The Game of Cyvasse

Lady of the North

Sansa Stark was terrified. She witnessed the brutal murder of her father, Lord Eddard Stark, by the order of King Joffrey Baratheon, her betrothed. She had been beaten, humiliated, and threatened by Joffrey and his mother, Queen Cersei Lannister, ever since. She had no friends in King's Landing, no allies, no hope. She prayed to the old gods and the new for someone to save her from this nightmare. Yet, her prayers were newer answered.

She knelt in front of the Warrior statue, in Great Sept of Baelor, Joffrey said she had to, because he will go to war soon, as her beloved, to end her brother's life and his uncles'. Sansa knew he was lying, yet deep down, she wished Joffrey would leave and return in pieces. Since Lord Tyrion arrived in King's Landing, her treatment had improved slightly, but the drunken dwarf couldn't be everywhere. Today he wasn't here. Her knees hurt, and she knew they would leave bloody marks, but she dared not defy the spiteful prince. He wouldn't hesitate to harm her even in the house of gods. Ser Borros Blunt stood ready by the king, prepared to strike her. Cersei also pretended piety with her false smile, lighting candles, on the dais, beneath the Mother's statue.

The city's stench, carried by the breeze, struck Sansa's face as she stepped outside, onto the steps above the statue of Baelor the Blessed. She walked above Joffrey and the Hound, but something was amiss. She felt numerous eyes staring at the royal procession. Many angry and hungry eyes, and they blamed Joffrey and his court for their woes. They attacked the royal party with stones, dung, and curses. Sansa tried to stay close to Joffrey and his Kingsguard, but the crowd was too dense and chaotic. She lost sight of them and found herself surrounded by angry faces.

"Help me!" she cried out, but no one heard her. Hands grabbed at her dress, her hair, her body. She screamed as she felt a knife cut through her cloak, and was about to be dragged down and torn apart by the mob when she heard a voice.

"Stay calm, my lady. I'm here to help you." The voice belonged to a boy, no older than ten, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a brown tunic and breeches, and had a dagger in his hand. He cut through the crowd with swift movements, slashing at anyone who tried to harm Sansa. He reached her side and took her hand.

"Who are you?" Sansa asked, bewildered.

"Just a little bird," the boy said. "My master sent me to find you and take you out of the city."

"Your master? But who?" Sansa said, She did not trust him, but she had no choice but to follow the boy.

"A friend," the boy said. "He knows you're in danger here. He has a horse waiting for you at the Old Gate . Come on, we have to hurry."

The boy led Sansa through the narrow streets of King's Landing, avoiding the main roads where the riot was still raging. He knew every shortcut and alleyway, every hidden passage and secret door. He was agile and quick, and Sansa struggled to keep up with him.

"Where are you taking me?" Sansa asked as they ran.

"To Maidenpool," the boy said. "There's a lord there who owes my master a favor. He'll protect you until Master can arrange for your safe passage to Winterfell."

"Winterfell?" Sansa said, tears filling her eyes. "Will I see my family again?"

"I hope so, my lady," the boy said. "But we have to get there first."

They reached the docks and saw a small cart with a blue cover waiting for them. The boy waved at the merchant, who nodded back.

"That's our ride," the boy said. "Come on."

Sansa nodded and entered the cart.
She was exhausted, scared, and confused. She did not know who this master is and what he wanted from her, or what would happen to her in Maidenpool. She did not know if she would ever see her family again, or if they were even alive. She did not know who to trust, or who to fear.

She only knew one thing.

She was free.