This chapter contains some graphic violence and disturbing imagery. To skip, stop reading at "Sansa stepped" and control F to "Arya slowed." There will be a recap in the end notes. Enjoy!

"Brienne," said Sansa suddenly, looking up from her seat at the table, "I think I'd like to meet Father as he finishes with the council."

She felt Brienne's eyes studying her critically, just as they had when Sansa emerged from her chambers this morning. Sansa had left her hair down around her shoulders, in a pretty southern style. She had also donned a blue silk, embroidered with a hundred leaping, silver fish.

"Of course, my lady," Brienne responded, climbing to her feet. "Where is your sister, this morning? She should accompany us."

"Arya is otherwise occupied," Sansa said, laying a reassuring hand on Brienne's arm, "it will be just the two of us."

Brienne asked no questions, but Sansa could feel, rather than see, the crinkle appear between her knight's eyebrows.

She walked silently by Sansa's side as they made their way towards the council chambers. Thank you for trusting me.

Sansa did not shrink as she normally did when moving through the halls of the Keep. She walked with all the assurance and grace as was befitting a lady with the noblest bloodline.

Sansa registered the eyes that followed her across the courtyard. She damned them all, and smiled.

The council was emerging from their chambers as she approached, and she noted the moment when they caught sight of her. If there was one thing that Sansa had learned, it was how to manipulate the eye.

"Father!" she cried out gaily, waving her hand delicately. He moved to come to her, but she preempted him, coming closer so that she could see the faces of the men he was with.

Her father's eyes darkened with concern immediately, and he went to her, drawing her close. She allowed her head to rest on his shoulder for a moment, before pulling away.

"Sansa," Ned said, looking over her quickly, "what is the matter, my love?"

Sansa let a pout slip onto her face, tracking the others in her periphery. "Arya was horrid this morning," she told her father, letting pettiness slip into her voice, "she stole my doll, the nice one with the pretty hair. She's going to ruin it!"

Her father blinked, caught off-guard by her words. Listen to what I mean, she urged him silently, not what I say.

"I'm sure your sister meant no harm," said her father, recovering himself, "I will speak with her."

"She's sulking in her room," Sansa told him dismissively, "like a child."

Ned shook his head in confusion, "Let us go back to the Tower," he said, "we will - "

"Ned, you keep this lovely girl too close," interrupted Renly, smiling widely. He kissed Sansa's hand. "I have not seen you since the tourney, my lady. I hope you have fared well."

Sansa blushed prettily. "Thank you, my lord," she said to Renly, "I have recovered somewhat from my fright. It helps to know that Brienne is close by."

"Of course," Renly agreed, bowing to Brienne, "Lady Brienne makes us all feel safer."

Sansa smiled, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. Her eyes darted to Littlefinger, and back again when he met her stare.

"If you would just talk to your sister," her father urged, placing a hand on her back. Sansa squirmed away from him.

"I'm not talking to her until she apologizes," Sansa said hotly, "she's always taking my things, it's not fair!" She tossed her hair. "Besides, Brienne and I are going to take tea and cakes under the pavilion. It's such a beautiful day, I want to be by the sea."

Ned hesitated, studying her. "Very well," he said, finally, "I will see to your sister."

"Good," sniffed Sansa, "she cannot behave like this. We are guests of the King. Come, Brienne."

She rose to her tiptoes, and kissed her father on his cheek. She swept a low curtsy to the council, and allowed her eyes to linger on Littlefinger's once more. Then she strode off towards the pavilion, Brienne following close behind.

"I love lemoncakes, don't you?" Sansa inquired of Brienne.

"They are lovely," Brienne said, fidgeting in her place beside Sansa. Her eyes darted nervously about, as if looking for the next enemy.

"It's a beautiful day, Brienne," Sansa said taking Brienne's hand in her own, "try to enjoy it."

"Yes, my lady," said Brienne, meeting Sansa's eyes with an incomprehensible expression.

Sansa hummed under her breath, eating lemoncakes, and playing with the flowers that dripped down over the table.

She stilled when Brienne's head snapped to attention.

"Lord Baelish," Brienne said, her voice mistrustful.

Sansa looked up. He hovered by their table, a half-smile on his face, his eyes glinting.

"Lord Baelish," Sansa greeted, taking her napkin and wiping her mouth daintily.

"Lady Sansa," he said, his smile growing. She proffered her hand, and he took it and kissed it. His eyes flickered to Brienne, and he inclined his head in greeting.

"Are you taking in the gardens, Lord Baelish?" Sansa asked him, "I was just telling Brienne how beautiful the day has become."

"Indeed," Littlefinger said, "quite different from what you are used to in the North, my lady."

"I am a southern lady now," Sansa told him primly, "this weather suits my constitution."

"I see that," he said, his eyes running over her hair and dress, He gestured to an empty chair, "may I join you?"

"Oh," said Sansa, turning to Brienne as if in question. She turned back around with an apologetic smile, "we were just finishing. Brienne was going to escort me to the godswood."

"Ah," said Littlefinger, withdrawing, "perhaps another time then."

"You could join us," Sansa said, smiling up at him, "it would be a pleasure."

"I would not intrude on your prayers, my lady," Littlefinger said, but his fingers wrapped around the top of the chair, staying him.

"I keep to the Seven," Sansa told him, "my mother's gods. I simply enjoy walking through the trees."

"If you do not mind," he said, studying her.

"I do not," Sansa told him firmly, gathering her skirts and getting to her feet, "and Brienne will be with us, as an escort."

He offered his arm, and she took it. They walked, and Brienne trailed them like a shadow.

"I wanted to apologize," Sansa said, looking up at him, "if I seemed rude or reticent when we first met. I did not realize, at first, who you were."

He looked down at her, in interest.

"I wrote my mother of you," she informed him. His fingers tightened the slightest bit on her hand.

"Oh?" he hummed lightly.

"She said you were very dear to her," said Sansa, "and she asked how you've fared. I told her you seem to have done quite well for yourself."

"I rose on tricks of the trade, my lady," he said gamely, "a bit of luck landed me in the service of our good king, and I intend to honor my position as long as I possess it."

"You do honor it, my lord," she told him, "the North will be ever grateful to your assistance in finding the gold for the glass gardens."

"Fascinating idea," said Littlefinger, "the North has all the land of the other six kingdoms combined, and yet so little of it is hospitable. To transform arid soil, is to transform an entire economy."

"How so?" Sansa asked.

"The North can never be tamed," said Littlefinger, "and so it must be managed in other ways. Food production, for one. The North depends on grain shipments from the South, especially in the Winter years. But if that need is removed…"

"Oh, our gardens are mostly flowers," said Sansa dismissively, "and lemons of course. The trees don't grow nearly as well as they do here, though. Princess Myrcella's garden is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen."

"Isn't it?" asked Littlefinger, as they reached the edge of the godswood.

"Do you know the way, my lord?" Sansa asked him.

"No, my lady," he said smoothly, "I will follow you."

Sansa stepped into the clearing of the heart tree. Her heart pounded, as she pulled her arm free of Littlefinger. Brienne stepped off to the side, watching.

"I thought you might frequent the godswood," Sansa said, stepping towards the great tree, "mother wrote that you loved to go there with her when you were children."

"Many years ago," he said, stepping closer to her, "how the time does pass. You look just as she did, all those years back."

Sansa smiled, pleased. "I've been told I look just like her," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I hope I'm as beautiful as her one day."

"My lady," he said, glancing at Brienne's stony face, "you already are."

Sansa hummed in acknowledgement, and bent to gather the daisies that littered the base of the tree. It was in that silence, that she caught the faintest whistle of a blade.

He caught the sound as well, but Arya's dagger hit its mark, just as he made to turn around. The blade buried itself deep in his skull, and he stumbled. Sansa's watched, as his eyes widened, and his mouth opened in shock. Blood dripped out the corners of his mouth, and he fell heavily to the ground.

He jerked several times, moaning, but Sansa knew that he would not get up. Arya emerged from the trees, a grim smile on her face.

Sansa whipped her attention to Brienne, who was staring at Littlefinger's body in shock. Her horrified eyes met Sansa's.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said, tripping over her words in haste, "I wasn't sure if you would stop us."

"You should have told me," Brienne rasped, her breathing unsteady. She shook her head, a hand at her heart.

Arya strode briskly over to the body, and poked at his collar.

"We need to get these clothes off him," Arya said, keeping her eyes on Sansa. She did not look at Brienne.

Sansa nodded slowly, staring at the back of his head where the blade had entered.

Arya's mouth twisted the tiniest bit. "Go wait in the trees," she told her sister, "I will see to this."

"No," Sansa told her sister firmly, although she made no move to approach the body, "I will stay."

Brienne stepped over to them quietly, her face pale. She put a hand on Arya's shoulder. "What do we need to do?"

They worked quickly. The body was stripped of the top layer of clothing. Sansa placed his yellow cape, his fine doublet, and his mockingbird pin in a pile to the side.

"There's a shovel behind the tree," Arya instructed Brienne, "the hole needs to be out of the clearing." Brienne vanished into the trees to her task.

"There's less blood than I expected," said Sansa, staring at the dark stain on the ground.

"It's all contained," said Arya, pointing to the darkened earth, "cleaner than wolves."

"Yes," Sansa agreed.

She helped Arya flip the body. Arya took a cloth, and wiped the face, closing the eyes. She stopped then, looking up at Sansa.

"You can't be here for this part," Arya said flatly.

"I'm not afraid," Sansa started to argue.

"No," Arya said, and something in her sister's sudden monotone frightened her, "you cannot stay for this part."

Sansa jerked her head in a nod, and stood quickly. She hurried into the trees to look for Brienne.

Silently, she helped Brienne, careful not to dirty her dress. They lingered by the hole, long after it was finished. Reluctantly, Sansa led the way back to the clearing, her steps hesitant.

"Arya?" she called softly. Her sister stood over the body, but her hands were empty. Arya looked up and nodded at them. Her eyes were fathomless.

"Take it," Arya said gesturing to the body, "I've finished."

Brienne dragged it off, her face damp with exertion.

"Is it done?" Sansa whispered.

Arya nodded. "Close your eyes," she told Sansa quietly, "and do not open them until I say so."

Sansa nodded, and sank to the ground, her hands over her eyes. She shifted her thumbs, so that they were pressed over her ears, blocking out all sound. She stayed like that, in a huddle, waiting.

"Sansa."

"Sansa."

Sansa opened her eyes with a sharp intake of breath. Littlefinger stood in front of her, dressed in his clothes. As she stared, he took one of his thin hands, and brushed a bit of dirt away from his doublet.

She was frozen in fear.

A look of hesitation passed over his face. It was a look that Sansa had never seen Petyr Baelish wear in all his many faces. It relaxed her a touch, and she stared in wonder.

"It's alright," Littlefinger's raspy voice assured her, "it's me. It's not him."

"Arya," whispered Sansa, brokenly. She had not meant to sound so shattered, but it could not be helped.

"Do not fear," Arya told her gently, "it will only be for a short while. Rest assured, he is gone."

The three of them made their way out of the godswood, Sansa on Arya's arm. Brienne a step behind them. They parted at the gardens. Arya bowed low, and kissed Sansa's hand. She then strode briskly off, yellow cape fluttering in the breeze.

Sansa fought to keep her steps steady.

"Wasn't that lovely?" she asked Brienne in a sweet, hollow voice as they walked.

"Yes, my lady," Brienne responded quietly. Sansa looked up. She could still see where the sweat had run down Brienne's face, leaving traces of salt behind.

Arya slowed herself, walking at an unhurried pace. Like a man who believes he owns the world, she thought.

She nodded to all those she passed, making sure to catch their eyes. He needed to be remembered.

Her hand, she kept at her breast. There was blood there, and around the collar. But Arya knew how easily people missed what they did not look for.

Littlefinger's chambers were a fair walk away. She greeted the guards in the corridor, and reached into her pockets to extract his key.

His rooms were meticulous, not a hair out of place. Arya perused his desk, and drawers, but he was a careful man. There was nothing of interest here.

She threw some of this clothes in a bag, along with a fine silver chain and several gold dragons. And then she left, leaving the door unlocked behind her.

No one stopped her, as she walked through the Keep, and passed through the gates. She crossed the streets, ducking into an alley. She dropped the bag. Someone would find it, and make use of its contents.

And Petyr Baelish of the Fingers, vanished into thin air.

They ate in a tense silence. Sansa couldn't meet her father's eyes, couldn't answer his questions.

"Where is your sister?" Ned demanded again.

"Busy," Sansa said, pushing at her food with her fork, "she's safe."

"That is not what I asked," Ned said tightly, "Sansa, you must tell me. I am worried."

"I know you are worried," Sansa told him, "but I cannot tell you until Arya returns. Which she should, shortly."

Ned sat back, the chair scraping harshly against the stone. He looked once more at Brienne. She shook her head, her mouth in a thin line.

He came to Sansa, kneeling in front of her, and taking her hands. "Sansa," he pleaded again, "child, please. What is it that you cannot trust me with?"

Sansa looked down, saying nothing, but her fingers curled around his.

Ned sighed, looking down at their clasped hands. He pulled their hands apart, and caught her fingertips between his. Sansa jerked away.

"There's blood under your nails," said Ned horsley.

Sansa swallowed hard, and her chin trembled.

The door slammed below, and Ned jumped to his feet as the sound of rapid steps on the stairs approached. Arya skidded to a stop when she realized they were waiting for her.

Sansa flew to her sister, and pulled Arya off the ground into her arms. Arya struggled half-heartedly, her eyes on Ned and Brienne. Sansa felt her sister tentatively put a hand on the back of her neck, trying to sooth her.

'Where were you?" Ned demanded of Arya, coming forward to embrace the both of them. He squeezed them tightly, then stepped back, his face a mask.

Sansa met Arya's eyes. "An errand," said Arya, shifting on her feet, "I was successful."

Ned sat down at the table, and in that instant, her father looked old and weary.

"What have you done?" Ned whispered, beseeching them.

"What was necessary," Arya said quietly, "only what was necessary."

"Arya is right," said Sansa, her fingers drifting through her sister's hair, "it was just."

"What?" snapped Ned, "what was so necessary? So important that you kept it from me?"

"We didn't tell you, or Brienne," Sansa said, her eyes flicking to Brienne's face, "we didn't wish to burden you with something that was inevitable."

"You should have told me," Brienne said in a grim voice, "I would not have stopped you. I am no stranger to justice. I have acted upon it myself when I saw fit."

"Perhaps," Sansa agreed, "but we did not. And I am sorry for the grief and shock that we have caused you, but I do not regret our decision."

Her father stared at her. "Who?" he murmured, trepidation lacing the word.

Arya stepped towards him, and held out her fist. She uncurled her tightly clenched fingers, to reveal a silver mockingbird pin sitting in the palm of her hand.

There was silence. Sansa did not dare look upon her father's face.

"For you, my lady," Arya said, turning and depositing the pin into Sansa's hand, "the deed is done."

"Thank you," Sansa said, staring at the glinting silver.

She would throw it in the bay, she decided at once. Stabbed, buried, drowned. There were so many ways to dispose of a man and his belongings.

It was the memories, however, that lingered long after flesh and bone had rotten away. She looked at the pin, and swore she could taste mint on her tongue.

"I'm going to have a drink," Ned said, into the silence, after the girls had retreated upstairs, "would you like one?"

Brienne hesitated, before sitting down across from him. "I think I will," she said. Ned poured them wine, and she wrapped her hand tightly around the cup she was given.

"I never liked to drink," Ned said, gazing off into the fire, "on occasion I would, but I never found it soothing as so many do."

"I don't either, my lord," Brienne said, staring down into the wine, "I'm hesitant weaken my body and mind. It's all one has."

They drank in silence, the fire crackling.

"I did not know," Brienne murmured after a while, "I spoke truly, I would not have stopped them. But I cannot protect them if I cannot anticipate their actions."

"She dressed like her mother this morning," Ned croaked, "for an instant when I saw her coming, I thought it was Cat. I was so proud, she looked so beautiful. And it was all for him."

"She laid a sure trap," Brienne said quietly, "he came to her without a second thought."

Ned drank deeply. "How was it done?" he asked, his voice catching roughly.

"A dagger," said Brienne.

"Who wielded it?"

"It was not me, my lord," Brienne admitted, but she would say no more.

There was a dead man's blood underneath his daughters' fingernails, and the thought of that made Ned want to wretch.

Festering worm of a man, Arya's words whispered in his ear, I slit his throat for his crimes.

"But it's done," said Ned, emerging from his stupor, "and there is no trace of him? No chance it can be linked to the girls?

"No, my lord," said Brienne, her eyes dark, "of that I can assure you. It has been done, and it has been done thoroughly."

Thoroughly. Ned could only imagine what her words meant.

"Do not blame them, too much," Brienne said gently, "they have suffered greatly."

I know, Ned longed to respond, but something stopped him. How could I?

"How can I blame them?" Ned asked, weary to his bones, "they sought to protect themselves, and I would never deny them that right."

"They were protecting you too," said Brienne softly.

"Us," agreed Ned, thinking of Littlefinger and the thousand of ripples that would still across the realm as a result of his death.

He felt satisfaction simmer in his stomach, and then, sickening guilt. He couldn't protect his children. Not from any of this.

Sansa and Brienne lead Littlefinger into the godswood. Arya kills him with a dagger. Arya takes his face, and they bury the body in the woods. Arya, wearing Littlefinger's face, walks out of the godswood with Brienne and Sansa.