The Mountain and the Viper

"Today is not the day I die."

Rose paces her chambers, chewing on her bottom lip. Every now and then, she'll hear footsteps passing them in the hallway. Sansa leaps up from the bed each time, waiting for the door to open, but it never does. For the third time, she slumps back down on the bed, her hands wringing in her lap. "They'll call us in soon, to testify."

"Lord Baelish did nothing wrong," Rose murmurs. "He saved you from Aunt Lysa."

Sansa looks up. "Do you trust him?" she asks, in a small voice.

Rose sighs and sits down on the bed next to her. "I trust that he'll do his best to protect us," she replies, nervously. "Only . . . I've spent the past few months trying to understand his motivations, and I can't make any sense of them. Either he truly cares for us, or he's just using us."

"Using us for what?" Sansa asks, bewildered.

Rose stares at her. What could he be using them for? He poisoned Joffrey, then kept his reasoning hidden behind riddles and false logic. Only days ago, did he confess the truth that justified his crime — that he loved their mother. That he wanted revenge. That, perhaps, he loves Rose, too. And then, he'd killed Aunt Lysa. Was it because she tried to push Sansa through the Moon Door? Or, was it simply to rid himself of her?

And the horrible thought in Rose's head refuses to disappear. That he killed their aunt because he has fallen in love with another. A woman who has implied she would marry him, should she be backed into a corner. A woman who shares the blood of someone he once loved, deeply. A high-born woman with a title that would grant him lordship over the North.

A woman like Rose.

Sucking in a breath, she shuffles closer to her sister. "Sansa, Littlefinger is a cunning man, but if we're on his side, he won't plot against us," she whispers. "He'll keep us safe. He'll help us get our home back."

Sansa blinks. "You want to go back to Winterfell."

"Don't you?"

Sansa considers this, her eyes glistening over. "More than anything," she croaks.

Rose gives her hand a soft squeeze, then gets to her feet, beginning to pace again. "If they find him guilty, they'll throw him through the Moon Door," she thinks, aloud. Frustrated tears spring to her eyes. "Then, we'll have no one."

"Unless . . ." Sansa trails off, contemplating. Rose folds her arms over her stomach, turning and waiting for her to evaluate her thoughts. After some time, Sansa looks up, determination replacing the fear on her face. "I have an idea."

The doors swing open. Rose instantly catches his eye from where he sits, across the room, his hands folded in his lap, an unreadable expression on his face. Bracing herself, she steps in, Sansa following close behind her. Her throat constricts when she sees Yohn Royce, the Lord of Runestone, sitting alongside Lady Waynwood and a surly-looking knight, whose name she cannot recall.

Rose turns her back to Littlefinger, unable to look him in the eye, and faces the small council. "Come closer, dears," says Lady Waynwood, gently. "You have nothing to fear from us. Or him," she adds, giving Littlefinger a stern leer. Rose complies, stepping closer, Sansa mimicking the action at her side. "Lord Baelish here is your uncle? Your name is Merrin? And yours is Alayne, yes?" The girls nod, sitting down in their chairs, eyes fixated on the floor. "Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if Lord Baelish left the room."

"My Lady—"

"I wasn't asking you," Waynwood snaps, fixing Littlefinger with a glare.

"He can stay," Sansa whispers.

"Speak up, girl, you're not a damn kitchen mouse," Lord Royce barks. "Tell us what you saw."

Sansa flinches, eyes brimming over already. She looks, frantically to Rose, who gives her a small, reassuring nod. Then, she looks over her shoulder, at where Littlefinger sits, visibly tense.

"I'm sorry, Lord Baelish," Rose says, softly. "But, we have to tell them the truth. We're tired of running." Not wanting to linger on him, she turns back around and lifts her chin, swallowing. "We'll tell you everything. I swear."

Waynwood nods. "Please, Merrin. Leave nothing out."

Rose takes a deep breath. "My name isn't Merrin," she says, rigidly. "I'm Rose Stark of Winterfell, eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. This is my sister, Sansa." Her eyes flit over their stunned faces. "Lord Royce, we met you once when you came to Winterfell. If I remember rightly, you were escorting your son, Ser Waymar, to Castle Black."

"Rose Stark?" he gasps, looking back and forth between the girls. His face twists into rage, scowling over at Littlefinger. "You tell lies right to my face, you little worm?" he snaps.

"Lord Baelish has told numerous lies," Rose says, grimly. "All of them to protect me and my sister." She glances at Sansa, warily.

Sansa sniffles then begins. "Since our father was executed, we have been hostages in King's Landing," she says, tearfully. "Playthings for Joffrey to torture, or Queen Cersei to torment. They beat us, they humiliated us, they married me to the Imp. We had no friends in King's Landing . . . except one." She turns to look at Littlefinger, tears spilling down her cheeks. "He saved us. Smuggled us away when he had the chance." She looks back towards the council, wiping her damp face. "He knew we'd be safe here in the Eyrie, with our own blood, our Aunt Lysa."

"Only, the Lannisters have confidantes everywhere," Rose croaks. "Including the Vale. It was important that we didn't tell anyone our true names."

"Your secret is safe with us, My Lady," says the knight.

"Your father grew up right here in these halls," says Lord Royce. For the first time, his face breaks out in a fond smile. "We hunted together many times. He was a fine man."

"Tell us what happened to your aunt, my dears," Lady Waynwood instructs, gently.

Sansa folds her hands, neatly on her lap. "You knew her well, my lords, My Lady," she begins, timidly. "You knew she was a troubled woman. She always loved Lord Baelish. She told us herself." She looks to Rose, who nods in agreement. "From the moment he arrived at the gates of Riverrun, a boy of eight carrying everything he owned in a little sack. She confessed that she never loved Lord Arryn. She did as her father commanded, as so many of us have. When the gods finally allowed her to be with Lord Baelish, she was so happy. For a time." Pointedly, she glances at Rose.

Rose squirms in her seat. "Our aunt was a very jealous woman," she explains, trying to keep her voice steady. "She seemed . . . frightened, most of the time. Terrified that Lord Baelish didn't love her, that he would toss her aside for a younger woman. Then, one day, she — she saw him kissing me," she finishes, in a tiny voice.

"Lady Rose," Royce exclaims.

"It was a peck on the cheek, Lord Royce, nothing more," Rose splutters out. "I swear it. Lord Baelish is our uncle now, by marriage. I would never . . ." she shakes her head, digging her nail into her thumb, hard, to make tears appear in her eyes. "It wasn't my intention to cause Lysa such distress. Lord Baelish has been so kind to us. He's protected us, risking his own life to do so. We'd be dead if it weren't for him. But, then, Aunt Lysa, she—"

"She turned on me," Sansa interrupts, the tears flowing fast down her cheeks, now, her breath hitching. "She cursed me. Called me a liar, called Rose a whore. Promised to throw me through the Moon Door. When Lord Baelish tried to calm her, she struck him! She said she didn't want to live anymore. She stood on the edge of that Moon Door." Rose cannot help it — she watches in silent amazement as the lies flow, easily off Sansa's tongue. "He tried to reason with her. Promised her she was the only one he had ever loved, but . . . she stepped through those doors, and she was . . ."

Unable to finish, she staggers to her feet, burying her face in her hands.

Waynwood moves, quickly to her side, wrapping her bony arms around her. "Shush," she soothes. "It's not your fault, sweet girl. It's not your fault."

Rose remains still, not trusting herself to move. When the tension becomes too much, she tilts her chin around to sneak a glance at Littlefinger. He hasn't moved at all, nor has the look on his face changed. Then, his cold blue eyes dart from Sansa to Rose, and the corner of his lip twitches upwards.

She knocks on the door but hears no response. Frowning, she steps inside her sister's chambers to find them empty, the bed made, her sewing instruments laid neatly on the table. "Sansa?" Rose calls.

She hears someone entering the room behind her. Turning around, she cannot help the small gasp that escapes her. Sansa stands there, in her robe, her hair damp, but a far darker shade of red — almost black, like Littlefinger's. She has a bright, proud smile on her face. "How do I look?"

"Not yourself," Rose murmurs. "But beautiful, as always," she adds quickly when her sister's face falls a little.

Sansa regains her composure and crosses the room towards the bed. "I finally finished it," she announces, her hand grazing over the raven black dress sprawled on the sheets. "And yours, too." Gesturing, she points out the dress next to it, crimson in colour.

Rose forces a smile. "Thank you." She chews on her bottom lip. "Are you alright?"

Sansa pretends not to have heard her. "I'll give you some space to get changed," she says, her bright smile still intact. "We'll be leaving soon." Picking up her dress, she heads out the door, back towards the washing room.

Rose watches her leave, her wet, darkened hair swaying against her back. She recalls what Littlefinger had said to them when they arrived at the Eyrie. You know what kind of stories poor men enjoy the most? One about rich girls they'll never meet . . . tales stretch far when you're born a beauty.

Instinctively, her hand goes to her braid, which falls down to her waist. She remembers how Theon used to run his fingers through her hair, how he adored its strange golden colour and the way it curled around his hand in wild ringlets. A girl, with hair like the sun, and eyes like the sea. Everything inside of her aches, and she feels the sudden urge to burst into tears.

Turning, she looks at her reflection in the mirror above the table. Her hand closes around the pair of shears resting in front of it, her heart sinking in the knowledge of what she is about to do.

Rose leans against the parapet, watching the snow melt on the mountains. The cold wind washes over her in an oddly soothing way. She hears footsteps approaching her from behind but doesn't need to turn her head to know it's him.

"First time I saw Sansa, she was just a child," he muses. "A girl from the North come to the capital for the first time. Not a child any longer."

"No, she's not," Rose agrees.

Littlefinger walks to her side, looking out at the view, his hands placed on the marble railing. He stands so close to her, his arm brushes against hers, the soft contact causing her insides to twist into knots. He turns his head to study her. "You look stunning," he notes.

Rose feels her cheeks warming. She hadn't recognised herself when she'd looked in the mirror. Her waves of golden hair no longer fall to the small of her back but hover over her shoulders in a much neater fashion. The dress she wears is nipped in at the waist, over the corset she's donned. It's a blood red colour, embroidered with soft floral patterns, the bodice dipping in a scooped neckline. Around her neck, she wears a small, black chain, with House Baelish's mockingbird dangling over her cleavage.

She notices Littlefinger staring at the sigil, bemused. "Why did you help me?"

Rose doesn't look at him. "You promised to help me get my home back," she explains, plainly. "I have the Stark name, but I'm no politician. I'm not as clever as you at getting what I want. Nor am I all that cunning. So, I'm holding you to that promise. Should you break it—"

"You'll kill me," Littlefinger finishes, tersely. "As you wanted to kill Aunt Lysa."

"I'll tell them the truth about her. About how she died."

Littlefinger stares at her, not understanding for a split second. Then, he angles himself to face her, looking down at her with mild surprise. "It was a gamble, telling those lords who you truly are."

"Yes, it was." Rose tries to suppress her smug smile. "Now, I know they won't expose us, should something terrible happen to you."

Finally, she looks at him. He gazes back, her thinly veiled threat hanging in the air between them. She half-expects him to look furious, but he doesn't. He looks almost proud.

She moves to leave, but he nabs her arm. Her heart momentarily stops, but Littlefinger doesn't make any move to hurt her. Instead, his other hand comes up to brush against her cheek, the pad of his thumb smoothing over her lip. "Sweet girl," he whispers. "You're more cunning than you think you are."

"I've never left home before, Uncle Petyr," Robin protests, as they descend the marble staircase. Rose has her arm wrapped around his shoulders and can feel him trembling as he nudges, closer to her side. "I'm afraid to leave."

"You shouldn't be," Littlefinger insists.

"The Lord of the Vale belongs in the Eyrie, Mother said. She said it's not safe outside."

"It wasn't safe for her inside." Littlefinger reaches the bottom of the staircase and turns to face Robin, smiling, as kindly as he can manage. "People die at their dinner table. They die in their beds. They die squatting over their chamber pots. Everybody dies sooner or later. Don't worry about your death." He takes him by the shoulders, looking him, squarely in the eye. "Worry about your life. Take charge of your life for as long as it lasts. That is what it means to be Lord of the Vale."

Footsteps approach from up the stairs. Rose turns her head to see Sansa, stepping out from the hallway, the sun catching her as she passes. She is almost unrecognisable as she descends the staircase, in her feathered black dress, which dips in at her cleavage, a homemade chain necklace, and her darkened hair pulled backward, away from her slender features. She looks like a woman.

"Shall we go?" she asks, coyly.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, she laces her arm through Rose's. Littlefinger watches as the two girls share a small, smug smile, and head for the great doors.

A/N: I know that Littlefinger and Sansa do not appear in the final episodes of Season Four, but I've got some big stuff planned for these last two chapters regarding Rose! Would Rose truly follow through on her threat? Would she expose Littlefinger as a liar if he doesn't fulfil his promises to her? Let me know what you think.