She wore an outfit of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey.

The outfit had long sleeves to conceal the injuries on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts also. At the point when they let him know that Robb had been broadcast Lord in the North, his fury had been something fearsome, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her. "Will we go?" Ser Arys offered his arm and she let him lead her from her chamber. Sansa preferred it to be him. Ser Boros was touchy, Ser Meryncold, and Ser Mandon's abnormal dead eyes made her uncomfortable, while Ser Preston dealt with her like a lackwit youngster. Arys Oakheart was respectful and would converse with her sincerely. He even protested when Joffrey instructed him to hit her. He hit her eventually, yet not as hard as SerMeryn or Ser Boros could have, and basically, he had contended. The others complied undeniably... with the exception of the dog, yet Joff never asked the dog to rebuff her. He involved the other five for that. Ser Arys had light earthy-colored hair and a not-too-unpleasant face. Today he made a remarkable dapper figure, with his white silk shroud secured at the shoulder by a brilliant leaf, and a spreading oak tree worked up on the bosom of his tunic in sparkling gold string. "Who do you think will win the day's distinctions?" Sansa asked as they dropped the meaning affectionately intertwined. "I will," Ser Arys replied, grinning. However, I dread the victory will not be appreciated. This will be a small field and poor. Something like two scores will be entered into the rundowns, including assistants and freeriders. There is little distinction in unhorsing green young men. " The last competition had been unique, Sansa reflected. Ruler Robert had organized it in her dad's honor. High masters and mythical heroes had come from everywhere in the domain to contend, and the entire city had gone out to watch. She recalled the wonder of it: the field of structures along the stream with a knight's safeguard hung before every entryway; the long columns of luxuriousflags waving in the breeze; the sparkle of daylight on splendid steel andplated spikes. The days had rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, and the evenings had been filled with dining experiences and music. Those had been the most mystical days of her life, yet they appeared to be a memory from another age. She was dead, and her dad too, guillotined for abackstabber on the means of the Incomparable Sept of Baelor. There were three rulers at the time.