Chapter 3

Sansa awoke slowly, stretching her limbs to work the kinks out. As she lay on her back staring up at the canopy above her bed she thought about how far she'd come in just a short month. Not long ago she'd been held prisoner right here in her own home. One would assume that this captivity would have fared better than when she was held hostage in Kings Landing, but one would be assuming wrong. In the Capital she had been mistreated, abused, tortured, taunted, almost anything you could think of. She had imagined it didn't get much worse than that. She had been sorely mistaken. When Littlefinger had brought her back to Winterfell she did not think she could be any happier. She was not pleased that she was to wed Ramsay for she knew of his families perversions. But what she hadn't expected was what she got once she became Lady Sansa Bolton. As the months passed she found herself longing for Kings Landing. She could much easier handle the treatment of her there as opposed to here in her childhood home.

Ramsay had done things to her, things she couldn't have imagined up in her mind if she had tried. Not only had he left mental and emotional scars she assumed would never dissipate, but he had left physical scars too. Sansa rose from her bed and walked to the large mirror propped up against the wall and watched herself as she let her night shift fall to the ground. Never wanting to harm her face, for it was the face of the North, that was left unmarked. The rest of her, however, was not. As her eyes roamed down her naked body she traced a light finger over some of the more prominent scars. They were all healing nicely. A strange man, Ramsay was. After a night of torture, he made sure the maester came to clean her wounds and tend to them properly. He said he hadn't wanted her to fall ill or look too gruesome. She imagined he wanted her to heal completely so that he could have a fresh canvas to work on time and time again, until her dying day.

Her finger lingered over her left breast, following the shape of the two crescents that were facing each other. His teeth leaving their impression forever in her skin. She skimmed past the many little nicks that covered her chest and torso. He hadn't wanted to harm her in any way that would prevent her from giving him an heir. So her stomach was largely left alone. Her thighs and back and buttocks were a different story. One particularly large gash on her inner left thigh was still scabbed over. It had not had the time to heal yet. That was the last time he had touched her. Her eyes looked over to her right thigh. That one was healed. He had made that one their first week as man and wife. It was two rather large letters. R B. He had branded her, telling her that no one else was ever to have her. That she was his and his alone and she'd be best to remember that. He'd promised to always make sure that one was visible, that if it ever started to fade he'd cut into her pale flesh and rebrand her.

Sansa turned around and looked at her backside in the reflection. Whip and belt lashes were sprinkled generously from her thighs all the way up her back. She had a few more bite marks on her shoulders as well. She shuddered remembering all the harsh ways he had taken her, the ways he had manhandled her. She knew there was pleasure to be had when lying with a man, but with Ramsay she had never felt any. Not a single ounce. The bruises were almost all faded by now, but the scars still remained. She did not cry while looking at her reflection. Rather, she grew tougher, stronger, harder. Like she promised herself the day before, she closed her eyes and pictured his hound, the alpha, as he stepped up onto Ramsay's lap. She remembered the way the dog had licked his broken face. And then the way he'd taken a bite. Having been starved for a week the animal no longer cared who his owner was. He was hungry and Ramsay had been a juicy plate of meat served to him on a silver platter. The hounds were better cared for now that Tormund was their owner.

She walked to the wardrobe where her dresses were kept and slipped into her small clothes. She then opened her door and called for Ingrid, ready to get this day started.

Petyr had begun his day rather early. Being Lord Protector of the Vale he was expected to sit in on council meetings. Though most found these meetings rather tedious, Petyr quite enjoyed them. What better way to learn how your possible enemies might behave in battle than straight from their mouths. The men broke for middays meal and Petyr chose to have his food outside. He had gone to the kitchen to ask a servant for a bit of bread, cheese, and chicken to be wrapped in a cloth so he could enjoy the beautiful day outdoors. The young kitchen maid had blushed as he idly flirted with her while she prepared his pack. Make friends in all places, he always told himself, for even the most lowly knew things that could crumble a kingdom. This poor young bird was putty in his hands. He let his hand linger on hers as he took his food from her outstretched hands. She turned red and shied away from his stare. Lifting her chin with his fingers she looked in his eyes and he told her "Thank you, little bird. I shall think of you while I taste your... vittles." He said the last word with a smirk on his face, hoping she would insinuate he had meant something else entirely. She did not disappoint.

He shook his head as the door closed behind him. Women, especially young maidens, were so simple to manipulate. Not all were, however. His little pawn proved a much harder egg to crack. But was that not one of the main reasons he found himself so drawn to her? Her unwillingness to cave to his charms. Once he had had her in his hand, able to mold her any way he wished. He foolishly squandered that chance away when he married her to Ramsay Bolton. She had wanted him. Had thought the marriage proposal he had secured for her was with him. He can still remember the disappointment in her eyes when he had told her it was not for him. His heart ached at that moment. He knew the time for having what he had wanted, her, was not then.

As he walked through the the main grounds and out the gates he let his mind clear of old feelings. They were done, no need to dwell. Petyr picked a spot under a tree where a log lay uncovered from snow, just in the outer linings of the trees. He opened his pack and noticed two sweet cakes among his requested food, lemon cakes to be exact. He smiled to himself, that little bird may come in handy one day. He sat and ate while staring off into the distance, not focusing on any one point, and went over the morning's council meeting details. Everyone in the North was to fight along side King Jon in the coming war against the White Walkers. Petyr had yet to decided what he would ultimately do with his Knights, but he kept that information to himself. While in the presence of others he declared his devotion to the King in the North. He couldn't very well distance himself from Jon's side until he had Sansa on his.

As this thought crossed him mind he heard a very familiar voice call to him. "Lord Baelish." Her voice was sweet as angels singing and he could not help the feeling of joy at hearing his name on her lips that grew inside him.

"Lady Sansa, how are you this day?" He asked her, returning her formal address. "You look radiant in that dress. Your House colors suit you perfectly." He enjoyed watching her blush grow with his compliment.

"I am well, my Lord. Are you out here alone?" She asked, looking around.

"Aye, that I am. Would you care to join me? I have some lemon cakes here, and I know how you love those." He replied, tempting her with the gifts of the kitchen servant.

Sansa looked a bit unsettled at his request, but curiosity won out and she agreed to join him. She sat next to him on the log and he handed her one of the cakes. She took it, thanking him, and tore off a small piece and placed it in her mouth. His breath stopped as he watched her put her fingers to her lips. She was unaware of his staring, thank the Gods. He recovred himself before her eyes looked up to meet his. "This is quite good." She said, mouth full of cake.

Petyr smiled and gave a small chuckle as he nodded. "I imagine they are." They sat in silence for a few minutes enjoying their food. Petyr decided he did not want to scare her off by talking politics. He very much enjoyed her company and he wished to have one days peace to stay by her side. Moreover, he wasn't going to win her trust and persuade her to his side if all he ever did was scheme and manipulate with her. She needed to see another side of him. His softer side, reserved only for her, and her mother before. He did not like to be so geniune with people, as it usually was seen as a weakness. Weakness lead to mistakes and failure. Petyr did not spend his life setting himself up to fail. But Sansa was the key to the North. And though she was a pawn in his Game, he did truly love her. He did not want to see her hurt or worse.

He looked over to the auburn haired beauty and dared to touch her braid. She looked quickly down at his fingers as he softly ran them down the bottom half of her braid. He let his hand fall on the log in between him when he had reached the end of her hair and looked up into her eyes. For a long moment they sat there, staring. Her lips parted as she took in an uneasy breath.

Sansa felt her mind go fuzzy. He was so close to her. She could feel his warmth up against the side of her. As she took a shaky breath she watched his eyes fall to her lips. He bite his bottom lip ever so slightly, unknowingly to himself she presumed. She found herself wishing that it was her lip he was biting instead of his own. She wanted to turn away, to get up and run back within the walls of Winterfell and into her chambers, but move she could not. She was frozen to that spot on the log, pinned by the eyes of Lord Petyr Baelish. Her hand moved from her lap to lay on top of his in between them. Quickly his eyes darted up to hers at the touch. The air around them grew thick. She was beginning to find it hard to breath. Sansa stood up right then, nearly fainting at the speed in which she rose. Her eyes clouded and she saw silver stars around the edges of her vision.

Noticing her unbalance, Petyr reached out to steady her with a hand on her waist. He stood so he could balance her with one hand on each of her hips. Her back was to his chest and she fell back against him, but only enough for support. She had not fainted. They stood there like that, her against him, his hands on her hips, for a moment. Then Petyr walked around to face her, circling his hands around her, never letting his touch be removed from her body.

"Are you ok, my love?" He asked her, leaning in close.

Sansa felt her head go light again, but this time for another reason. For other feelings. Her mind was too muddled to try and stop him as he moved closer still. She shook her head in different directions, not really remembering the question.

Petyr tended to not make advances on women who were too confused to make a proper decision on if they wanted him to or not, whether it be by drink or lust clouding their minds. But at the present time he could not find the will nor the want to stop himself. He leaned in at a snails pace, making his intentions very clear and deliberate, giving her plenty notice to stop him should she want him to. She did not stop him.

He watched her eyes flutter closed as he was almost descended on her lips, and in response closed his. He gently brushed his lips across hers, left then right. She let out a small sigh and her mouth opened ever so slightly in the process. Using only his tongue, he traced a fine path down across her bottom lip, then up around the top one, finishing it off by capturing her mouth in a full on kiss. As his mouth crashed down on hers his arms encircled her waist and brought her tight against his body. He held her like she was his lifeline, saving him from being swept away in the strong currents of the sea. Her arms were quickly wound around his neck and she met his kiss with a passion all her own.

The woods seemed to be intoxicating for them, influencing their actions in ways that were out of their control. Her hands sought out his hair and she pulled on the stands at the back of his head, giving him more pleasure than pain. His response was to grab her braid and pull it back, exposing her long, fair skinned neck to him. He kissed his way along her jaw, and down her neck, leaving little love bites along her flesh. As he worked his way to the part where her neck met her shoulder he faltered. It took her a moment to realize he had stopped his affections. Her mind cleared and she felt his finger tracing in a small oval along her shoulder.

Instantly she knew what he was doing, what he was seeing. As if she had been struck by lightening she jumped back out of his grasp. Sansa saw the look of pain, hatred, and sadness in his eyes. She couldn't bear to have him see, so she turned and ran back to her chambers as quickly as her long skirts would allow her. Mortified, she slammed the door to her rooms and pressed her back against the door, taking quick ragged breaths. As her heart slowed and the adrenaline ebbed the emotions crept in. Her breath hitched as she tried to stifle the cries she knew were coming. A few unsuccessful attempts to keep them at bay later she broke down into a sobbing mess. Slowly, she slid down the door and crumpled into a ball on the floor.

Standing in a daze at the edge of the forest, Petyr watched as Sansa ran back through the gates. He had known he had hurt her, had hurt her in unimaginable ways. He had known that Ramsay had left scars. Sansa had told him herself. Yet seeing them, seeing the marks left on her delicate skin, brought a rage in him he had never known. Had the sadistic bastard not already been killed he would have marched to where ever in the in Seven Kingdoms he was this very moment and end his miserable life himself.

After a long time, hours he assumed, the anger was finally fading enough for him to form a clear thought. The first thing he knew he needed to do was to find Sansa. He needed to find her and console her and let her know that no matter what that bastard did to her, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He needed her to understand that. Leaving the remnants of his lunch on the ground near the log, Petyr made his way back inside the castle. He headed straight for Sansa's chambers and ignored anyone who tried to stop him along the way.