Sansa's POV

Everything seemed to be going alright for Sansa. Her hair was properly braided (even if Arya behaved like a wildebeest she at least knew how to do that), she managed to sit close to princess Myrcella and her younger sister didn't come to needlework to embarrass her.

Her attempts at befriending the southener didn't go as well as she'd planned to. Jeyne tried consoling the Stark after the session, telling her that Jeoffrey would be hers one way or another.

Sansa decided that packing her things was the best thing to do. Normally she'd trust such manual labour to her servants. But she wanted to be ready as soon as possible. The auburn-haired lady could barely wait to meet the capital and hopefully have prince Jeoffrey wrapped around her fingers by then.

She recalled a nice leather bag that was kept in Bran's room when it was originally hers, before she was **** to share one with her insufferable sister. So unfair that her mother **** her to sleep in the same room as Arya. No friend would be more loyal than your own sister, she had said. As if! Sansa protested inside her head. Finally, the Stark maiden managed to get to her brother's room.