handle this change accordingly. This doesn't change my plan but it will provide an extra challenge. If Robert was suddenly wanting to be involved in the lives of his children then so be it. It changed nothing. Soon, you will be dead and Joffrey will be king. My golden lion will rule the seven kingdoms while you rot with your ghosts. "Goodnight, Robert." Cersei smiled sweetly before exiting, leaving the king to his cup. Soon.

End of Chapter 4