Note: The time elapsed to move from one place to another has been decreased for the facilitation of the story.
It was a loud thud that made Sansa wake up that morning. She tossed up in her bed, with her hand against her chest, breathing heavily.
"It was only a thunder." Her young sister Arya muttered tiredly from her bed across the room.
That made her calm down. She kept having nightmares about foreign guards attacking and taking over Winterfell. She laid back down and stared at the wooden ceiling for a long time, listening to the raindrops hitting the window roughly. Living in the North since she was born, she was used to such a bad weather. In fact, she had grown to love it somehow, even if she often dreamt of going south, to the capital, to all the handsome knights, the royal ladies, the King and the Queen.
Her awakening had been abrupt and it was impossible to fall asleep again; though she couldn't say the same for her sister. Finally she decided to rise and get dressed in a light blue gown before heading to the hall downstairs to break her fast. Lady Catelyn, her mother, was there already, feeding herself pomegranate seeds.
"Good morrow, mother." Sansa greeted her and took a seat at the table, filling her plate with lemon cakes immediately. They had always been her favourite and her mother never missed a chance to have some made for her.
"Hello, Sansa." Catelyn replied calmly, smiling kindly at her daughter. Out of all her children, Sansa and Robb were the ones that looked like her the most; they had the Tully look, the auburn hair and the oceanic blue eyes. "Did the storm wake you, child?"
Sansa simply nodded, as her mouth was already filled with a large bite of her first lemon cake. Soon the rest of her siblings joined them; Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Her half brother, Jon Snow, had gone to the Wall only a few months ago, to serve the Night's Watch. He was a bastard, a child her father had with some unknown woman, disgracing her mother. But Jon was a good young man and she loved him all the same, just like all her siblings, no matter how different they were from one another. Her father, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, was currently visiting Jon at the Wall.
"Mother, can I go to the godswood to pray when the rain stops?" Sansa asked before wiping her mouth with a napkin. She had been taught to be well mannered since she was three years old.
"Praying is stupid." Arya mumbled while poking her lemon cake.
"Arya!" Sansa gasped.
"What? It is." Her little sister snapped.
"Enough, both of you. We can go to the godswood later, Sansa." Catelyn glared at both of her daughters. Born with the same blood but growing up so differently.
"No, I want to go alone. I am old enough." Sansa complained.
"It's dangerous in the woods, sister." Robb entered the conversation while chewing a piece of bread.
"Not the godswood, people respect that." She replied to him right away and gave her mother a pleading look. Lady Catelyn's only weakness was her children; she was hoping that would be enough for her mother to do her the favour.
Catelyn sighed. "All right. Promise me to be careful and not take long or I will send guards to bring you back."
Sansa giggled and kissed her mother's cheek quickly prior to standing up from the table. "Thank you, mother." She gave Arya a victorious glance before she straddled off, heading back to her room. She sat by the window with her comb and brushed her hair. Slowly and carefully, just like her mother had shown her. One day I will be living in a large castle and I will have a handmaiden to brush my hair for me, she thought proudly. How she dreamt of that day. She would wed a handsome prince and they would make beautiful babies together. They would be happy and they would rule their castle, just like in the stories.
The rain had stopped by the time she finished brushing her long, auburn hair. There would be mud outside so for that she wore her boots and threw a dark purple cloak over her shoulders. When she returned downstairs, the hall was empty. Outside she could spot Robb trying to teach Bran how to shoot arrows with a bow; Rickon and Theon Greyjoy were accompanying them. Arya was probably messing around somewhere close to them but Gods only knew where her younger sister ever was. Sansa wrapped her cloak more tightly around her figure and took off; now that the rain had stopped, the citizens of Winterfell were outside again flowing in the streets.
Soon she had left the castle behind her and she headed towards the godswood. Her steps were quiet as she was walking upon the wet fallen leaves of the weirwood trees…and finally, she arrived at her destination. Next to a very small, shallow lake stood the Heart Tree, with its crimson red leaves and its pure white trunk. Sansa sat on a rock next to it and stared at the carved face on the tree with amazement. The Old Gods of the Forest. She closed her eyes and listened to the light breeze blowing, tossing her auburn locks behind her shoulders. She used to pray in her mother's company, even though she had different Gods. After all, the wishes stay the same, no matter what Gods they are referring to. Health and happiness for all her family members, peace for the Seven Kingdoms, mercy from the Gods. That's what she had been taught to pray for. That's what she would have prayed for that day as well, if the sound of a branch cracking hadn't broken the utter silence. She jumped and gasped in shock, quickly looking over her shoulder.
"Who's there?" she said in a trembling voice.
Silence fell again. Maybe it was an animal, she thought, or Arya and Bran who are trying to scare me. But they never visited the godswood, not even to play pranks on her.
"Arya? This is not funny!" she yelled, hoping for an answer; but it was only a false hope.
The wind blew, making a few red leaves float in the air and settle down on her lap. She was about to shake them off of her when she heard an unfamiliar voice coming from behind her.
"They look congenial with your hair."
Sansa stood up quickly and turned around, to face the stranger that was standing a few metres away from her. She had never seen him before. He had short, black hair, with a few silver streaks. He had grey-green eyes, enigmatic and intense as they were staring at her, and a short beard. He was wearing a dark grey tunic and a black cloak, matching his hair and his sharp, mysterious features. His acute gaze was making her uncomfortable.
"Who are you?" She desperately hoped her fear wasn't showing.
Her eyes met his, noticing how a hint of a smirk crept on his features. He can see right through my affright, she thought and shivered.
"Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to frighten you." He took a step towards her but she backed away. He seemed amused by her cautious reaction. "My name is Petyr Baelish. You must be Lady Sansa, one of Cat's daughters." He said finally, revealing his identity.
Sansa nodded hesitantly. His knowledge frightened her even more. But somehow his name seemed familiar as well… She kept quiet, trying to avoid looking at him in the eyes again. When he took another step closer to her, she remained still. Her stomach was aflutter.
"What are you doing here…" his dressing and stance suggested he was a lord; at least not a knight for sure. "…my lord?" she cleared her throat and frowned, realising how stupid her question was. They were in the godswood, he could have come for only one thing; praying.
At first he didn't answer. He only approached her even more but she was unable to take any more steps back; the little lake was right behind her. He won't harm me, we are in the godswood…the Gods will have mercy. They will protect me; she tried to make herself believe that but somehow it wasn't easy.
"I came to see you."
His answer took her aback. She didn't remember meeting him before, how could he possibly want to visit the godswood just to see her then? She felt the back of his hand brushing against her cheek ever so smoothly. She shuddered. She wanted to scream and run away but her terror kept her still.
"You look just like her." She heard him whispering. Does he mean my mother? It was known that she was like a young imagine of Catelyn. But how could he know…
Suddenly, he turned away from her, managing a decent distance between them again. Only then she dared to lift her gaze and give him a confused, questioning look.
"Your mother and I, we were childhood friends." He stated, tracing his fingertips along the white trunk of a weirwood tree. He wasn't looking at her anymore. Is this a good chance to run? "I dare say I had dreamt we would be more than that."
That was when Sansa remembered. One morning, while breaking her fast, her mother had narrated her a short story from her childhood back in Riverrun, where her and her sister, Lysa, had fed cakes of mud to their friend Littlefinger. Sansa was curious about that nickname and so her mother had explained to her that his real name was Petyr Baelish but her brother, Edmure, had given him that nickname because he was small and he came from the Fingers. Feeling proud of her memory, Sansa almost let herself smile…but then she remembered she wasn't alone.
"So you have come to Winterfell to visit my mother, my lord?" She felt more at ease now. He was Catelyn's friend. Or used to be… I trust my mother's judgement, don't I? She pressed her lips together, uncertain of whether she should fear him or not. Meeting his piercing grey-green gaze made her shiver. Instead of answering her question, he flashed her an enigmatic smile.
"Do you like praying, Lady Sansa? Do the Gods help you?" he asked her as he knelt beside the lake and grazed its surface with his hand.
"I guess…" she blushed, realising how unsure she had sounded. She watched the small waves soothing across the water. Once they disappeared, she felt like his reflection in the water was watching her. "The Gods protect and grant mercy to us all." She continued, repeating the words she had been taught to say since she was a child.
He chuckled and stood up. "Of course they do."
Is he being sarcastic? She pondered. She crossed her arms, feeling uneasy due to how close to her he was again.
"Do you ever pray to the Gods, my lord?" She met his eyes reluctantly. He was already staring at her, stroking his short beard in thought.
Why is he looking at me like that? She didn't dare to think that what she saw in his eyes was enchantment or even amazement.
"The Gods and I don't get along so well, I have found." He admitted with a light shrug.
That surprised her. Never before had she met someone who didn't believe in the Gods…or at least someone who didn't pray. She had always thought of it necessary; how could the Gods have mercy on someone who didn't ask for it? If they provided someone with mercy just like that, then what was the point in praying? In the end, did it change anything?
She rubbed her arms awkwardly. The breeze had become chillier and tiny raindrops had started falling. It would be better if she returned, or else she would have to deal with her mother's concern and rage.
"The rain is starting again." That is only an excuse…right? "I'd better return to the castle." She attempted to walk past him but he grasped her arm, making her gasp. His grip was gentle but it took her aback nevertheless.
"It was a pleasure meeting you." Was it? She felt his palm sliding down her arm slowly till it reached her hand. He took it and brought it to his lips, pressing them against it. They felt soft…but cold.
She swallowed thickly; his kiss made her skin tingle.
"Have a good day, my lord." She mumbled and walked away after he let go of her hand.
She had put a few metres behind her when she heard him speaking again.
"Lady Sansa?"
She turned around, dreading what he might want this time…he stood in the same position she had left him, with a sly smirk taking over his mysterious features.
"It would be wise not to tell anyone about our meeting." He suggested with an arch of his eyebrows.
Why would he want that? He was my mother's friend. Then again she didn't know how that friendship had ended. After all, did she really want to know? She simply nodded and straddled off, treading into the godswood with haste. She didn't look back.
By the time she reached the castle of Winterfell the rain had become heavier. Her wet scarlet hair and her dress were sticking to her body. She avoided talking to any of her siblings when she arrived home. She went to her room straight away and changed into a dry white gown. With a cloth she dried her hair as well and finally collapsed on her bed.
Behind her closed eyelids she could see a man in a black cloak…
