Young Sansa had known she'd been in for a long journey and it didn't disappoint. The trip appeared seemingly endless at times and she'd ended up staying in her cabin when possible to avoid the crew, most of whom, ogled her at every opportunity. She had, however, been rather proud of herself for finding her sea legs so quickly, the jostling had been hellish but she'd managed to reach an accord of sorts with the ocean and soothed her stomach.
By now her parents and siblings would all know she'd left and Sansa suspected that they'd have forced the truth out of Jeyne; one stern glare from Veyon Poole and that girl gave up her deepest secrets. Still, Sansa was gone and they couldn't just charter a ship to Mockingbird Island to claim back their daughter... she hoped. The only reason Sansa had managed to get passage so easily was because the invitation had said which ships would be allowed anywhere near Harrenhal.
The redhead did her best not to dwell on it all. She had safe passage and the view as they sailed along the White Knife river had left Sansa speechless. When they'd reached White Harbor – sooner than she'd expected – Sansa had spotted New Castle as it rose up from the city's high walls. The seventeen-year-old grinned, she'd never seen the castle before though she had met Lord Wyman Manderly's granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla, at a birthday party for Jeyne some years previous.
Seagulls squawked high up but Sansa didn't let the beauty of White Harbor be taken. Soon though the city had faded away just as Jeyne and her home land had when the ship broke out into The Bite then past the Three Sisters. For a time the sea became rough and choppy as if a storm brewed but soon the Narrow Sea calmed and they picked up speed.
As they rounded the Fingers and approached Mockingbird Island Sansa found a sense of relief hit her like she was getting closer to safety when in reality she'd been doing the exact opposite.
Day had turned to night and night to day several times since Jeyne had seen her off but when they finally arrived at Mockingbird Island the night seemed blacker than it ever had been before. Stars twinkled high above in the heavens like diamonds in ink. Both beautiful and dangerous.
A small rowboat saw Sansa to the wharf with a middle-aged, angry looking man and a sack of letters. Lamps lit the mountainous island, glittered and shined against the rocks and cut stairway. Ominous was the best word Sansa had to describe it all, though that didn't mean she didn't like Mockingbird Island. No, in fact she found the whole place mystical as if it had come from one of the story books her mother had read to her as a small child.
The angry sailor who had rowed her over kindly helped her from the boat and finally onto the solid land known as the stone wharf. He hauled the sack of letters out and sat them next to a large wooden box on a spike then – without a single utterance – he sailed away into the darkness once more.
Alone. Sansa stood alone in the night as she stared up at the grand castle known as Harrenhal. While it was obvious it hadn't ever fully recovered from the war Harrenhal didn't seem abandoned in the slightest. Lights lit windows randomly as far as she could see all the way up into the towers and though large, the place didn't appear ostentatious. Yes, gargoyles, grotesques and a disturbing amount of scorpions adorned Harrenhal but they only added to its mystic beauty.
The island itself hadn't been quite what Sansa had expected, no, instead of being a vast landscape Mockingbird Island appeared more like a large rock sticking up out of the sea with deep fissures in some areas. As she stood there she thought of how, in a strange way, it looked like an upside down bird's nest someone had stuck a castle on.
She silently thanked whoever had lit the lanterns because as she walked along the stone dock Sansa could hardly tell where rock ended and water began without them. They illuminated the path all the way up the cut steps like comforting will-o'-the-wisps.
The blue-eyed girl thought of her home a moment, Winterfell Hall was an incredible sight but this island and its castle were something else entirely; a stunning feat of architecture. Frankly she expected dragons to fly overhead at any second.
She supposed her luggage would have already been taken up since it wasn't sat on the dock and the ferryman hadn't said anything to her about it; at least she hoped that was what had happened. Didn't quite explain why no one was there to meet her, Sansa hadn't expected a welcome party but she'd expected at least a servant to greet her.
Oh so carefully the redhead made her way up from the wharf towards the vast stairs cut into the island. She grinned when she saw the lamplight reflect off the ocean water, like liquid fire. Eventually she reached a large set of golden gates – which was easily as large as Winterfell's Great Keep – with 'In absentia lucis, Tenebrae vincunt' written bold in the metal.
"In the absence of light, darkness prevails." She translated solemnly.
Sansa had no idea what to make of it, didn't quite understand why Lord Baelish would want such a message as guests arrived. Did it have meaning to the people who came to Harrenhal or did it have some deeper meaning just for the Lord himself? All Sansa knew for sure was that her mother's insistence on Latin lessons had finally come in useful.
She pushed past the message atop the gates and made her way up the stairs, she'd worried a little they'd be wet from being exposed to the elements and ocean constantly but ended up being pleasantly surprised. Every time she reached a lantern a wave of pleasurable warmth would strike her chilled frame – she no longer knew if the hour was late or early but either way Sansa didn't care for the chill.
Soon she reached the mansion-like castle known as Harrenhal and ground to a halt as she stood before a set of vast doors. They were grand enough to be used by a titan and had deep carvings of battles Sansa couldn't name. Suddenly one opened and a servant rushed out only to stutter to a stop before the lady with a horrified expression.
"I am so sorry, Lady Stark." He apologized with a bow. "Forgive me, there was a miscommunication amongst the servants and we believed you had already been escorted up."
Well that explains my lack of greeting, muttered her mind. "That is all right."
It was late, she didn't have the energy to care that she'd walked up some steps without an escort. Sansa was just pleased she'd been recognized rather than shoved off the island like a pest.
"Still," began the young man, "I am so sorry. Please do not believe this reflects the servants here at Harrenhal or that Lord Baelish deems you unimportant."
She brushed the dark-haired man off as he shepherded Sansa into Harrenhal. Instantly her eyes widened in amazement; even the Red Keep hadn't been so striking. The floors were polished black marble with some sort of golden inlay while the sections of the walls not covered by large paintings were a deep, almost black, purple. It should have been too dark, too much like a cave but the white marble grand staircase which took up the entirety of the entrance hall balanced the darkness out as did the matching pillars here and there. Two lavish doorways stood tall on either side of the hall which no doubt led to other equally stunning areas of Harrenhal. However, the immense fireplace between each half of the grand staircase was what had Sansa's full attention, it spewed out warmth and lit almost the entire room easily; her icy skin was thankful for such a roaring fire.
A few people stood by the fire chatting away pleasantly enough and Sansa took the servant's cue to head to the fireplace before he disappeared off. In less than a second Sansa felt as though she didn't belong there but at the same time perfectly comfortable which made absolutely no sense. There she stood in her well-fitting, green dress; it was well made and pretty but the others were practically draped in money and splendor. Clearly Sansa was the youngest as well, but she forced her insecurities down and offered everyone a polite smile like the perfect lady she'd been trained to be.
The other guests, three of them in total, two men and a woman, all eyed Sansa a moment with hidden smiles as though they knew something she didn't; another thing that disturbed the redhead.
"Hello." Sansa greeted kindly. "It really is a cold night out there."
The woman quickly moved aside so Sansa could better warm her hands. "Indeed it is, come and warm yourself, Lady Sansa."
At first Sansa was surprised this walking goddess knew who Sansa was but then she realized she recognized the elder woman; Margaery Tyrell. Sansa had seen Lady Margaery at events in King's Landing but they'd never spoken or been formally introduced. Looking around she knew the dwarf as well, most people could identify Tyrion Lannister at a single glance. The other man though, him she didn't know.
"Yes, Lady Sansa, of course." Began Tyrion as he sipped at his almost empty wine goblet. "You were a child the last time we met at the Red Keep."
The elder man she didn't know flashed Sansa a smile then. He was handsome with tanned skin and piercing brown eyes. His ornate clothing of soft yellows instantly indicated he originated from far away Dorne probably, maybe Essos. While the redhead's inner thoughts rushed on the broad man lifted her hand lightly into his own and pressed a gentle but teasing kiss to it. Very charming, her mind unhelpfully muttered.
"A pleasure, Lady Sansa. I am Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne." It was almost as if he could make his eyes sparkle at will. So this is the Red Viper, Sansa's mind continued to mutter away. "What brings the Hand's daughter here to us rather than the man himself, I wonder."
Margaery chuckled softly. "Oh Prince Oberyn, never underestimate a woman."
"I never could, my Lady, I do have eight daughters after all."
Eight? And Sansa thought herself and her four siblings had been a touch excessive.
Polite conversation hung around the four for a while as Sansa subtly warmed herself by the blazing fire. Margaery clearly had a mind for politics though she seemed to keep that under wraps for the most part. Lord Tyrion came across as nonchalant and a bit devil-may-care but Sansa doubted he really was, suspected far more went on inside the confines of his brain than others could comprehend. Just because he was The Imp didn't mean Tyrion was stupid. Prince Oberyn though, him she liked, he was as out-of-place as Sansa but just didn't appear to care.
The two men and Lady Margaery quickly took young Sansa under their proverbial wings and answered any question she asked of them. She kept her questioning light as she didn't want to appear scatterbrained or oblivious even if oblivious was exactly what Sansa was. The man from Dorne looked as though he knew far more than he said but Sansa couldn't quite figure out if that was true or just a vibe he gave off.
All too soon the tall, handsome prince excused himself claiming he needed to 'have a word with Petyr in his office'. He'd used Lord Baelish's given name and apparently knew his way around Harrenhal rather well; maybe he did know a lot more than he let on.
"When will we meet Lord Baelish?" The young Stark asked after Oberyn had left towards the closest of the vast staircases that led upstairs.
Tyrion shrugged as though he didn't care much so it was the taller girl who answered.
"Lord Baelish should meet us at breakfast in the morning."
The little lion let out an irritated hum. "'Should' being the operative word. Baelish will show up when he decides it's good for whatever it is he's plotting." He downed the last dregs of his drink. "Martell is closer to Baelish than anyone else I've ever met – despite what your aunt thinks – so if there are any changes he'll be the first to know."
Margaery laughed but she hid it well. "They're probably fucking in a darkened room."
Sansa's eyebrows shot up before she managed to get control of herself. She hadn't ever heard a lady speak in such a vulgar fashion before – Arya didn't really count – and the redhead was actually a little taken back by the sudden and blatant comment. Still, Sansa made certain to say nothing on the subject. If King Robert's Master of Coin and a Dornish Prince were … 'fucking in a darkened room' there would be a scandal if it got out.
Sensing the conversation turning Tyrion excused himself almost as smoothly as Oberyn had while muttering about finding more wine. The two women watched as he wandered off leaving just them by the comforting fire.
Lady Tyrell rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "All that dwarf does is drink. Honestly how can a man so small pack away such quantities of wine? What does he do, shake it into one boot?"
Sansa instantly had a comment about Tyrion surrendering his height for an extra liver but she held her tongue, all her life she'd been taught being rude was unladylike. Sansa didn't have to linger with her thoughts too long though as Margaery easily moved the conversation on.
"You really shouldn't be nervous." She assured. "I know this is your first time at one of Lord Baelish's conclaves but you'll do well, I have no doubt." Sansa took some much-needed comfort from Margaery's smile. "Also, you are not the only newcomer, but you certainly are the prettiest." The elder woman said in jest. "It won't take you long to master the ropes."
The redhead was pleased for Margaery's confidence in her, it was more than she'd had before.
"Who are the other guests, Lady Tyrell?"
"No, no, Margaery is fine, we're all lords and ladies here." The elder woman gestured dismissively. "You shall meet them all tomorrow. They have retired for the evening, myself, Tyrion and Oberyn were only up because we arrived late just as you did." Neither woman anticipated Prince Oberyn returning and they'd spotted Tyrion scurrying up the stairs with a decanter of wine not long after he'd left them. "We should probably retire also, can't be seen with dark bags under our eyes now can we."
With that the elder woman bid Sansa a good night and vanished off upstairs while Sansa remained to eke the last of the fire's comforting heat. As the fire started to dwindle she noticed the time on the clock that called the mantelpiece home; two o'clock in the morning. The hour was much later than Sansa had thought; she'd never been allowed to stay up so late. Then again, after sailing away from Winterfell without a word to her parents staying up late was the least of the seventeen-year-old's concerns.
When a yawn caught her the redhead decided she'd best head up to bed as well. She glanced around but no one filled the grand room, not a guest or a servant, no one. Slowly she made her way towards the stairs that Margaery had drifted up only a few moments before in hope she'd be able to catch up and find her room, however, Sansa quickly came face to face with a blond man only a little taller than herself dressed in deep blue.
"Good evening, Lady Stark." He greeted with a deep bow. "I am Olyvar, Lord Baelish's valet. Allow me to show you to your rooms."
Sansa let out an internal sigh of relief because she'd not got the first idea where to go in this gargantuan place. She offered Olyvar a small thank you as he led her up the marble staircase towards her chamber.
"Your luggage arrived some time ago, my Lady, so we took the liberty of settling it in your room."
Sansa tried to keep track of lefts and rights from the stairs so she'd be able to find her way back in the morning but soon enough they reached a large set of dark wood double doors, outside of which stood a stand with her name written in a large but delicate cursive script.
"Lady Stark, while you are not banned from looking around Harrenhal we do advise against it." Explained Olyvar. "The castle is vast and it is easy for one to lose their bearings and become lost." He paused a moment to let it sink in. "Shall I send for a servant to help you change?"
Sansa shook her head. "No, thank you. I am fine."
Olyvar nodded. "Very good. Goodnight, Lady Stark, sleep well."
Then he was gone, only the sound of faint footsteps off in the distance remained to suggest he'd ever been there. Sansa pushed her door open and stepped inside to find a good-sized sitting room decorated in various shades of blue and lined with more of the unusual paintings. A teal chased lounge sat in the centre of the sitting room with a few armchairs dotted around it all facing a fireplace. She could see outside into the night thanks to two glass doors which led to her balcony with a desk in the space between them.
Unable to resist the redhead went out onto the balcony and peered down to the courtyard lit by moonlight. She could see tree tops below but that was all she could make out through the darkness in any detail. She had a little sitting area set up on the balcony with ornate panelled dividers which separated her from whoever occupied the room next to her and Sansa could see herself sat out there sewing in the sun. There was just something peaceful about the place.
Knowing the time she walked back through and into her bedchamber pleased to find a large and inviting bed sat there waiting. A fire had already been lit for her.
When her invitation had made it clear no guards or servants were allowed to accompany her Sansa had wondered what to do about the lack of a maid, in the end she'd packed only dresses she knew she could get herself in and out of. Obviously it would be a little harder to get herself in and out of her corsets but Sansa had every confidence that she'd manage it. She'd even practised and elected to leave them laced in her trunk so she could slip them over her head and tighten them herself; it was no easy task but she'd taught herself to accomplish it.
Quietly the young lady prepared herself for bed while looking at the vast array of paintings adorning her room, most she didn't recognize but Sansa did appreciate the detail and hard work that had gone into creating them.
Once changed Sansa settled down in bed with a candle at her bedside as she stared up at the bed's canopy. Her parents would know she'd disappeared by now, would have realized that a few days ago. The question was how long before they'd figure it all out and force everything out of Jeyne. Her father and especially her mother wouldn't be happy but Sansa had proven she could travel by herself, she wasn't a child any longer. Sansa had made it to Harrenhal on Mockingbird Island and had already started to make a friend in Margaery Tyrell. Sansa was safe and warm, though her parents were probably going to break her legs so she couldn't ever wander off again. Sansa didn't care, at least she was away from Joffrey for a while. Their betrothal hadn't been formally announced yet but everyone knew it wouldn't be too much longer.
Sansa fell asleep knowing she'd satisfied her innate urge to come to the island. She drifted off with thoughts of Lord Baelish in her mind, why had he chosen her of all the Starks and what did he look like being chiefly amongst them. Sansa had an idea of his appearance but she supposed she'd find out for sure the next morning at breakfast.