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Lord Mockingbird

"It's a great honor to finally meet you, Lord Stark," Petyr Baelish says bowing deeply before him.

"Welcome in Winterfell, my lord," Robb replies in his best 'the Lord' voice. At least, he hopes he sounds like a lord.

Petyr Baelish is a short man – no doubt, Robb will grow higher in a few years. That thought makes him more confident. Lord Baelish arrived straight from the capital, he is a member of King Robert's small council, one of the most important men in the realm. But Robb can be higher than him, one day. He does not know why it matters. In this moment, however, he simply needs this certainty.

"Your castle is more than worthy of its reputation."

Which can be a compliment but an offence as well.

Petyr Baelish, perhaps, is not aware of this. Or he does not assume that Robb realized it.

His grey-green eyes are genuine. They seem so genuine. (Jon and him were also quite good at seeming genuine when they definitely were not.)

"You are very kind, my lord." All in all, that was his best 'the Lord' voice.


"You must be Sansa and Arya," the man declares with a kind – a far too kind – smile.

Arya is not impressed. Of course, they are Sansa and Arya. Who else could they be, a girl with the Tullys' face and another one with the Starks'?

Sansa curtseys and she follows her with a small delay.

"And this is Jon," Arya says, because Jon stands behind them.

The man pretends that he is only noticing him now.

"Ah, Jon Snow, your half-brother."

Jon bows his head in an easy manner, but Arya scowls.

"Why half?"

"We don't share the same mother," Sansa explains in a pendant voice. Because Sansa likes to know things and she likes even more to show off that she knows things.

"Yes, and? He is our brother."

"He is our brother nonetheless," Sansa agrees.

"Of course, my mistake. I beg your pardon, my ladies." Lord Baelish's voice is light, his smile sickeningly sweet.

No, Arya is not impressed, not at all.


They gather in Robb's bedchamber that evening, all of them, even Little Bran is there, sitting in Sansa's lap.

"I don't like him," Robb declares. "He is too…" He is looking for the good word to describe the man. "Too southerner. In a wrong way."

Jon agrees with him. 'Southerner' is not the perfect term though. He feels the same discomfort around him as he felt around Lord Bolton. But he cannot speak to them about that.

"He is mother's friend," Sansa reminds them. "And I appreciate his manners. Everyone should be like him in the court."

"The court is an awful place then," Arya notes morosely. "He is sneaky."

Sansa shrugs. "He won't stay long anyway."

"I really hope so," Robb says.

Jon and Arya nod in unison. Bran mimics them, although he cannot understand completely what they are talking about.

Suddenly, the door opens and Lady Catelyn steps in the chamber. She does not seem surprised to find them together. She glances at them one by one, as if regarding them – and maybe Jon only imagines but her gaze seem to be resting on him by a heartbeat longer –, then, she turns to Sansa.

"I would like to speak with you in private."


"He is the King. I can't refuse him."

"But why would you do that? I can be queen."

Her mother looks worried. And that would make Sansa worried too, would make her think – in any other moment, but not now.

She is dreaming awake and her dreams are dazzling.

One day, when she comes of age, she is going to go to King's Landing and be Queen Cersei's lady-in-waiting. Then on another day of her bright future, she is going to wed Prince Joffrey.

"Yes, a queen," mother says, and her voice sounds somehow pained.

Sansa does not understand why.

"Do you believe I am unworthy of it?" If that is the case, her heart will shatter.

"No, my dear." Mother shakes her head and she reaches to squeeze Sansa's hand. But why is her smile sad? "I believe you deserve better."

Sansa almost starts to giggle. She is so thrilled, if it were up to her, she would dance round and round endlessly in the chamber.

"What could be better than being queen?"

"Being a queen means power. And power means people watch and judge every move and every word of yours. They judge you."

"But the queen is above them. Above all of them."

"Still, in a way the queen is the least free woman in the realm. I know you are capable of bearing all the responsibility of that position, I believe you will do it marvelously. But I wish you didn't have to."

Sansa remains silent for a while.

"But you cannot refuse the King." She hopes so.

"I can't." That voice again, Sansa, however, does not care, she does not want to.