"Ha! I told you!" Petyr exclaimed jovially, shaking Sansa out of her trance. She quickly turned to him and then back towards the hotel. I could have sworn it was him. He's alive. After all this time... and he is here! Her heart fluttered and she could not understand why.
"Come, sweetling. I'm sure you have not had breakfast yet. You need to eat. You're looking rather ill and I will not be accused of neglecting my own daughter," he said with a wink.
Sansa nodded reluctantly.
I will have to look for him later. He recognized me, I am sure of it. He never took his eyes off of me! He must have known of his brothers crimes. He hated him. He told me he wanted to kill him... I am glad he did not. Even though his brother was a monster, he should not have that on his hands.
As they left for the hotel, Sansa scanned the disappearing crowd. Maybe he went inside. She followed Petyr, with Lothor Brune right behind her.
The Bodega Hotel dining room was bustling with people, but there was always a spot reserved for Petyr Baelish. The one thing Sansa could always count on was that she never had to wait in this town. People would see Lothor and Petyr and move aside to make way. Money brings status here. They had been part of the first wave of the gold rush, people clamboring into town to seek their fortunes, though Peter always said that digging for gold was the hard way. 'Let them go work for themselves,' he had told her, 'then they will come here to Dawson City and give me their gold.'
His words rang with truth. Men would come to town with gold dust practically falling out of their pockets, then throw it all away on dancing girls and whiskey. She had even heard a rumor once that a gambling man bought all the eggs in town because his lover like them, and then fed them to his dogs. The eggs were a dollar each. She still could not believe someone would do that.
When the waiter brought them their food, Sansa stared down at the runny eggs in front of her and her stomach churned. She tried to convince herself that she was just still worked up from the hanging and not because she saw her past staring straight back at her while his brother was executed. He is not here, maybe the in Saloon...
"Alayne, darling..."
Her thoughts were interrupted by Petyr's smooth voice.
"Is everything okay?" He asked, his eyebrow slightly cocked.
Sansa looked up and faked a smile. "I am fine. The hanging and the excitement of the crowd must have ruined my appetite," she replied, pushing her eggs around her plate with her fork.
"Such things are not meant to be seen by ladies such as yourself," he said as he unfolded the daily newspaper."But perhaps with that man gone, your mind will be at ease. Don't fret my dear, your father will take good care of you."
You will never be my father.
She gave him a thin smile and stood up. Lothor Brune stood up quickly beside her. "I think I would like to collect my belongings and go upstairs. I would like to have some time alone" she stated as she looked down at Petyr.
"Yes, of course, my dear. Mr. Brune, take my daughter up to our suite and make sure someone collects her things. I will be along later this afternoon, though tonight I must step out. There are some important men I have to meet and entertain," he said as he stood up, placing the newspaper beside his plate and walked to Sansa's side. "You will forgive me if I cannot spend the evening with you, sweetling?"
He rose up on his toes and kissed her forehead. Sansa held herself back from cringing. I don't want this anymore. I don't want to pretend to be his daughter. It is not right.
"I shall see you later, father," she said simply, and turned and walked out the door.
Later that evening Sansa retired to her bedroom. Dressed in only her thin, white-laced nightgown, she settled herself in the comfortable Victorian chair near the fireplace with Emily Dickinson's Poems, a book Petyr had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
On occasion, Petyr had surprised her with moments where he seemed almost thoughtful, but Sansa could not help but wonder if he was only using these small things as a way to keep her from noticing who he really was. He brought up the subject of marriage several times since her birthday, and she had always tried to changed the subject as quickly as possible. He had offered to marry her, to offer her protection, but Sansa knew it was her fortune he wanted to protect.
After her family and Robert Baratheon drowned at sea, she was set to inherit the Stark half of the Iron Fleet, a shipping company her father and Robert were partners in. The clause in will stated that she could not receive the inheritance till she was eighteen. She was sent to live with Robert Baratheon's widow, Cersei, and his son, Joffrey. That is when matters became complicated and Petyr took her away. After a while, rumors spread that Sansa had died. Since it could not be proven, no one was able to claim the inheritance or dispute it for five years. That five years was coming to a close and Sansa knew Petyr had some sort of plan to get it. Though she did not like it, deep inside she knew that if she married him, he could protect her and prove that she had nothing to do with Joffrey's death. She shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts.
I should have been on that ship. I was a fool to insist that I stay in New Orleans with Joffrey and his horrible mother. I thought I was in love. He never loved me, not even a little.
Sansa closed her book, unable to concentrate, and set it on the lace tablecloth before walking over to her mirror to brush her hair. She loosed the bun out of her hair and began to brush it, wishing she had her rich, auburn color back. She placed the brush down on the mahogany chest of drawers and pulled the bell sleeves over her elbows. She shivered. Though it was already May, and the days were getting longer, the nights were still cold. She slipped on her midnight-blue dressing gown and tied the cord around her waist, before making her way to the hallway that separated her bedroom from Petyr's.
She and Petyr lived on the top floor, and besides their own suite, there was only one other that shared their level. It was usually empty, the tenant only occupying it once a year. Petyr had told her it belonged to a man that had come up here before anyone else. E.B. Holdings was the richest claim in the north, and the owner was a solitary man who did not associate with Petyr and his brothels, or anyone else in Dawson for that matter. It was said he was man of God and refrained from the goings-on that took place in the city, a fact that made Petyr scoff whenever they walked past the man's door.
Sansa opened her bedroom door slightly and peeked out into the hallway, but she did not see the usual sliver of light shining out from below Petyr's door. He is still out. The evening is still early, he will be awhile. She sighed, a bit of happiness came over her as she knew the evening was hers to enjoy.
Sansa went back inside. She walked through the kitchen doors, toward the stove, and stoked a small fire, setting a kettle of water to boil. She opened the silver tin of tea, and sighed when she saw it was empty. She had forgotten to ask Myranda to pick some up when she went shopping today, and knew she had the night off. Myranda Royce and her father lived downstairs and took care of Sansa and Petyr's day-to-day things such as cooking, cleaning, and laundry. She didn't actually do the work herself, but arranged it all to be done for them.
I wonder if she is downstairs.
She checked the kettle. It was nowhere near a boil, and Sansa thought to leave it sitting on the hot stove, but something made her move it off the heat. I'll just run down quickly and see if she has any I can borrow. It is so chilly tonight.
Sansa unbolted the door and peeked back out into the main hall, the lingering daylight dimly shone through the window at the end of the hall. She glanced across to the other suite and noticed a light under the door. The man must be here. I have never met him. I wonder what he is like. Securing her dressing gown, she quietly closed the door behind her and ran quickly towards the door that led to the stairwell.
Usually, Lothor Brune could be found hovering around there, but she had met him earlier and suggested he see his girl, Mya, for a while. Sansa told him she had no plans to go out and she was only going to settle for the night with a good book. He smiled and tried to protest, but in the end he said he would go for just a bit.
Sansa grinned as she flew down the stairs. Maybe with my help, a wedding will take place. I wonder where they would live? Perhaps I could convince Petyr to give them a nice room here in this building….
Her thoughts were interrupted as she lurched into a thick moving wall, the force making her fall backwards. She tried to brace her herself, but cried out in pain as her wrist gave out, and she found herself lying back against the heavily carpeted steps looking up to the twisted face of Sandor Clegane.
He grabbed her good arm and hauled her up, his face just as gruesome as she remembered, inches away from hers.
"Little bird," he rasped, "Where do you think you're flying to?"
