The Laws of Gods and Men

"Tis a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want to be most of us."

When Rose enters Sansa's chambers, she finds her sitting on her bed, brow furrowed in concentration as she sews. Rose admires her handiwork. "That's pretty," she compliments, then frowns. "But, dark."

"It'll take me weeks to finish the stitching," Sansa sighs. Rose can see her fingers are scratched from where she's poked and prodded herself with the needle. Admittedly, she is a little out of practise, since most of their dresses in the South were made for them. "I've never done anything this elaborate before."

Rose spots another gown, not yet finished, splayed across the bed. "You're making one for me too?"

"Of course." Sansa smiles, brightly. "We're posing as Lord Baelish's nieces. I thought we'd best look the part."

Rose strokes the length of the dress and sits down on the bed. "That's very sweet of you, Sansa. But, please, don't exhaust yourself with it."

"There's nothing to do here except sew and read," she grumbles. "At least in King's Landing, there was—" she cuts herself off, instantly. Her eyes dart up to meet Rose's gaze, her cheeks turning pink.

Rose smiles, grimly. "I miss it, too," she confesses. "Parts of it. Not being a prisoner, of course, but the excitement of being in the capital. All the silk gowns, the knights in their painted armour." Instantly, she thinks of Ser Alastair, and an ache fills her chest. "How beautiful everything was. The warmth."

"The Eyrie is so chilly," Sansa complains, with a sigh. "In winter, this place will be a cold, white prison."

Rose's stomach twists into knots. She looks to her sister, with a small, anxious smile on her face. "It is truly coming, now," she says, quietly. "I can feel it."

Sansa cracks a grin. "Me too," she whispers.

Rose lies on her stomach on the bed, leafing through one of the books Littlefinger had stocked for her on the shelf. He'd been more than accommodating — bringing crates of lemons over from the capital so Sansa could enjoy her favourite treats, and frequently visiting the library to fetch Rose some decent reading material.

A knock on her door draws her out of her latest story. "Yes?"

The man himself pokes his head around the door, smiling when he sees her, reclining on the bed. "I hope I'm not disturbing," he says, softly. "Will you accompany me? There's something I'd like to show you. A gift."

Warily, Rose shuts her book. "Of course."

Getting to her feet, she smooths down her dress, and exits the room. Littlefinger guides her down the hallway with a hand on the small of her back.

"I've thought a lot about the things you've said since we've been reunited," he explains, keeping his tone gentle. "You understand your position in the North, but . . . beneath your bravado, you fear you won't be able to protect those you love against the coming storm. Or yourself." His gaze flits over her face, nodding at her anxious expression. "I know that. I have something which may ease your worries."

Littlefinger leads her up to the Moon Tower, to the chambers he shares with Lysa. Rose finds herself glancing around, uneasily searching for her aunt, but she's nowhere in sight. She hovers in the doorway, not daring to step through any further, wringing her hands in front of her.

Littlefinger has his back to her as he opens a wide, crimson case on the enormous bed. When he turns around, he's holding a glistening shortsword in his hands. The steel blade catches the sun and momentarily throws her off, but when he steps closer, Rose can admire it in easier detail. "It's—"

"Valyrian steel," he finishes, complacently. "Sharp enough to slice through skin. Small enough for good balance."

He holds it out to her, with an encouraging smile. Rose takes it, expecting it to be heavy, but he was right — the weight feels proper in her delicate hand. The hilt of it is engraved with a ruby direwolf, and when she looks closer, she can see the soft patterns of roses varnishing the blade. He must have had it made special for her.

"This is kind, Lord Baelish," she splutters. "But even if I wanted to use it—"

"I've arranged for you to train with the Master-at-Arms," he says, smoothly. "He'll teach you how to wield a blade better than you know how to read." His smile weakens at the sceptical look on her face. Tenderly, he runs his hand over her braid. "You're a free woman here, Rose. Free to do as you please. It's an offering you're more than welcome to reject. But, I fear that, one day, you'll be backed into a corner, with no means to protect yourself or those you love." Her heart does a funny skip in her chest. "You can try to survive on your mind, as I have done. Or, you can put the warrior's blood that runs through your veins to use." Littlefinger's lips twitch into a smile. "And every rose should be protected by thorns," he adds, running a finger along the steel.

Rose looks from him, to the sword, then back to him again. "Not long ago, I held a dagger to your throat," she recalls, bemused. "Now, you give me an even bigger blade? You must really, really trust me."

He nods, his brow knitting together. "In the hope that you'll return that trust someday."

Rose peers at him, searching his eyes. The two stare at one another for a long time, as though trying to read each other's thoughts. "Well," she chuckles, holding up her new blade. "This gets you closer."

Littlefinger's face flickers with delight. "All the best swords have names," he points out.

Rose stares down at the sword in her hand, at the blood-red direwolf, the roses painted in the Valyrian steel, Littlefinger's words echoing in her head. "Redthorn," she whispers, with a smile.

A/N: Rose with her own thorn! To me, Rose is a blend of both "masculine" and "feminine" characteristics, like her aunt, Lyanna. When I started writing her character, I wanted her to have the core/backbone of a Stark, but a fully fleshed out personality of her own, which I hope I have achieved. She's sweet and kind, but I also love exploring her wild side. Hopefully putting a sword in her hand will allow me to do so in greater depth (and to bring out the warrior in her).

What do you think of Littlefinger's gift? Are the reasons obvious to you, why he would give her something so "unladylike"? Or, do you think it's a genuine token of his affections? Let me know!