So annoyed my first attempt at loading this failed, it was up 24 hours and I realised it hadn't put the spaces or scene changes in. Devastated. So this story is reminiscent of taming of the shrew, but when I was writing it, I thought of Oklahoma. Except they aren't in the west, it's so not completely AU. But...

The story is set in a universe where the seven kingdoms are still whole, but the northerners like to have their own festival instead of one dictated by the south. The festival is held by the Starks and they decide who goes. Lyanna Stark bore Jon, she had a secret affair with Rhaegar and moved to the mountains away from prying eyes, and away from Robert Baratheon's constant bids to court her. There was no rebellion, Rickard and Brandon were not killed by Aerys, but died from a plague. Sansa is 16, Jon is 19/20. Rhaegar is still on the throne.

Condensation emerged from a coarse woollen hood. A lone man padded through a dewy forest on the border of the land of eternal winter, his shoulder was laden with heavy pelts as he made his way towards his dwelling. A Raven squawked at him from the handle of an axe that had been left impaled upon a tree stump. He dropped his wares and reached for the excited bird. A slither of parchment that was wrapped about the creature's leg was gently prized away, and unfurled.

'The festival is in a month, where the hell are you?! Hothoof it here, now!

Ned'

Sansa weaved her pink cotton through the muslin steadily, in the hopes of making a realistic depiction of a rose. She was certainly getting better, it resembled a plant with its green bottom and... She sighed apathetically.

"Something wrong, milady?" Jeyne was always the first, the diligent one of her elite team of embroiderers.

"I need some air... the tedium is getting to me." She set her hoop down on the table, emptying her lungs as she pushed herself up. "I lost myself in thought of the embroidering itself, instead of fantasizing."

"Oh dear me, then there is no point." Jenye set hers down, followed by the others in all seriousness, once they had all stood in their circle, they laughed. "I suppose embroidery was made once to make us forget our troubles."

Sansa was taut, she pouted. "Once." She agreed with mirth. "And an excuse for a group of women to be in each other's company without having to think of something to say." The girls hummed in concurrence, they did that a lot when she shared an opinion. She assumed it was because she was the alpha of the group. "To keep us out of the way of the men folk...I swear, men could have invented this, they thought they knew what they were doing. High focus projects, our small brains couldn't possibly nag them at the same time." Further chortling ensued.

"They love it really." Gilly, was a fairly new addition to the ladies, she had accompanied a rag tag bunch of deep northerners to acquaint herself with the more civilized community. "They say it makes the heart grow fonder."

A series of 'aaws' rung out, before Sansa chimed. "That's a nice thing for them to say...as much as I would adore the romanticism of that." Her gaze was downcast and cautious, almost bashful. She really wished for such affection from a man. "I think he might have been trying to sweeten you, Gilly, mother tells me when a man is out of our favour, they will do anything to get back in." She winced at the wilding's expression "...Even manipulate the truth." She didn't mean this out of spite.

"That's southern men, not men of the north." Gilly was on the defence.

The gathering became sombre, Jeyne stepped in. "I'd say sewing has sharpened our minds, you Sansa...wouldn't have spoken so ill of a man you hadn't met before. And you're more likely to discuss important matters with a needle in your hand."

"-The men around here aren't southern men...we're all northern!" She was still hung up on what Gilly had said. "Besides most men are the same, needing to please women for their own gain. Though there are worse who just take, without pleasing."

"Did someone break your heart?" The question hung in the air like a bad smell. Even the meek girl in the group looked up.

"No!.." She breathed to calm herself. "No..." This was embarrassing. "I have never been slighted by a man...and before you can compliment my fortune, just remember I am younger than you all, l have not ever been courted by a man." Her face burned. "Not yet."

The atmosphere calmed with the giggles that rung out in their cramped space. "And on that note...I suppose now we must address the upcoming festival." This was every girl's favourite occasion, it was the chance for everyone in the community to meet and acknowledge one another, introduce their children, and a chance for folk to find spouses. They clapped and shimmied at the thought, the skirts fluttering as they spun.

Sansa's cheeks still hadn't cooled. "If we all find a chaperone that isn't our mothers...then we'll know we've got a good year coming." She locked eyes with Roslin. "And I hear you're making a white dress...something to tell?"

"I just like the colour." She said sweetly, and gracefully returned to her stitching. I suppose that's the last we'll hear of her. But Sansa adored her delicateness, her dainty fingers and soulful eyes. If she were a man, she would certainly marry her.

"I know I will be courted this year, after all the smiles I've given out." Jeyne was simpering, with the twinkle in her eye. "So many conversations with one glance." Jeyne was the less conservative one of the ladies, she was loud for a lord's daughter, slightly boisterous, like Arya, but feminine and a daydreamer.

Sansa remembered she was once like her. Still like her. She still had her innocence- thank heavens, and daydreams of romance- just daydreams, alas, but after an unfortunate year in her childhood, she learnt to be wary and quell her openness to be swept off her feet by a fairytale romance. Her brother Robb had saved her from near ruin from a southern lord. She was but ten, and the man was thirty, he had wooed her family first with gifts and chivalry, he then began intercepting her solo prayers in the godswood, he would invite her to sit on his knee while he read her tales from a book. She recalled he use to comment on the smell of her hair, and her beautiful little hands. He would kiss her cheek in between chapters. After every book reading Sansa would skip off, unaware she was being groomed. A word she didn't use to associate with bad dealings. She figured she must have been enamoured of him, or at least pleased with his attention early on, to keep coming back with no thought.

"Shall we read Jonquil again my dear?..I know it's your favourite." His smile would be bittersweet, and he was still descent looking for a mature gent, so it was foolish to think him cradle snatching. Foolish child. She never even considered his white teeth and approving glances to be predatory. "You know...you remind me of jonquil."

Sansa remembered this had pleased her and she had curtseyed at this. He was as gleeful as ever when she clambered on his knee and began the book at the most sweet passages. His hand was on her leg, twitching with the reverberation of his voice whispering close to her small ear- she found that odd, and his kissing became more frequent on her cheek, and wetter. She wasn't too sure about this; the pauses in the story, and the kisses themselves drowned out the words she adored. "I want to hear the story." She tried not to whine, but her request was from a child's mouth.

"You know this story so well." His voice somehow sounded breathless. "Do you ever wonder what jonquil and florian did when they were together away from prying eyes?"

She cocked her head at him to get better view of his face. "I'm not silly, I know what they did... they courted." She almost said it like a secret, and basked in the triumph that reached his eyes, but Sansa grew shy when his smile faded, and he thumbed her chin, so her eyes never returned to the pages.

"They would kiss on the mouth." His thumb caressed her lip, and a warm hand moved up her leg, up the corset and settled under her unformed breast, in fact a finger did breech what was acceptable. Her back became taut with the odd sensation. "A firm passionate kiss." He continued very a matter-of-factly. "Their tongues would caress." Sansa blinked slowly, he must have mistaken it for a flutter. "Shall I show my little Jonquil?" Her memory falters, but she recalled his breath smelt like summer wine, and her eyes closing so the fumes wouldn't burn her gaze. She imagined a kiss with him would have been sweet...but odd, his hands were-

"-GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF!"

Sansa had craned her neck so fast it nearly snapped off. She doesn't know if she leapt off or was thrown off his lap by the lord.

Her lord brother was tearing through the snow like a beast, the look of simmering death purpling his face. "How dare you think you can help yourself!" He unsheathed his sword, the sound she remembered well, she heard it on a daily basis, but never had someone charged at her with one drawn. Did she do something wrong? Had she brought shame to her household being beguiled by this man?

Robb had him up by the ear, incredible since he was fourteen at the time. There was a squawk of pain that actually caused the wolves to howl. The sword that pressed at her assailant's neck drew a little blood, that shook her; her sweet brother had drawn blood from another. "Yer wished to slobber...to lecher...to ruin a young girl!"

"Robb!" That was her mother, running across the green, a stone skipped off her shoes and rippled the water. It's odd what she remembered. "What has happened?" Seeing her daughter on the ground, she immediately attended to her, kneeling to lift and hold her tight, she must have looked in need of saving she gathered. But she felt gormless and guilt-ridden. Thank the seven. Sansa knew now she had been in trouble, at the cusp of premature relations with a man three times her age. She had been small and of not sound mind to know his kiss would have burned her until she was bare and brittle from his ministrations.

Her brother still had this lord in his grip, who still hadn't spoke. "This horrible man tried to canoodle with Sansa, he was all over her. He wanted to plunder her mouth, I heard him say!"

The gasp that was emitted from her mother could have ruptured her eardrum. "My lord...this is a grave accusation, and I believe a truthful one!-"

"Lady Catelyn-." He made an attempt to weasel out, but he took a sharp intake of breath at another prod of steel against his neck. "I was... merely... teaching her the wonders... of courtship."

"So you want a quick merciful death, then?" Robb had not only lost his patience with being seething mad, he had slipped into brazen. "Very well."

"Robb!" The lady was in between both children, scrambling to both prevent a bad decision from one and comforting the other. "We need your father here, to jump to the most severe course of action before approval from him...could lead to-"

"He was not here!"

"You think he wouldn't believe you?"

"I've passed a judgement, I must see through with the-"

"-You can't kill a man for this!"

Sansa's lip began to quiver at the barrage of none stop yelling, between two people she loved most. She had yet to shed tears but her face was red enough to assume she had.

"A grave offence?!" Her brother no longer sounded like a lord. "Are you jesting? A man could lose his hand stealing a lamb!"

The man spoke up, managing to stand straight even with Robb fisting his robes. "If it makes it any better...aaaaa." Further prodding had him bowing his knees. "I would...have courted her...aaa... until she was of a good age...aaa...and married-"

"Fuck no!"

"Robb!" Her mother's warning rung out then faded.

Sansa hadn't realised she had lowered her lids, she heard Jeyne talking to her through the dimness. "You're daydreaming, again, I hope it's something nice."

Sansa scoffed, opening her eyes fully. "Did I look content?"

"Couldn't tell." She shrugged. "A lot of the time you look like you're feeling sorry for yourself. I don't see why...you've got land, your health...beauty."

A compliment from her was nice, but it seemed like a slur. Just take it like a lady. She smiled almost sadly. "Thank you, I suppose." Her gaze caught Gilly, who looked sort of gormless- though perhaps it was pensive? "Have any thoughts on chaperones?- Sam...Theon." She looked cagily between her companions. "Robb?"

They both made guttural noises.

Sansa grimaced. "Please...you're ladies...and he's my brother." She shimmied towards the door. "Quiet approval please."

Gilly nearly knocked her into the doorframe coming through with her, she still wasn't use to etiquette. "Where I come from when you like someone, you tell them, or kiss them."

Jeyne sized up that answer. "Hmm...It's best to find out if they like you first before telling him that...or else, you look like an idiot."

Sansa rubbed the bruise that was probably forming on her hip. "Yes, and no." They were ready for her answer earnestly waiting. "Just because a man expresses an interest in you, doesn't mean he's after love and marriage."

"We can't afford to be picky...and marriage doesn't have to be on the table." Gilly burst, and it took a lot of restraint not to laugh out loud, or scold her. Though Jeyne certainly elbowed her.

"Valid point, you can, flirt, dance, but save yourself for your husband." She knew they thought her prudish, but weren't women supposed to be prudish?

"I suppose we should make sure the men have asked our fathers first before we hold hands and such." Gilly chortled. "You don't have to be a stick in the mud."

"I have to." Sansa said plainly, and the air became sombre...for her anyway. Her brother and mother had advised her from ten, of real men, and women's wiles. They taught her niceties from men couldn't be trusted, but politeness could. Her father was very awkward around the topic, since finding out. He became cool towards all friendly strangers, neighbours, and watchful of Sansa's reading material. He equipped her with what he called 'real books'; recipes, history, household management, and weapon maintenance, despite not possessing a weapon. But somehow Arya ended up with her own sword. Typical favouritism.

She descended the staircase, fisting her skirts, her companions dithered back, probably to talk about her.

Different voices bounced between the halls, coming from the main hall. She reached the flagstone of the reception hall in time to see her young sister jump into the arms of a hooded man. Her initial thought was of her father, when he would make pilgrimages to the outer lands and return with skins and leathers wrapped around his form. Smelling of damp, pine, and animal, she would be one step behind Arya ready to embrace him. Sansa elated, approached. "Father."

Arya was slipped down from his arms then, and the hood was peeled back by a callous hand. Oh. She saw raven curls clinging to a damp forehead, and piercing eyes that were clouded with confusion, before they were suddenly replaced with mirth, a lopsided grin was present to. She did not know him, but that needed to be rectified. Her mouth fell open, then shut for a second.

"Sorry I thought you were somebody...sorry." She picked up her skirts and started to whisk herself away. She couldn't greet a man she hadn't been formally introduced to. Her sister tutted. Why?

A deep husk voice called out to her. Well spoke, if truth be told. "Is that how you greet your favourite cousin?" She froze. She had no favourite, but he certainly held no rivals, Lysa didn't allow Robin to travel, and her Aunt Lyanna's illegitimate boy whom was rarely seen or spoke. Jon. Sansa spun, he had remained where he was, thumbs tucked into his scabbard belt, studying her. She remained silent, gormless to the fact that she was staring too hard at him to be familiar or sentimental. "My cousin."

Arya was first to break the awkwardness. "Oh for heaven sake, you know Jon!"

Sansa blinked, finally relaxing her brow. "I know..." She scowled at her sister. How dare you make it look like I had forgotten. "I know...our cousin...hence...favourite...cousin." She repeated followed by a quiet bark of a laugh, before she inched forward as if she were about to angle for a hug. "Sorry Jon." She shook her head to be rid of the fog. "Our acquaintance was short, and my familiarity with you rusty." Instead of hugging her, he took her hand, which she assumed she had out in front of her, because the action was seamless. He shook it, a careful look on his chiselled face.

"Better?" Jon drawled.

"Hm?"

"I could go away and come back in to see if the memory improves." His lip curled again. "Perhaps even a hug the second time around."

She found that impertinent, was it compulsory to be so cosy with distant family whom she hardly saw? "My my your social skills have improved, I remember six years ago you knew only Yesses and Nos." He was still holding her hand, it was getting increasingly warm.

"You remember." His smile was wry, something meant to put her at ease, she supposed, but left her still concerned. Does he have fond memories of me?

"I'm surprised Arya remembered you."She frowned into her own observation. "She must have only been six at the time, and despite your coyness ...you have an instant rapport...enough for her to embrace you so comfortably." Why is that? A finger caressed her knuckles, she tried to ignore it. "Perhaps you have a secret language?" Sansa wanted to say tryst, but she wanted her breakfast to stay down.

His eyes flickered over to her younger sister, and seared when they returned to her. "I've been back a couple of times, you just never noticed."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Typical."

Now hold on, she hasn't lived underground. "You must have snuck in and out, you never sought to speak to me. Why am I to blame for absences?" Sansa's hand fell free finally. "But I'm sorry for the missed opportunities...nice to see you." She dipped in curtsy and turned to spare herself more ridicule for not knowing what to say to her cousin. A hug might have killed her.

"Is that it?"

Her heart was in her throat. "Sorry?"

His tongue flexed as if he was sucking on a sweet. "Well- I have finally got my act together, and you have admitted to missed opportunities... and you're off?"

She could sense he wasn't really offended, she could literally feel the smugness on her back, she braced herself and turned, back straight. "Forgive me." Was all she could suffice. She was not ready, she was not well.

"As you wish." He bobbed his head in mock surrender. "Later."

Relief unfurled across what she hoped was a thankful face, she prayed she didn't look too hoity. "Now if you don't mind, my lord, I must check on my horse." Don't rush, don't rush. She meandered to the stables, hoping she wouldn't be followed so she could squirm in peace.

The castle was abuzz with news of a handsome ranger that had been living in the mountains, and had now taken up residence at Winterfell. Returned to the birthplace of his mother.

He could sheer 60 sheep in ten minutes apparently, he could split logs with his bare hands, he could scale an ice mountain with one small pick axe, he could fell a tree with just his upper body strength...one time he smiled at a woman and her corset bust open-

"-Will you shut up? Please." Sansa interrupted the discussion in her embroidery group, and the gaggle halted, looks were exchanged to her annoyance. "Jon didn't live in the mountains, he lived in a cottage with his mother until she died, he is not a Sheppard, no man can split logs or fell a tree with their bare hands...and the corset thing..." She huffed. "Are there dragons girls?" They all shook their heads in unison, defeated. "Then no, he can't bust a bustier by looking at it." She pulled a stitch through in triumph. "Has anybody finished their dresses yet?" She said off hand, her reasoning that the girls would latch on to a discussion of the festival rather than talk about...him.

"I have." Jeyne did a shuffle forward on her stool, clearly peaked. "I'm wearing a faded mustard yellow piece with knots around the collar."

"Lovely."

"Oh that's lovely." Another silence filled with rustling fabric came upon them.

Gilly bit her lip, skittishly glancing from one girl to the next. "I'm...borrowing mine." They craned their heads. "My chaperone's mother is sending one for me."

"Ooo Gilly!" Sansa patted the embroidery on her lap. "I approve."

Jeyne quirked a brow. "You kept that quiet."

"Not for long, this was how I planned to drop the news." Her grin reached the wilding's eyes. "It's Sam." Her pitch was off the scale.

"Knew it."

"Knew it." Sansa echoed. "And being acknowledged by Sam's mother." She had a suggestive lilt to her voice. "She's going to loan you her wedding dress next."

The excitement forced the eldest girl to stand. "It's an omen, I shall be next... I will get my desired chaperone!" Her fingers flexed at her sides. "Maybe lady Catelyn will lend me one of her dresses."

"What about the mustard yellow dress?" Sansa didn't want her to get her hopes up, lady stark was unlikely to hand out a dress to a chaperone. "You've worked so hard."

"If your mother hands me a dress, I will take it gladly, mi'lady." It was very matter-of-fact, but clearly a delusion.

"What of poor Theon..." She draped in the air, hoping either someone would take the bait, even the girl that had said nothing was alert. Lady Stark heard a chuckle and she seized it. "Yes?"

"Let's just say, you might receive a dress from Pyke."

Her face fell. "What?"

The girls laughed at her, even the quiet one had masked her face. She didn't like that one bit. She arose to her feet, back taut once again. "It's not set in stone, I've heard nothing of this."

Jeyne wiped her eyes to rid herself of the merriment. "I was only jesting, Theon has his delusions...it'll either be me, Roslin, or the cowmaid."

Sansa had to defend her brash response. "There's nothing wrong with Theon, he's just...our ward, practically our prisoner, I couldn't." Maybe talking about something other than the festival was better. "Arya maybe could."

The quiet girl spoke. "Lady Arya has been spending time with the ranger...I think she might go with him."

Sansa was relieved the girl could speak, now for the matter of her younger sister getting a grown man as a chaperone. "That doesn't seem right, she's twelve...and he's...not twelve."

"But look at him! So brawny...even a twelve year old girl could appreciate that." Jeyne had said too much, and with much conviction. A Dangerous woman.

"Little girls don't think about things like that, and I'd be worried if our cousin looked at her appreciatively as you claim she would him." Sansa folded her arms, letting her thoughts simmer, after just a moment she released her arms. "Jeyne... would you consider asking Jon?" She interlocked her own fingers as if washing her hands with imaginary water. "Would you ask Jon?"

A stoney silence followed, the quietest it had been in a while.

"What?..Ask Jon if he wants to jump Arya?"

"No, ask Jon to the festival with you." Wasn't it clear she didn't want her little sister put in that position? "You're very agreeable, and if not you...Roslin?" She looked over at the other girl pleadingly. She remained tight lipped.

Jeyne on the other hand- "Ha! I'd only do it if I knew for certain he would say yes, I wouldn't want to look like an idiot, would I?" Her friend stood, very apprehensive. "I would gladly take Jon, if he was...keen...and I was not at risk of a beating from Arya."

Gilly leaned in. "Good point, if Arya has a plan...then-" There was a knock at the door, and for some reason all the girls starting shushing.

Sansa cleared her throat. "Who is it?"

"Robb." Oh. Loads of stares later... "Is Roslin Frey in there?" Everyone turned to the quiet girl, and she arose tentatively before replying. Everyone else hung on her every word.

"Err...Yes, my lord."

"I wish to take a turn with you in the courtyard."

They were still as the castle, before – "Of course, my lord." There was a scuffle of skirts as people made room for the frey girl to reach the door.

Sansa closed her eyes, knowing Jeyne was probably digging a hole for herself behind her, or burning. When the door clicked shut, she found herself embarrassed for her friend; she didn't know where to look. "So about Jon..?."

Please review, they give me sustenance, and I don't know how many read this.