The Stark Sisters

Long after their lovemaking was done, Arya sat amidst the trees of the Godswood, reflecting on what happened that night, both unbelievably happy, and simultaneously very apprehensive of the future. As much as she wanted him around, Arya sent Lyonel back to the castle a long time ago. As the crown prince, he has to maintain constant appearances. On the other hand, years of reckless behaviour on her part meant that her parents are conditioned not to worry when Arya doesn't show her face around the rest of the family for a day or two. Plus, she had agreed to meet someone here at dawn.

As first rays of sun began to light up the sky and morning breeze began to blow, Arya picked up her tattered red cloak (her only garment from last night that was at least partially intact) and wrapped it around her nakedness. Perhaps it was a mistake on her part that she didn't ask Lyonel to leave some clothes for her to get back, but her last adventure with him in the Street of Silk made her familiarized enough with the tunnels of the Red Keep and also gave her a taste of sneaking around wearing almost nothing.

"Well, well," Meera's voice intoned she stepped into the grove. "Looks like someone did a number on you."

"Yes, he did," Arya said, holding her head high, even as her hands clasped the remnants of her torn cloak around her. Meera should know that she wasn't the little simpering girl who waited on her. Meera has to know that she has found her own ways of pleasuring herself.

"Did it work?" Meera inquired. "With the prince?"

"Yes," Arya replied, the memories filling up her with a big smile and a red blush. "You were right. He could not help but chase after the Knight of the Laughing Tree and I was able to corner him here. And this bow... it helped me win," the she - wolf said, picking up the Weirwood bow. Merely holding it filled her whole body with inexplicable power, and it was only reluctantly that she gave it back to her friend.

Meera, however, only shook her head. "Keep it. It's yours."

"What?"

"It'll find better use in your hands than mine."

"Thank you. It's a kingly gift," Arya said with wonder. A few months ago, she wasn't even allowed to wield a sword. Now she must be one of the most heavily armed people in the world, with a Valyrian Steel sword and a Weirwood bow. The speed in which things happen made her head spin.

Content with Arya's stunned expression, Meera continued. "Before I leave I -"

"You are leaving?" Arya asked, hurt. "I thought we could spend some time together."

Smiling sadly, Meera brushed Arya's face, as she often did years ago, though now she had to look up do it. "Don't worry. We'll meet each other in less than a year. Then we will be able to properly enjoy ourselves."

Arya remained silent.

"As I was saying, before I leave, I have another gift for you," Meera put her hands inside her bulky cloaks, and brought forward a small, white box, the size of a book, and handed it over.

Arya opened it apprehensively, and her breath hitched. Inside the box was a clump of soil, out of which a small, white stalk with red buds grew. "Is this what I think it is?"

"A Weirwood sapling," Meera confirmed.

"How is that even possible?" Arya muttered. She knew that weirwoods were trees, but in her heart, they have always been the gods. She hasn't even thought it possible for a Weirwood to be young, much less ever seen one.

"They are very rare to come by. For all their strength, weirwoods can be incredibly ****. They can withstand the cold, but not heat, nor rocky earth, nor salty air. And, of course, there hasn't been one in the South for seven thousand years, not since the Andals came over the sea."

"And what is one doing in the South now?"

"You have to plant it. Here, in the Godswood of the Red Keep."

Arya stared at Meera for a second, before closing the box with a snap. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"You come here, after all this time, with scarce a word, muttering mysterious prophecies about the future, ordering me around and then leaving? I don't even know who you are anymore! You don't talk to me! And you expect me to just do what you say?" Arya shouted, letting forth all the frustrations she had about her friend.

Meera was taken aback for a second, before she started laughing. "I had almost forgotten how fierce you could be little wolf. But you must do it. I will explain everything when we meet in a year -"

"How do you know that we will meet in a year?" Arya asked derisively.

A moment of silence, as Meera stared at her with her moss green, Crannogmen eyes. "I knew how to get the prince to you. You trusted me, and now you are happy, are you not?"

Reluctantly, Arya nodded.

"Well, then, trust me on this," Meera urged. "It'll be for the good of all. Plant the weirwood here and consecrate these woods to the Old Gods."

"People will notice," Arya said. "You yourself said, there haven't been a weirwood in the South for thousands of years. And we are close to the sea as well. You can always smell the salt in the air, and worse. The tree might die."

"It'll take time to grow. By the time people start to notice, there will be bigger problems to deal with."

Arya raised a skeptical eyebrow, to which Meera only shrugged. "Trust me. As for the soil, I was told that you would know somewhere perfect for it to grow, somewhere fertile and healthy here in these woods."

"Told? By whom? I've only been in the South for month, this is ridiculous." Even as she said it, however, a memory struck Arya like a lightning bolt, and she began to walk as if in a trance. Meera followed her silently, until they reached a grove... a grove filled with pieces of torn clothes, scattered arrows and an unusually drenched soil.

Meera wrinkled her nose. "Is this - is this where -?"

Arya's red face confirmed her suspicions.

"I don't know if this is right," Meera replied. "I was told that you would know, but this... it feels... sacrilegious."

Suddenly, however, the cawing of a raven filled the woods.

Meera sighed. "Maybe this might be the place, after all. Well, at least we know this spot is thoroughly fertilized."

Arya's face went red. "It's not like that between us, you know. Me and Lyonel. We love each other. Yesterday, we swore to one another in the presence of the gods."

For the first time since their reunion, Meera looked genuinely speechless. "Does this mean you are married?"

"Yes, yes I suppose I am," Arya murmured, her head flooding in with all sorts of emotions. She had been so focused on the fact that she bedded Lyonel, that she didn't even have the time to comprehend that she had wedded him as well. How quickly a person's life changes!

Meera, equally shocked but happy, rushed into hug her best friend. "Congratulations! My best friend, married! You really have grown!"

A thank you was all Arya could mutter back.

"Does that mean you will put an end to our trysts?" Meera teased.

"I promised the gods not to bed other men. Nothing more than that," Arya said, her old sense of mischief returning.

"That's my girl!" Meera murmured, kissing Arya on the cheek, giving another, naughtier one on the lips, before finishing with another bear hug.

The two girls then knelt at the would-be sacred grove, digging the already loosened, wet soil with their bare hands, and planted the first weirwood in Southern soil in more than seven thousand years.

Sansa hurried around her room, putting on the finishing touches of her dress. Today was an important day. Princess Myrcella would be fulfilling the promise she made yesterday and would be taking her to the best tailor and clothing shop in the city. She was hoping to buy something pretty for the melee tomorrow, so that when her prince win that as well, he will be able to see her from the stands, cheering him on. But, even more importantly, she will finally be able to spend some time with the princess. Up until thus far, she hasn't had the best relationship with her future sister - by - law, but today was the day to change that.

Sansa heard the door to the main chambers of the tower being opened up and the maid servant ushering in someone politely, though she couldn't her the specifics properly.

Never mind, thought Sansa, rushing to the main chambers... only to see the two princes waiting for her.

"My prince! Prince Tommen!" Sansa exclaimed, curtsying deeply. "I'm always glad to see you, but I'm afraid I'm to depart the castle shortly with your sister."

"I'm afraid that's why we are here," Lyonel said guiltily. "Myrcella will not be able to attend today."

"Why not?" Sansa asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Lyonel's mind flash backed to the row this morning, with him and his mother trying to drill it into Myrcella's head just how important keeping the promises to the Starks are, while she stubbornly refused to listen to reason. She had only invited Sansa out as a tease and threw a hurricane like temper tantrum when faced with the actual prospect of spending time with her future sister - by - law. But, of course, none of this could be told to Sansa.

"Myrcella... she's sick, I'm afraid."

"Well, then, I'll go and visit her," Sansa said. "We can shop at a later date."

"Oh no," Lyonel said, clearly aware of the potential disaster that could happen, and already having made plans to avoid it. "I know just how much you were excited at the idea of going. I know that you have developed a close friendship with my aunt, Lady Margaery. She has graciously agreed to escort you to the shop. And it is my mother's day to have her dresses ordered as well, so you'll meet her there too."

"Oh," Sansa said, slightly mollified. She really did want to go, and her attempts would not go to waste if the queen was also present. Her relationship with mother - by - law to be leaves much to be desired as well.

"And," Lyonel continued, putting a heavy hand on his brother's back. "Tommen will be escorting you as well. He, too, likes to shop and has a keen eye for clothing. You will find him helpful, I have no doubt."

"That is most kind of you, Prince Tommen," Sansa said, curtsying again. A faint ray of hope for turning this day around suddenly entered Sansa's heart. "If Prince Tommen is coming... perhaps, you too can come, Your Grace?" she asked, with tentative hope.

"Oh no," Lyonel replied laughingly. "I'm afraid shopping bores me terribly. And anyway, I have some prior arrangement with - ah, there she is!"

"Ohh, Lyonel you are already here!" Arya remarked, bouncing down the last few steps and hugging him tightly.

It felt as if a cold shard of ice suddenly pierced Sansa's heart. It wasn't the completely inappropriate riding leathers her sister always wore, nor the familiarity with which she said her betrothed's name and not even the hug. Rather, it was Lyonel's reaction to them that unsettled her. While he would have tried to untangle from Arya as quickly as possible for propriety's sake earlier, the prince now let the hug linger, and didn't even fully end it, a hand always remaining on Arya's waist.

"I'm afraid I have Arya's dancing lessons to attend to," Lyonel told Sansa apologetically.

"Yes," Arya added, much more haughtily. "We have to go now."

"Can't you stay at least for a while," Sansa stammered at Lyonel, desperately trying to think of something to keep him back.

'No, we can't," Arya said, speaking on her betrothed's behalf and tugging at his arm. "Lyonel said he would teach me some new moves today. Really stretch me out."

Lyonel couldn't help but laugh at the innuendo, before addressing Sansa again. "I'm sorry, but I must go, Sansa. I'll be busy with the melee tomorrow. It'll be much more physically extracting than the joust, so I'll be bruised for days. This might be the last time I will get to teach Arya for a few days. I must go now. Tommen will take you out to meet Lady Margaery. Goodbye."

With that, he turned back, leaving an utterly dejected Sansa behind, his arm still on her sister's waist... or was it low enough to frankly say that it laid on her buttocks?

The trip to the store was filled with one-sided dialogue. Margaery Tyrell, or, since her marriage to Renly, technically Margaery Baratheon, dominated the conversation, talking of various upcoming fashion trends, talking about which of them would fit Sansa best. The red head mentioned remained silent, absorbing her friend's wisdom while trying to suppress what she had seen earlier. Tommen, too, was silently absorbing his aunt's points... as well as absorbing the swell of her bust above the hem of her dress and how it jiggled with every bump on the cobblestoned paths.

When they got there, the store robbed Sansa's breath. It was four stories high, and she has never seen a building that tall that wasn't a castle. It was filled wall - to - wall with silks and clothes around the world, a small fortune that many a minor lordling in the North could only dream of. The store was empty. Considering that the tourney has brought wealthy people from all over the Realm and beyond, it should have been crowded, but the arrival of the royal family meant that it was closed to all others. Royal patronage, after all, is more important than customers. Outside the shop were a contingent of guards, led by Ser Jamie Lannister himself, who, having carefully examined every nook and cranny of the shop to make sure it was empty, not stood guard at the front door, preventing anyone else from entering.

Inside, they found Cersei Lannister. She has taken off her dress, leaving herself wearing the much simpler, white under - dress, so that the old crone of a tailor could take her measurements. When they entered, she welcomed them cordially enough, before going back to giving her measurements. Sansa was relieved. Oblivious as she could sometimes be, even she was aware that the queen did not like Lady Margaery, and the two sisters - by - law struggled to keep up masks of civility at the best of times. Cersei kept Tommen by her side on the excuse that she wanted his fashion advice, but everyone knew that the real reason was because she believed Margaery to be a corruptive **** on her innocent children and tried to limit their contact as much as possible. Tommen didn't complain. On the precursor of helping his mother out, he could do his best to discreetly goggle her. Sure, his mother's under gown covered more than what his aunt's normal dresses cover, but this was the best he could get out her.

This left Sansa and Margaery to their own devices, roaming around the empty third floor.

"You are even more silent than usual, Sansa dear," Margaery exclaimed. "Is anything the matter?"

"Oh no it's nothing," Sansa replied quickly. "I'm just shocked by everything. There isn't anything like this store up in the North."

"Is that all?" the perceptive lady asked back.

After a moment of silence, Sansa decided to be honest. "I'm just very worried about Lyonel,"

"Oh?" Margaery leaned in, always eager for some gossip and potential leverage.

"He has been spending a lot of time with my little sister," Sansa said, spitting out the last two words like a curse.

"My nephew has a way of finding himself surrounded by beautiful women," Margaery agreed.

"Is there more?

"Well, surely Sansa, you don't think the pretty Wildling girl he brought down here was just some friend, did you?"

Sansa's hands went to her throat, as her heart began to beat too fast for her chest. "Surely - you don't think - there's no-"

"I have no proof and I'm not making any accusations," Margaery explained quickly. "My nephew's a good man. But, still a man, with a man's needs."

"But he's my betrothed!" Sansa whined.

"And what have you done for him since your betrothal was announced?"

"We danced. Several times!"

Sansa's earnestness and the depths of her naivety made Margaery amused and frustrated at the same time. She stopped in her tracks and looked at Sansa squarely in the face. "Men need more than that to be attracted, I'm afraid."

"I will not whore myself out!" Sansa said coldly, her usual sense of curtesy breaking down at her pride.

Margaery sighed while rubbing her forehead, thinking how easy this conversation would be if she was talking with a girl from the Reach. If it was a girl from the Reach, she wouldn't even need to have this conversation. But she has to do this. When she first met Sansa, she was thrilled at how quickly the girl began to idolize her. After all, if one can't be the queen, the next best thing was to have the future queen look up to her in all matters, little and small. However, her dreams of manipulating court politics using the future queen has been jeopardized in the past few weeks, as Sansa continued to act like a prudish Septa and her nephew's eyes began to drift ever further away.

"I'm not asking you to go back to the castle and give him your maidenhead, Sansa. That might well be counterproductive. But a lady from the South," Margaery emphasized the last word, knowing what it means for her friend to be a Southerner, "knows how to dress to draw the eyes of the court without drawing insults. Mind you, my nephew used to be the most eligible bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms, and even now, being his mistress is more beneficial to most women than being another man's wife. Your sister, I'm not accusing her of being a seductress, but I can see why men are attracted to her. Sure, she's no traditional beauty like you are, but some men prefer their women wild, and your sister knows how to use her... physical advantages to her favour. And I'm sorry to say this, but I must be honest in this situation for your own good, if you don't stop dressing up like a Northern hermit, you will have to get used to being overshadowed in the eyes of your betrothed by every woman at court, starting with your sister."

Silence engulfed the two women, as Sansa stared at her feet. "My apologies, Lady Margaery. The ways here in the South are so different that I fear grew too frustrated. I must be, and I am, very glad to have a friend like you to teach me these things. Please tell me what to do in order to save my prince from the influences of evil women like my sister."

Margaery wanted to snort at the comment and tell Sansa that her nephew needed no saving from beautiful women, but she decided not to say it when such an opportunity had been handed to her. Instead, she decorated her face with a wide, friendly smile. "Well, that's why we are here, aren't we? I volunteered to bring you here to help you out with just that. We are at the perfect spot to learn these things. Look at this dress! I saw it last week and thought you would look perfect in it. Don't you think so?"

"It's gorgeous," Sansa whispered.

"Well, put it on!"

Sansa felt ****, but Margaery's recent speech has made her brutally aware of her position, so she followed the command without much resistance. She took the bulky, grey Northern cut dress she was wearing and put on this new one.

The dress in question was a long, blue one, the same blue as Sansa's eyes. It differed from her usual ones with its form, however. This body stuck to her body, highlighting her figure as much as Northern ones would hide it. The dress also left the barest hint of cleavage, leaving the tops of her breast bare. Sansa felt exposed, though she had seen Margaery dress much worse.

"Well, if you wear that, Lyonel would certainly get star struck," Margaery commented.

Looking at the mirror, Sansa couldn't help but agree, though her pleasure was disrupted by her consciousness, which sounded an awful lot like Septa Mordane, chastising her.

"Excellent," Margaery said, clapping her hands together. "Now all we need is the opinion of a man."

"What? No, no, no, no-"

"Oh, Tommen, can you come up here for a second? Lady Sansa is in need of your opinion."

Sansa glared at her friend, but it was too late. Tommen's footsteps bounded across the wooden stairs and soon he was there, though he stopped in his tracks the moment he saw a very much changed Sansa.

"What do you think?" Margaery asked teasingly.

"You look delightful, Lady Sansa," Tommen stammered. "Truly."

"Thank you, Prince Tommen," a red-faced Sansa replied.

"Is the colour alright? And what do you think of the cut - oh, I dropped my fan! Sansa, would you be a doll and pick it up?"

"Of course," the ever-trusting Sansa said, and having never worn a dress where she had to be conscious of her movements before, simply bent low to pick up her friend's 'accidentally' dropped fan... and in the process gave Tommen a deep look down her dress, and a good eyeful of the fleshy, white globes hidden within it The moment she realized Sansa hastily got up and fixed her dress, but it was too late.

"Thank you for your help, Tommen," Margaery said. Her nephew made a quick bow and went away quickly.

"That was very wicked of you, Margaery!" Sansa admonished her friend.

"I assure you he enjoyed it," the Tyrell replied. "And you can't tell me that you didn't as well?"

Sansa made no reply, but the giggle that burst out of her mouth was answer enough.

After that, things proceeded smoothly, the earlier awkwardness melting away. Sansa, Margaery discovered, was quite an enjoyable soul once her shell of courtesy was broken away, and the two friends travelled deeper into the store giggling and sharing and making naughty suggestions, until they entered the section that contained Essosi imports.

"What's that?" Sansa asked, pointing at a particularly striking dress.

"Ahh," Margaery said, taking on knowing airs. "That, my friend, is a Qartheen dress. It can't be worn here, but the shop keeps a handful around to show off to the customers that they have access to markets across the world."

"Is it incomplete? Does it come with another part?"

Margaery giggled. "No, dear, that is simply the Qartheen fashion. Women of Qarth wear dresses that leave one breast bare." Suddenly the giggling stopped as she was struck by an idea. "Why don't you try it out?"

"What? I will not!"

"Oh, come, it'll be fun! There's no one here to see but me!"

Sansa raised an eyebrow.

"I promise I won't call Tommen this time. I swear on the Mother."

Sansa sighed, but she couldn't hide her own excitement. Margaery had unlocked a part in her she didn't know existed and that part wanted its appetites whetted.

"Why don't I join you, if it means so much?" Margaery asked. "Would that put you at ease?"

Sansa nodded, and the two women stripped off their dresses. However, unlike the previous one, the cut of these Qartheen gowns were so different, that they could not be worn over an under dress, and so they had to strip completely. Sansa went first, with Margaery helping her out of her restrictive underwear. When all of it was done, Sansa stood nude on the store floor, and Margaery was sufficiently impressed. Long red tresses, a flawless skin, unbelievably long legs. Breasts larger than Margaery's own, despite Sansa being almost a decade younger than her. Even the wild red hair that grew out of her nether regions, a sign of uncouth among the shaved, Southern ladies, held its own wild beauty. A stab jealous struck Margaery, before she shook it away. The more beautiful Sansa is, the easier it was for her to hold Lyonel's attention, and the more her own influence on the court can grow.

Margaery went next, and stripped nude, it was proven she could hold her own against Sansa. Sure, she wasn't as tall as the Northern girl, and her skin was much more tanned growing up in the Reach. However, while Sansa's prowess was all gathered at her bust, making hers bigger than Margaery's, Margaery herself felt more balanced, with both a decent sized bust and bottom, two supple, round, white buttocks that shifted with every step she took. What drew Sansa's attention most was her friend's crotch, which was shaven in a way that her hair resembled a suggestive rose shape above her nether lips.

"It's a silly art that we Southern ladies like to waste our time on," Margaery giggled.

Then the two women put on the dresses. Sansa chose the one she initially saw, a deep purple one, while Margaery's was of autumn golden brown. They stood side by side in front of the mirror, wearing Qartheen dresses that left their breasts exposed, one large and pale, the other more petite and shapelier, topped with a browner looking nipple. The rest of their bodies too, were semi - visible under the silk clothing.

Margaery was about to say something, when, almost as if by fate, Tommen stepped down into their floor and drew a deep breath at the sight he saw. Sansa tried to cringe away at first, but Margaery saw this as an opportunity. Her promise, after all, was to not to call Tommen out, but now that he was here, might as well make use of him.

"Well, Tommen, what do you think?" Margaery asked, as if nothing was amiss.

"It's - it's a very bold choice," Tommen managed to say.

Margaery laughed, which only made her exposed breast and semi - exposed breast jiggle harder. "Oh, don't worry, Tommen. Me and Sansa were just trying these things out."

"I see," was only what Tommen managed to say. His mouth was drier beyond recollection.

"Tommen?" Sansa called out, not wanting to be overshadowed and with a sudden stroke of inspiration hitting her.

"Yes, my lady?" Tommen asked, though he seemed to be speaking to her nipples rather than any lady.

"Could you help me out with my dress? There are some laces at the back that I simply cannot reach."

"S - sure."

Tommen went behind Sansa, while Margaery wheeled around, giving her friend a look of silent shock and approval. Tommen, meanwhile, was dealing with Sansa's laces. However, his fingers were shaking so much that it took a long time, and when he was done with the last, he simply let go, without knowing any better.

The dress completely slid off Sansa's body, pooling at her feet. Shocked, she whirled around, which only made things worse, as her future brother - by - law not only got an eyeful of her ass, but now also of her cunt and her large tits.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tommen kept stammering, taking a step back with each apology... until he hit a rack of clothing behind him, it crashing down on the floor, scattering all its content.

"Tommen? Is that you? What happened, love?" Cersei's voice rang from upstairs, and footsteps could already be heard on the stairs.

Margaery, knowing they would get the blame for this (which was fair enough) grabbed the hand of still naked Sansa and ran away. They squeezed between a tiny space and waited the coming hurricane.

The said hurricane in the form of a queen came down quickly enough, leaving poor Tommen to face all the consequences. However, there was a positive to that as well. At that moment, Cersei was giving measurements to her undergarments, which meant she had to get away from the ones she was already wearing. This was why she sent Tommen down earlier. And, when the noise came, the concerned mother lion rushed to her cub as soon as possible, without a care for her clothes. All of this meant was that Cersei was completely naked.

Tommen's mouth fell open at the sight of his naked mother. The long, gold tresses, the large breasts that once fed him, the flat stomach that refused to acknowledge giving birth to three children, the long legs and the smooth crotch all combined to conjure up the image of a goddess.

"What happened Tommen?" Cersei asked, concerned and still oblivious.

Tommen could only splutter some sounds, before bowing low and running away, trying to hide the wet patch in front of his trousers. It was only then that Cersei became aware of her own nudity, and with a little yelp, she quickly ran upstairs.

The two girls who caused the mischief in the first place, still in their hiding place, began to giggle once again. Once that stopped however, they stared at one another, both suddenly becoming aware of their erotic positioning. Here they were squeezed into a tight spot, still holding hands, one nude and other almost nude. Margaery could feel Sansa's coarse, red cunt hair brushing against her stomach through her dress, and she resisted the urge to grab handfuls of it. Considering the height difference between the two ladies, Sansa's breasts now lay around Margaery's face, almost smothering her, while Sansa herself was smothered by a pleasant, rose - like smell she could always smell from near her friend. In these close quarters, the source of that smell was unmistakable.

Margaery got on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against Sansa's. It was small and quick, completely ambiguous, but one that had potential if the other ever grew curious of it.

"Come, Sansa," Margaery said, getting out of their hiding spot. "Let's get dressed before her grace comes back."

The two girls quickly got dressed and rushed to meet Tommen, who agreed to say nothing. Sansa, however, felt guilty of using poor Tommen so she could attract his brother's attention better, and so she bought him a Dornish vest, which seemed to have pleased him well enough.

On the carriage ride back, Sansa avoided Margaery's eye contact. fearing they would start giggling again and giving away their secret to the queen. However, when their eyes did meet once accidentally, Margaery only smiled and gave a serious nod. It was a nod of respect and friendship, that she now sees Sansa as not just her protegee, but more as a student, and it was her commitment to help in Sansa's mission of winning back her betrothed.