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  Poor Sansa. She got pulled into these politics that she hardly  knew enough about. Although Sansa did truly belong so much  more better then this. She deserved to be QUEEN. To have  people who would adore her. As she did. Yet, if she did indeed  wed Joffery, would they love her the way she deserved? Another  delicate squeeze, she pulls her forward leading her into the  gardens wanting to smell the darling flowers.

    ‘Others will think and obey the King.     Perhaps I am a traitor too. I have quite     the different opinion. Enough of this.     Show me around will you? I’ve come     such a long ways.’

         Frustrating, almost, how little Ella seemed to understand of what dangers she walked amongst. Mayhaps with less objectionable blood one could move about the court freely, uninhibited by fear of punishment for slights real or imagined; from that crossroads inn onward, Sansa had been damned. Let them keep their crowns, their thrones. Robb shan’t allow even those in whatever crypt he throws their bones. Soon, the girl promised herself, this keep would linger on only as nightmares did — so terribly real in the past, yet as corporeal as fog burning swiftly away under an afternoon sun.