If I Want To

Sansa

Needlework had concluded, so Sansa and her companions settled for sitting in the courtyard, watching the sparring taking place in the practice yard while they giggled, whispered secrets, and shared snatches of gossip that they had overheard, all while snacking on lemon cakes that melted sweetly on their tongues.

"Father said even great warriors start off as green boys with two left feet and straw for arms," Beth whispered in a hushed breath as one of the drilling boys lunged forward with his wooden sword. Sansa's giggle sounded through the air, soft and pretty, and Beth gazed at her in wonder.

Jeyne beamed as she always did, when others were captivated by her dear friend, as if she were responsible for bestowing Sansa with her beauty and charm.

A winter rose had been tucked into the eldest Stark daughter's auburn locks, and she looked a vision as the frosty blue flower deepened the effect of her Tully blue eyes. Her ladylike demeanor at the tender age of eleven was a source of pride for her lady mother and septa.

"I bet Robb will win," sighed Beth, her voice filled with eight-year-old adoration, as two older boys replaced the previous younger boys in the training yard.

"Robb would have made such a good knight. He's beautiful and brave like a hero in a song. But being the Lord of Winterfell is just as important," Jeyne voiced, agreeing with Beth's sentiments.

Sansa hummed as she listened to the girls giggle and fawn over her brother. She felt a swell of pride as her eyes landed on her big brother as he drilled. He was handsome, brave, and gallant. Quick with a smile and charming with ladies.

He wasn't a knight, it was true, as knights were anointed with holy oil in a sept after standing vigil before The Seven and taking their vows— and despite his Tully coloring, Robb was a Northerner down to his bones, and stuck fast and true to the Old Gods of the Forest —but none the less, Sansa saw him as a knight in all but name; even though she knew that Robb would scoff at the thought of being called a knight. He took his position as Winterfell's future lord very seriously, and could already wear a Lord's Face as convincing as Father's. 'Robb the Lord' Bran called it.

Bran on the other hand, wanted to be a knight. He gobbled up stories about the fierce knights of the Kingsguard of the olden days and new ones alike; like Prince Aemon the Dragon Knight, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk who were forever remembered in the infamous Dance of Dragons, and Ser Barristion the Bold, one of the current finest swords in all the realm, and more, much more.

Like her, Bran often dreamed about living in the red castle in King's Landing. His eyes would light up whenever he spoke of how the Dragonlords had built it, starting with Maegor the Cruel. Excitedly, Bran had declared that he would go on a hunt with Arya under the Red Keep, to find the secret passages and tunnels that led to unknown exists and secret rooms.

"That's the only reason I'll ever go to King's Landing," Arya had sniffed. "So I could find the secret tunnels. Did you know that Maegor the Cruel had all the builders slaughtered? That way he could ensure that only the Targaryens knew about the secret passages. It didn't work out." Her sister shrugged nonchalantly.

It was just like Arya to only show interest in the unpleasant things, such as the dark dreadful dungeons, dragon heads, and the ghosts that Old Nan claimed haunted the Red Keep.

Sansa decided, if she married the crown prince and became queen some day, Bran could become one of her Kingsguard. She could imagine him standing tall and proud in his white armor, with his auburn hair gleaming under the hot sun of the capital. It was a life that they both dreamed of but could scarcely dare to imagine. Sansa would pick the most gallant knights in all of the kingdom as her sworn swords. Beautiful and brave.

Hooting from the training yard caught Sansa's attention, drawing her eyes back to the action playing out. Her gaze focused on the two opponents engaged in a fierce competition; one with a head of red-brown auburn locks, the other with a head full of brown hair. The two were studying each other between strikes—even though after years of being each others training partner since they were able to walk, there was little that they did not know about the other.

Sometimes Robb would try to distract Jon Snow by laughing and hooting, but their half brother always remained silent and intent, never letting his attention waiver.

They were of an age, yet so very different. While Robb was fair, muscular, strong and fast; Jon Snow was darker in coloring, slender, graceful, and quick. The two danced and clashed, while Theon Greyjoy yelled his support of Robb.

Sansa studied her bastard half brother's focused and determined expression— which was not far from his usual brooding and sullen disposition —and couldn't picture him as a knight. Perhaps if he went to the Wall like Mother sometimes suggested to Father, then even her half brother could be a knight of sorts. After all, in the songs, men that dedicated themselves to the Wall were called the black knights of the Wall. Plus Uncle Benjen was also a black brother of the Night's Watch, so it couldn't truly be awful, Sansa reasoned.

Jon Snow was better at swords than Robb, she noted as the sparring between her brother and half brother continued. Mother wouldn't like that. By the time their match was over, Jon Snow had cornered Robb into yielding more times than Sansa could count. But Robb didn't look upset about it. The two boys laughed and ribbed each other good-naturedly once the mock combat was over, and Theon Greyjoy strolled over to them, a cocky grin already in place.

Her father's ward was handsome with his black hair, but Sansa was indifferent to him. Mother had made it known that she didn't view him worthy enough to ever be considered as a potential suitor for Sansa when she was of age.

The Greyjoy had been staying in Winterfell since the age of ten, and Robb seemed to admire him, but her bastard half brother seemed to resent the Greyjoy ward, and tensed up whenever he drew near.

Theon's ever present smirk was stretched across his lips as he looked on at the younger boys who were playfully shoving each other.

What do you know that I don't know? His expression made her want to ask. Sansa hated being excluded from secrets.

Lady perked up beside her and Sansa stroked a gentle hand down her fur just as a blur of grey woolen dress with protruding skinny legs followed by a faithful direwolf sped past her, the loud whoops of her sister accompanying the blur.

Sansa's spine stiffened in displeasure before she bent down to kiss Lady's nose. "At least you're well behaved," she murmured to her gentle companion. The wolf's golden eyes stared back at her with devotion, before her tongue shot out to gently lick Sansa's cheek. Sansa giggled and gave the wolf another kiss.