It must be raining,he thought absentmindedly. He looked to the skies with his dull grey eyes searching for the offending clouds but saw none. The clear blue seemed to mock him, telling him to look for another reason. Instead he clutched his prize closer to him keeping it away from the harsh reality the sky was trying to make him see.

The snow, his mind supplied. That was why his doublet and trousers were soaked, it could be the only reason he tried to tell himself. He had been sitting in the same spot for what felt like hours. The same snow bank near one of Winterfell's walls. The same bodies littered around him from Stannis' and Roose's battle.

His eyes not actually registering the scene before him he scanned the battlefield seeing all the soldiers who gave up their lives for a useless cause. All the soldiers and knights and stable hands who just did what they were told. If he wanted he could make his own bigger Iron Throne from all the swords dropped carelessly around by lifeless hands. If the man hadn't died Petyr would've done it himself, killed the man who dropped his sword into snowbank. It looked barely scathed, the blade perring to be almost new if it weren't for the dark brown stained on it.

He escaped his mind again, opting to not think and just look at his ward. She was truly beautiful. He hadn't lied to her in the veil she was more beautiful than anything he ever saw , her mother included. Even now she had the most serene look on her face. How he wished he caused that look on her, she hadn't been anything but snark and smirks and a tightly coiled spring since the left the Eyrie. He was glad she was happy now. She deserved to be happy. She deserved a castle and a throne. She deserved to have Knights fighting for her hand each as handsome as the last. She deserved fairytales.

She didn't deserve this. Or him.

Cautiously he brought a hand up afraid to wake his sleeping beauty. His ringed hand brushed a stray strand of brownish red hair from her face before caressing it gently. She must had been sleeping here all day to have gotten this cold he thought. What a silly child, only trying to relieve her days of long past youth in her long past home. He smiled an unguarded smile, ones he reserved for her and only her.

He wished to be able to see her bright blue eyes, filled with amusement at his plans to control and take. To see them dance with her emotions clearly displayed, a trait so rare in his company. He also somehow knew looking at them now would be a bad idea. He wouldn't be able to pretend any longer. He would have to accept the harsh cold reality.

Dully he realised it must be cold here in the North. He should be in something warmer but he had to give his riding cloak to Sansa. When he found her she was practically ice. He knew northerners could stand it better but he still wanted her not to get sick. They had to ride south soon and if she was down with a cold from staying outdoor in only a simple dress all day they would be delayed.

A hand pressed against his shoulder but he ignored the owner of said hand. He knew they'd speak eventually. He continued staring at the face of his Sansa, her face cradled on his lap in a makeshift pillow. He wondered how he was going to wake her. He should probably move her off of him because she'd only get upset if she found out she slept on his lap. Yes it would be good to move her onto the snow again. In a moment. In a moment he'd do it.

"Lord Baelish," Called a voice quietly. They seemed upset he noted. One of their family member must have died, he thought. The boy behind Petyr stood silent for a few more seconds hoping he'd answer. "Lord Baelish," He began again ", You need to get inside M' 'll catch your death staying out here while winter is coming." The boy reasoned. A blacksmith apprentice his mind explained to the rest of him. Merely a child trying to show care for the man who helped save them from the Boltons.

" Is the snow melting?"

The boy seemed startled at the Lord's voice suddenly starting again. It took him a while to realise he had actually asked a question. "U-uh no m'lord" the boy stammered to answer quick enough.

Petyr closed his eyes with a deep inhale of breath. When he breathed out he opened them again slowly as he closed him. He saw the world again for what it was. His mind caught up with the rest of him. Gently he moved the eldest Stark daughter's head off of his lap onto the cold hard snow which had barely melted despite his body heat and length of time spent on it.

Gracefully he stood up, everything once again hidden behind his mask. Littlefinger had work to do in Winterfell.

The smith boy smiled sadly at the lord as he passed. The second littlefinger's back was to him the smile fell. He looked back one more time on the grizzly scene, Sansa Stark the Lady of Winterfell was impaled on a sword. It slice right through her back poking out of her stomach. It looked like she tried to save herself from her slow death but only managed to sink lower on the offending blade. The once white snow was now a red halo around her body as if proclaiming this sacrifice of war was more important than all the others.

He prayed to the Old gods and the New that Lord Baelish didn't ever get a chance to extract his anger and revenge on the person he did this. Gods permitting they were already dead or all the seven heavens wouldn't be able to save them.