Eddard Stark favored his daughters with a tired smile. "At last we've found something you agree on."
I didn't do anything wrong, Sansa pleaded with him. "I don't want to go back." She loved Mng's Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she hadnot seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all. "Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I'll be good, you'll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.
Father's mouth twitched strangely. "Sansa, I'm not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I'm sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety. Three of my men were cut down likedogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robert do? He goes hunting."
Arya was chewing at her lip in that disgusting way she had. "Can we take Syrio back with us?"
Who cares about your stupid dancing master? Sansa flared. "Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey."