"You kissed him! You enticed him, just as your mother did that night in Riverrun, with her smiles and her dancing. You think I could forget? You are as wanton as your mother. Marillion, play us 'The False and the Fair.'"
Sansa's skirts flapped frantically about her shivering legs with the icy gust that flew through the open Moon Door which beckoned her to the oblivion below. Her heart pounded in her chest as Marillion's voice bellowed through the High Hall.
Her Aunt's face contorted into an irate and maddening smile, her eyes a burning fury which were once Tully blue, but now as black as tar. Sansa's mouth gaped in terror, her body shaking furiously. She gasped when she lost her balance from her Aunt's forceful shove and started tumbling towards the open door. Her foot caught underneath the other, flinging her body forward and out into the sky beyond.
As she stumbled out the moon door, a hand flew out to catch her forearm. With a strong grasp, her unknown savior began pulling her back into the High Hall. Sansa swung her other arm up and desperately grabbed the heavily muscled forearm of the man bringing her to safety. 'It's him. He's come to save me. He said no one would ever hurt me again or he'd kill them. Oh gods, it's really him.'
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fell to her knees on the High Hall floor. Her chest heaved as uncontrolled sobs wracked her body as she lay at the feet of her protector. Her eyes slowly began wondering up his form. He was exactly as she remembered; one of the tallest men she had ever seen, dark wool breeches, mailed fists at his side, black scaled armor. The breath caught in her chest as her eyes worked towards his face.
'I was so scared of his face. I couldn't even look at him. Now, I want nothing more than to see that face.' She closed her eyes and sighed. She opened her eyes again to look upon his face. A sinister smile spread about his wormy lips. Golden curls tumbled into the green pools that were his eyes. A grumbling emerged from his throat and exploded into a mocking laugh. Sansa struggled to get to her feet, but her legs were frozen beneath her and she could not will them to move.
Joffrey kneeled down beside her and pulled her chin up to meet his gaze with so much force she thought her head might pop off of her shoulders. He pushed his fat lips against her mouth. She screamed in disgust and horror while her mouth filled with blood at his kiss. When he pulled away, that same dreadful smile played about his lips. His voice was barely above a whisper, but she heard him nonetheless. "Let us see if his Little Bird can fly." With that, he pushed her from the Moon Door. She fell screaming to meet the ground below.
When Sansa woke from her nightmare, her face was stained with tears. In an effort to comfort herself, her trembling hands met her cheeks and she gently wiped away the tears with soft strokes.
Lysa is dead and so is Joffrey. They can never hurt me again. Ever since the chaos that ensued a fortnight past in the High Hall, her Aunt Lysa had haunted her dreams. They all ended the same with Sansa meeting her demise by flying out of the Moon Door. Sansa realized tears were still tumbling down her cheeks in a quiet, steady stream.
She had had these dreams before. They were disturbing, to be sure. However, there was something deeply troubling about last night's dream. She had nightmares about Joffrey when he had ordered her father executed. His cameo in her dream was not what was bothering her. She replayed the dream in her head. 'Let us see if his Little Bird can fly.'
The realization hit her at once. I thought it was him. I was so sure he had come to save me. I wanted so badly to open my eyes and see his face, scars and all. But I hadn't. He wasn't there. This feeling…is disappointment. I wanted it to be him. Him saving me, him kissing me.
Her thoughts wandered to the Battle of the Blackwater when she had come upon him in her bedchamber. He kissed me then. He took his song and returned the favor with a kiss. That was the last time Sansa had seen the Hound. She had been thinking of him often since coming to the Eyrie. Somehow thinking of him made her feel safe, even if it was only an illusion. She knew better than to think she was truly safe. Lord Baelish had rescued her from King's Landing and whisked her away to the Eyrie. 'The Eyrie is impregnable' Sweetrobin would say. Be that as it may, it was the people already within the Eyrie that concerned Sansa.
Littlefinger concerned her the most, even though she could not exactly put her finger on what was so troubling about him. He had always been kind to her and he had saved her after all. Years ago, Sansa would daydream about some gallant knight whisking her away from Winterfell to some far off land. In those visions, her knight was painfully handsome, courteous to a fault, and desperately in love with her. She silently chuckled at that memory and shook her head. That girl really was stupid, head in the clouds. But I am Alayne now. And Alayne is older, smarter, and, above all, warier.
Littlefinger was no gallant knight, of that she was certain, and was comely, but something about his eyes made her uncomfortable. More than anything, she regretted all the time she spent wishing and praying to leave Winterfell. What I wouldn't give to be back home with my family whole again…
Sansa gave a resigned sigh and hopped from her bed. She winced when her bare feet hit the cold stone floor of her bedchamber. She hurriedly crossed the room to the tall armoire which held her clothes. Littlefinger had filled the armoire with her Aunt Lysa's finest gowns and jewels. Sansa admired the plush velvet gowns and sparkling jewels, but was uneasy about dressing herself in a dead woman's garb. Besides, her aunt had grown heavy in her later years so she doubted the gowns would even fit her.
Instead, she settled on a modest grey woolen dress that was delicately embroidered on the bodice with dark blue roses. Just like the winter roses in the glass garden at Winterfell… The dress was a bit too low cut for her liking and the fabric stretched tightly about her bust. She quickly washed her face and she stepped into her boots. She grabbed her brush and walked softly to stand in front of the mirror on the armoire door.
She admired herself while combing out her waist length hair, which would soon need to be dyed; hints of auburn were beginning to emerge within the deep brown locks. Her body had changed since leaving King's Landing. Her bust had become fuller and her hips curved in soft slopes from her small waist. She had grown taller too. The dress she wore when escaping King's Landing barely covered her ankles now. Her face had changed too. Instead of the full, bright cheeks of a young girl, her face had grown slim and high cheek bones emerged. Her lips that were once pouty had become almost sensuous. Her eyes sparkled a deep Tully blue, but no longer held the wistful dreams of a naïve young girl. Instead, there was a sadness to them, a sadness that mimicked the longing of home in her heart.
Sansa emerged from her bedchamber and quickly walked down the corridor towards Petyr's solar where she and Robert broke their fast. She had slept in longer than she intended. Surely, Petyr and Robert would be waiting for her and she didn't want to keep them waiting, not with Robert's shaking fits. They had been coming on easily as of late. As she approached the door to the solar, she heard her little cousin whining against Maester Colemon's pleading.
"My Lord, you must break your fast! The Lords Declarant will be here by afternoon and they will want to see their Lord!" exclaimed the Maester.
"I do not want to meet with them! Tell them to go away! Why are they even coming? I want my mother! I want my MOTHER." Sansa could hear Robert's fists pounding against the table. As she entered the solar, he hurled his bowl of porridge from the table, which missed the Maester's stunned faced by mere inches and crashed against the wall behind him.
Maester Colemon gave her an exasperated look and, with his chains softly rattling, shuffled towards Sansa. "I am at my wits end," he said in a hushed voice. "Please, my Lady, if you could try to settle him. Gods know we do not want the Lords Declarant to see him in one of his fits." Sansa nodded her head and gently took the Maester's hands into her own. "I will do the best I can, Maester. Perhaps we should send for something else to break his fast." The Maester quickly nodded his head in agreement, clearly thankful to be unburdened from the situation. "I will send to the kitchens for boiled eggs and fried black bread," the Maester sighed before taking his leave.
Sansa slowly padded over to where Robert sat with his arms tightly folded across his chest and a spoiled scowl on his face.
"My Sweetrobin! I am so very happy to see you this morning," she said, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Alayne, you must tell the Lords Declarant they cannot come today. Tell them I cannot see them. Tell them I don't want to see them!"
Sansa sighed and smiled sweetly. "My sweet little Lord, they have come very far just to see you, the brave Lord of the Vale that they serve. We mustn't turn them away. What might they think of us?"
"I don't care what they think of us! I hate porridge and I hate the Lords Declarant!"
The conversation was quickly becoming circular, Sansa realized. Luckily, before she could mutter a futile response to Robert, Littlefinger fluttered through the door. His blue-green doublet was elegantly embroidered with silver ivy leaves. His grey-brown beard and mustache neatly manicured.
"Ah, my sweetlings! There you are. I trust that last night's slumber was peaceful for you both and filled your heads with wonderful dreams." His smile was warm, but his green-grey eyes betrayed him. Sansa pondered whether or not he could know that her dreams tormented her for the past two weeks. She certainly hadn't told him. Something told her that he shouldn't have that knowledge so instead she flashed a bright smile at him and feigned agreement with his inquiry.
Petyr swept over to the head of the table, pulled out his chair, and sat with an irritated sigh. He lowered his eyes towards the silent Robert sitting adjacent to him. Robert feared Lord Baelish, Sansa knew, even before he had tearfully confessed it to Sansa one night while she read to him. She had tried her best to soothe his fears, but was alarmed that they both shared the same concerns. It seemed neither of them truly trusted Littlefinger, but could not quite puzzle out exactly why that was.
"Robert, my Lord, I happened upon a very distraught Maester Colemon on my way in here. Much to his chagrin, he had managed to get porridge on the back of his robe. Pray tell, how did our dear and faithful Maester manage such a task?"
"I do not want to meet with the Lords Declarant! The Maester cannot make me, but he will try. I told him I wouldn't! He would not listen to me! He must listen to me. And you! And Alayne! I command it!"
"I have heard enough. You may take your leave, my Lord. I will have your breakfast brought to your bedchamber. Your maids will help you bathe and dress. You will be summoned to meet the Lords Declarant once they arrive. All I request of you is to welcome them to the Eyrie upon their arrival. Do you think you can do that?"
Robert hung his head in defeat. Sansa eyed him apprehensively. She wished Petyr would speak more gently to Robert. True enough, the little Lord was spoiled and unpredictable. However, his situation was precarious and worsening daily since his mother had perished.
Much to her relief, Robert silently nodded acceptance at Littlefinger's request.
"Very well then. We shall feast in the High Hall this evening to welcome our Lords. Alayne, be a dear and bring our Sweetrobin back to his chambers then I must speak to you privily, my sweet." Sansa nodded her head and did as she was bid.
She returned back to the solar and took her seat at the opposite end of the table from Littlefinger.
"Alayne, being my daughter, you are a clever girl. Surely you understand why the Lords Declarant are paying us such an unexpected visit." He eyed her intently, eagerly awaiting her answer.
"Yes, my Lord father, I imagine I do. With Lady Lysa's death, they are surely concerned for their Lord of the Vale."
"Good, my sweet. And they surely are quite troubled by the events that have transpired here at the Eyrie. I would imagine they will have many and more questions surrounding what happened in the High Hall which led to the unfortunate demise of my beloved wife."
Sansa knew where this was going. She knew that when the Lords Declarant made their ascent up to the Eyrie, she would be required to maintain the lie that Littlefinger had weaved. The time was drawing near to relay how the events unfolded, just as Petyr had instructed her. He wanted to make sure she could do it; that she could tell this horrendous lie and tell it convincingly.
She cleared her throat and locked her gaze onto Littlefinger's eyes. "The Lady Lysa's death is a horrible tragedy. Marillion's true nature was apparent to all, but her. We all feared what he might do when it was apparent his infatuation was unrequited." Sansa stopped when a devious smile spread across Littlefinger's face.
"Alayne, my sweet daughter, you have the right of it. A terrible tragedy that I am truly sorry you had to witness. Surely, the Lords Declarant will see how much this has vexed you, as I do now. Now come give your father a kiss."
She shut her eyes slowly, breathed in deep, and pushed herself gracefully from the table. With trepidation, she reached his chair and bowed down to give him a quick peck on each cheek.
He smiled a coy smile. "How very…dutiful." When she turned to leave, he caught her by the wrist and pushed his mouth onto hers and held her there for what seemed like an eternity before finally letting her break away. "I will summon you when the Lords Declarant have arrived."
She had been at her needlework all morning after leaving Littlefinger's solar. She hadn't really any idea of what she was embroidering on the white cloth. Instead she just began her work and allowed her fingers to move automatically, without a plan for the outcome. She stopped when a gentle knock came at her door. As she bid the visitor to come in, she glanced down at the white cloth. The image that was taking shape looked alarmingly similar to the direwolf sigil of the House Stark. As Ser Lothor Brune opened the door, Sansa quickly took the white cloth and hid it behind her back.
Ser Lothor knew her identity and Littlefinger assured her that he could be trusted. She had come to trust Ser Lothor, but she didn't want to take any chances.
"My Lady, word has come that the Lords Declarant are making their ascent from Sky castle. They shall be arriving shortly. Your Lord father has requested your presence. I am to escort you."
"Thank you, Ser Lothor. Might I have a moment to prepare myself?"
The knight bowed slightly, "Take your time, my Lady. I will wait outside your chamber."
When he left, Sansa took the embroidered cloth and hid it beneath the blankets in the wooden trunk at the foot of her bed. She smoothed her skirts and retreated from her chamber.
She met Littlefinger in the High Hall and was surprised to see Sweetrobin in a light blue doublet with a cream colored crescent moon and falcon embroidered on it. She smiled to herself thinking of the fit he must have thrown when told he needed to dress up for the events of the evening. Those poor chamber maids…
The Lords Declarant looked weary as they entered the High Hall. Sansa remembered how terrified she was when she took her ascent to the Eyrie.
There were six Lords Declarant in total and were accompanied by Ser Lyn Corbray whose comely face was spoiled by the perpetual scowl he wore. Sansa was surprised to find there was a Lady Declarant amongst them. The Lady Waynwood bowed gracefully as she approached, the vision of a true Lady, noble and refined. Sansa bowed her head and smiled politely as the others passed by.
The last of the Lord Declarants to approach her was an older man, with bushy white eyebrows framing grey eyes. Her breath caught in her chest and she quickly averted her eyes as he stopped in front of her.
A million thoughts fleeted through her head. He will know me. Oh gods, he was at the Tourney of the Hand. He even came north and stayed in Winterfell once!
His stare felt as though it was burning through her and he did not remove his eyes from her. My face may make him suspicious, but my actions will surely betray my identity. I must look at him, greet him, and smile. She met Ser Yohn Royce's eyes and gave him a courteous smile along with a curtsey.
He eyed her intently, sweeping his icy stare across her face with a furrowed brow. After pondering her for what felt like an eternity he finally spoke. "Do I know you, girl?"
Sansa fought with everything she had not to throw herself at his feet and confess her true identity.
Before she could speak, Littlefinger had swiftly appeared at her side and flashed them both a warm smile. "My Lord, may I present to you my beloved daughter, Alayne Stone." Ser Yohn squinted his eyes at her once more before bowing his head slightly and taking her hand in his, he kissed it lightly. "I did not know you had a daughter, Lord Baelish. What a pleasant surprise." Ser Yohn smiled tensely, eyed her face once more, and walked past her.
He knows who I am. He had been a friend of my father. If only I could tell him who I really am. He might take me from this place…either to somewhere safe or right into the grasp of Cersei.
The feast had been pleasant, but left her feeling uneasy. She had sat on the far end of the dais, but could hear Petyr chatting with the guests and sullenly accepting condolences from a few of the Lords Declarant, particularly Lady Waynwood.
The meal had been quite satisfying and to Sansa's liking; roast suckling pig with garlic and peach sauce, mashed turnips drowned in butter, salad greens with plump cherries and walnuts, and lemoncakes, which she woofed down eagerly.
Boredom had overcome the little Lord Robert early in the feast. He sat pushing his food around his plate with one hand while resting his head in the other. He let out loud sighs to communicate his displeasure. Eventually, Littlefinger let him take his leave.
Sansa would have happily taken her leave early too. On numerous occasions throughout the evening, she caught Lord Royce studying her intently. As soon as she would meet his eyes, he would look away and resume his conversation with Ser Lothor. That made her increasingly uneasy as well. What is Ser Lothor talking with him about? Is he revealing my identity?
When the feast finally ended, she and Littlefinger bid the guests a pleasant evening of rest as they were ushered off to their quarters.
Once they were gone, Littlefinger turned to her and rested his hands on her waist. "What leaves you so distraught, my Sweetling?" His face was much too close to hers.
In a hushed voice she began, "Lord Royce was at the Tourney of the Hand. He came to Winterfell once. He knows who I am."
Littlefinger moved one hand from her waist to rest his palm on her cheek. "What Lord Yohn Royce recognizes is your beauty. My dear, you have naught to worry about. You were but a child last he saw you and even then I doubt he gave you even a passing glance. You are a woman now," his eyes swept from her face down her body, "you will do well to bear in mind that men will be looking at you from now on." With that he kissed her cheek softly and sauntered away.
She was happy to be back in her chamber, tucked tightly into her bed with the soft woolen blankets pulled up to her chin. She sighed deeply, but could not rid herself of the uneasiness she felt. She wanted to believe that Littlefinger was right and that Lord Royce had not recognized her as Sansa Stark. She wanted to believe everything Littlefinger had filled her head with, but somehow she just couldn't bring herself to do it. He lies too well, she knew. With that, her thoughts went immediately to the place she took refuge in when she felt unsafe. 'A hound will die for you, but never lie to you' Where are you? I wanted so badly to open my eyes and see you standing before me, my protector…
That night Sansa drifted into a peaceful sleep, brought on by the exhaustion of the day. She dreamt of Sandor and the night he came to her. She was singing sweetly and softly to him and not because he had forced her to give him a song, but because she had wanted to give him a song.
A/N:
**The very first line in the dream sequence (Lysa Arryn) is quote from "A Feast for Crows."**
Hmm...there appears to be some synchronicity developing between Sansa and Sandor. An overarching theme for this story is how fate (or universal forces at large) can propel us towards something while tearing us from other things. Synchronicity among other wonderful things will be woven throughout that theme...
