Chapter 1

“Some women like tall men, some like short men. Some like hairy men, some like bald men. Gentle men, rough men, ugly men, pretty men ... pretty girls!”

Sansa laughed at the last item on the list.

“Pretty girls?”

“It’s true.”

A small smile appeared on Maergery’s face, and Sansa couldn’t help but mirror it.

“But how do you know all this?” she asked. “Did your mother tell you?”

The last remaining Stark held her breath, as her new friend looked taken aback by the question. After a few seconds, she laughed lightly, and linked her arm with Sansa’s.

“Of course she did, sweet thing.”

Sansa relaxed, a solemn look on her face. She hadn’t had much opportunity to laugh since coming to King’s Landing - her father’s head had been cut off; her betrothed, Joffrey, had turned out to be a beast; and now she was engaged to a dwarf! But here in the high gardens, surrounded by flowers and sunshine, walking with Margaery ... for the first time, she felt like perhaps there was laughter around the corner.

She was in the midst of taking a deep breath, preparing to ask another question, when she heard it. It was clear that Margaery did too: she cocked one of her perfectly-formed eyebrows, and tilted her head to the side.

“What is that glorious melody?” she asked softly. Sansa didn’t have the words to respond, even if she’d known. The music was truly enchanting, and she didn’t wish to interrupt it.

Fortunately, Margaery didn’t seem to mind her companion’s silence. The two of them continued walking through the garden, the notes filling their minds.

It was soothing and compelling at the same time, and no matter where they walked, it seemed to always be just around the corner. The small brigade of guards who constantly accompanied the Queen-to-be dispersed, and soon the two young ladies found themselves walking alone. The music felt like warm satin, slowly enveloping their brains. Aside from the occasional contented sigh, neither of the girls felt the urge to speak.

After almost half an hour of walking in peace, accompanied only by the soft tune, the girls turned the corner and found the song’s source. A well-dressed minstrel stood, playing the alluring song that filled their senses.

Despite being in a part of the garden that neither of them had seen before, despite the fact that they were alone with a stranger, the noble women smiled. In return, the man put down his flute and smiled back.

The three of them stood there for some time, staring at each other without words. The minstrel looked young - perhaps in his early twenties. There was something so familiar about his smile, but whenever Margaery tried to place where she’d seen it before the thought slipped away, and she was left with a sense of warmth and contentment that she hadn’t felt in many years.

Finally, the minstrel moved - he still didn’t speak, and the two royals-to-be felt no urge to break the silence. The stranger walked between them, his eyes tracing paths across their skin. Sansa blushed slightly at the frank looks he gave her and her companion, but still wasn’t moved to to say anything.

It wasn’t long before his hands took the place of his wandering eyes. Sansa gasped slightly at the feeling of the man’s touch; he touched her as no one had before. Gentle, yet forceful - as though he had the right. As though he was in possession of her.

She was glad that their escorts had departed, for had any of them seen a commoner treating a noblewoman in such a manner, they surely would have intervened. And Sansa didn’t want anyone to intervene; of that, she was sure. The young woman shivered in pleasure as the young man’s talented hands danced across her body, touching and caressing her sides, her neck, her waist.

Her nipples hardened as his nimble fingers roamed her skin, and she silently begged for him to explore under her clothes. She’d never felt the touch of skin on her bare breasts, between her legs; before this day, she’d never wanted to.

Now, it was all she wanted.

As quickly as he’d begun touching her, he stopped. A soft moan of need emerged from Sansa’s mouth - the first noise since the man had stopped playing his flute. She turned to see that Margaery was now being touched in a similar manner; just like Sansa, she didn’t seem to have any objections.

Sansa felt herself growing warm at the sight of the strange man exploring her walking companion’s curves, especially when his hands moved up to her bust. It wasn’t as full as Sansa’s, but perhaps that was his preference? After all, if women could like all manner of man, perhaps men had similarly diverse tastes.

Whether she was reacting in jealousy or arousal, Sansa didn’t know. They were both such new emotions to her, and she was still too foggy-headed from the music to better explore them.

The man stepped back, and Sansa could almost feel the disappointment emanating from Margaery.

To her delight, his hands returned to her, and this time he didn’t avoid any area of her body. As his hands cupped her breasts, Sansa couldn’t help but lean in, her face burning. When he moved his hands to her rear, she pressed that against him as well. All she wanted was more - more of his touch, more of his attention.

A hand brushed against her hair, and then his other hand against her lip. Her soft mouth opened invitingly, and soon she found herself sucking urgently on two of the man’s talented fingers. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more.

The minstrel could have taken her without objection. He could have taken both of them, of that Sansa was sure. But instead he stepped back, wiped his fingers on her dress, and another soft moan of need escaped her.

The stranger returned his flute to his lips. His new tune bore no resemblance to the other tune they’d heard. This was a song of sadness, a song of regret. Almost immediately, Sansa’s arousal faded, and it wasn’t long before she felt a single tear trickling down her cheek.

This song ... this song was for her. It was a song of family lost, a song of loneliness. It was a song of receiving torment and abuse; without a single word being sung, Sansa could understand the entire story being told.

It was a story she was all too familiar with, and Sansa struggled to avoid losing herself in it. It was the song of everything she was trying to move past, everything that her life had become against her will.

Then, just as she thought that she could not be brought down further, Sansa heard sobbing. To her left, the Tyrell heir was being deeply affected by the song. Sansa wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to share her love. Margaery had clearly never been through such trials, and experiencing them just through the song was enough to make her break down.

Instead, she stood tall. She was, after all, still a Stark - the last of the Starks, as the song wordlessly reminded her. If she went to comfort her friend, there was a chance that she’d similarly collapse, and she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d lived through them once, and she’d live through them again.

To her great surprise, the melody shifted. It continued to tell the tale of loss, repeating itself again and again ... but with each repetition, the volume grew softer, until the loss was entirely erased from the memory.

Sansa was horrified to realize that the loss hadn’t just been erased from the song; it had been erased from her mind. Her memory of loss had been plucked out and entirely removed. She was sure that she’d mourned someone, but who? Had she even grieved for someone, or had that part of the song just particularly resonated with her?

The tune moved on, conveying loneliness ... and this, too, began to fade. Again and again, the song revisited the worst parts of Sansa’s year; the hours she’d spent crying in her room, the nightmares she’d had of Joffrey storming in and taking her, killing her when he was bored.

Standing there, listening to the music, Sansa was delighted by the new tone that the song had taken. The darkness had gone, and the resultant melody was light, happy. Joyous.

Just like her.

Since she’d left the North, she couldn’t remember a single bad thing that had happened. And now she got to live in the castle - the castle! Her life was like a dream, and she loved it.

The song continued, painting in memories to fill the gaps; she drank them in deeply. She was engaged, but not to a dwarf. (Where had she gotten that idea?) No, she’d been sent to the capital to train in being a proper lady. She would always have the spirit of the North, but her time in the capital had been to take the edge off. After all, she was to be wed to the finest noble in the land. And when they’d met ... she would never forget that day. He was so handsome, so talented.