THE LADY WOLF

Sansa II

Despite his disappointment at Winterfell's lack of a Moon Door, Sansa finally managed to amuse her cousin with a walk along the castle's outermost bailey. Robin seemed perfectly content to waste the afternoon away by running, or rather slipping, between the embrasures and leaning out to drop snowballs more than one hundred feet to the frozen ground far below. The heir to the Vale had arrived the night before along with the rest of House Royce, with whom he had been fostered since his mother's death, and already he was trying Sansa's patience. She and Lord Baelish followed a few paces behind him, offering encouraging smiles when appropriate and otherwise talking quietly, trusting the icy wind to swallow up their words.

"I imagine you're pleased to have at least some of your vision back now that the people of the Vale have arrived in full," Sansa surmised as she matched steps with her mentor.

Petyr gave her a knowing smile. "I had taken the liberty of cultivating some sightlines here, but yes, I am glad of the return to full sight. I imagine you see quite well this far North, my Lady."

Sansa thought of the young serving girls whose needlework she complimented regularly and the boys tasked with transporting the cleared snow beyond the castle walls who blushed when she gave them an extra smile in passing and arranged her face in a frown rather than the smile that wanted to form. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to start," she sighed, "I trust I can rely on your consul in that respect?"

"Of course."

Littlefinger didn't believe her, they both knew that, but what else could he do? Sansa knew he would never do anything to jeopardize his place by her side, even if that meant playing the fool. So long as she played her role, he was trapped in his.

The lull in conversation afforded the Lady of Winterfell the opportunity to gaze out over the growing settlement beyond their walls, which her cousin was happily pelting with snow. They had housed as many people as they could within Winterfell's borders, but the crowd had quickly spilled out into the frozen lands beyond. Thankfully, Jon had managed to procure instructions from the free folk on how to turn the now never-ending snowfall into shelters capable of seeing a family safely through winter. From this height, the new settlement reminded her of the little replica of Winterfell she had built in the snow back at the Eyrie. Tightly packed mounds of snow with a modest living space carved out of them stretched out in rows as far as the eye could see to the south of the castle, from the King's Road to the east to the Wolf's Wood to the west.

Sansa had visited one of the snowhomes herself and found it to be surprisingly well insulated and markedly more comfortable than a tent. According to the free folk, and Jon, these domes were often constructed out of blocks of ice cut from frozen lakes or sea, but the labour required to do that was more than Sansa had been willing to put out. House Stark would provide snowhomes to those they had ordered to abandon their homes — the snow needed clearing from within and around the castle walls, as it was — but should the new arrivals want a larger ice dome for a home, they would need to build it themselves. And some were, Sansa noted, as she scanned the settlement below and watched a group of men pulling several enormous blocks of ice out of the Wolf's Wood.

Songs would surely sing of a united North rising up on winter's offerings, but Sansa had left her singing voice in King's Landing what seemed like a lifetime ago. In truth, they were standing naked as a newborn babe in the throes of winter's wrath. Even without Jon's undead army marching to slaughter them all, the North was woefully unprepared. The snowhomes provided a reprieve for their wood stores and allowed those stores to be put toward heat rather than construction, but that did nothing to aid their food supplies. The frigid reality was that there were simply too many mouths to feed for any significant length of time, even with the strict rationing she had helped Jon put in place before he left.

"Our King seemed quite eager to put Winterfell behind him," Baelish mused, his voice returning her to the present just in time to watch Robin push an unfortunate lookout aside to let fly another armful of snowballs.

Sansa took a deep breath and pushed away the image dancing in her mind's eyes of scaled wings sailing overhead and stealing away the last of Winterfell's light, as she cursed her brother mentally. Ser Davos' raven, written in a halting hand, had arrived that morning stating he was safely in position at Dragonstone and the Dragon Queen's armada was within sight. The news had done nothing to improve her moon, even before Robin had begun driving her mad, and now Littlefinger was digging… That was almost worse than the Targaryen girl and her damned dragons. "Another war is imminent, my Lord, and it is a King's duty to ensure his people are prepared." You owe me more than you know, Jon

"Yes," Baelish smiled at Robin as the boy grinned at them between aerial assaults on the snowhomes below, "The Army of the Dead."

The even tone caught Sansa by surprise. There was no mocking undertone, no second meaning that she could detect… If she didn't know Baelish as she did, she would almost say he believed… "Yes," she replied, matching his tone to the best of her ability, "Jon and the Night's Watchmen have been fighting them for some time, their knowledge will be instrumental in our survival."

Littlefinger drew to a stop, causing Sansa to do the same, and gave her a shrewd look. "You don't believe in your brother's war."

Refusing to be cowed, Sansa held her ground. "Nor do you."

"Quite the contrary," Baelish reached out and took her gloved hands in his own, "I've always believed in monsters."

Sansa studied their interlocked fingers as she gave herself a moment to understand exactly what Littlefinger was saying. Despite what she had just implied to her mentor, and what Jon so clearly feared, she did believe that a threat loomed north of the Wall. She wasn't sure that she could fully comprehend the living death her brother described, but she knew it must exist for him to believe in it so fiercely. Her fear lay in the fact that while Jon focused solely on that one enemy, many more were already within Winterfell's walls and Jon himself had invited another to their shores. Ruling wasn't fighting one battle at a time, she had learned that the hard way, and she was loathed to let her brother learn as she had. Even after what his own men had done to him, Jon still believed in people. She feared it would get him killed again, this time for good.

"We should return to the castle, My Lady,"

Baelish's voice interrupted her thoughts once again, and Sansa realized that she had been silent entirely too long. Gathering herself quickly, she offered him a gentle smile. "Yes, I suppose so," she agreed, even as she cobbled together a plan in her head. Something to distract him. Something to get his mind away from her brother… Lowering her gaze just so, she feigned sudden insecurity, "Lord Baelish?" The look he gave her was expected, and she allowed herself to make the obvious correction, "Petyr. I was wondering if, perhaps, you could assist me in locating my sister?"

"Sansa," somehow her name sounded both longing and smug when said in his voice, "Your sister has been presumed dead for many years now."

The Lady of Winterfell gave a slight chuckle and looked up to meet her mentor's gaze. "If anyone can survive on their own all these years, it's Arya," she told him, before quickly dropping eye contact again. "And, Lady Brienne informed me recently that she came across Arya not two years ago while searching for me in the Vale. She seemed to be travelling with Sandor Clegane, but when Brienne killed Clegane, Arya disappeared."

Baelish's eyes flashed with curiosity only briefly, and Sansa fought the smile that wanted to break free. Perhaps she could salvage something out of this yet.

Littlefinger gave her hands a squeeze before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek, ever mindful of the lookouts on the wall. "Then I will find her, my lady, and see her safely home once more."

Sansa forced an air of gratitude as Baelish turned away to inform Robin that they would be returning indoors. It quickly became apparent that the boy did not find the plan agreeable.

"Uncle Petyr, I don't want to go inside!" Robin whined, stomping his boots in the snow, "I want to make the snowmen fly!"

Sansa noticed one of the nearby lookouts snickering at the scene and silenced him with a glance.

"I'm not cold! I'm not going in! I'm Lord of the Vale, you have to listen to me!"

Fearing that she may join the scolded lookout in his laughter, Sansa began making her way back to the castle when Robin's shrill voice shouting her name gave her pause.

"Lady Sansa isn't my Mummy and you're not my Daddy! I'm staying out here!"

Petyr turned back to her with a look of exasperation colouring his features while Robin continued his tirade behind him. Sansa caught those cunning eyes and was struck by the sudden need to get away from him, if only for a short time.

"I'll stay here with him a while longer," she offered, "I have no doubt he'll grow bored of this soon enough."

For the briefest of seconds, disappointment and relief flashed across Baelish's face in equal measure before he smiled at his protege. "If you're certain, My Lady, I'm sure your cousin would appreciate that very much."

Robin, for his part, seemed delighted. He hurried past his uncle without hesitation and grabbed Sansa by the hand, tugging her further down the wall. Only once Baelish disappeared into the distance did the boy slow to a more reasonable pace. As they both paused to catch their breath, Sansa took the time to look over the boy she'd first met suckling from his mother's breast. And truly, he was no longer a boy. Despite still being small and frail for his age, it was apparent that his body was trying valiantly to grow into a man. He had spots now. His throat bobbed when he spoke, and the childlike softness had left his face. It occurred to her that he would soon reach the age where he would be expected to take control of the Vale back from Littlefinger…

"You don't like me."

Sansa turned to her cousin sharply. "Robin — " she began, some mindless platitudes on her tongue even as she continued to consider the implications of his coming of age.

The boy shrugged off her response as he gathered loose snow between his hands. "It's alright, most people don't like me. Only Uncle Petyr does," he said calmly, his voice somehow fuller than it had been before, "I heard them talking when we were coming here, they think I'm going to die now that they can't make my medicine anymore. They seemed glad."

Sansa took a breath as she sought to rationalize the sudden change in the young Lord. "I don't know you," she said after a moment, not bothering to dissuade his notion that his own people wanted him dead. It was likely true.

Robin looked up from his newly fashioned snowball and the child was back once more. "Would you like to?" he asked, eagerly, "Only, I miss my family…"

Memories of a terrified, lonely child trapped in a foreign land and surrounded on every side by people who saw her only as a means to an end sent a shiver down Sansa's spine. Robin had to be the same age now as she had been while a hostage in King's Landing. Both freshly orphaned. Both so very vulnerable. Both so very, very alone. Petyr had saved her, saved her and used her and sold her into hell. And it was Petyr who had Robin now…

"I know I shouldn't have broken your Winterfell," the boy continued as he picked his snowball apart, "I miss my home so much now, so I'm sorry I broke yours."

No, Sansa decided, this was one child Baelish would not sell off to suit his plans. This was one child who would be protected as she hadn't been. She would see to that. "It was an accident, Robin, I shouldn't have reacted like I did," she told him gently, "I was scared and lonely and I lashed out. I'm sorry, too."

Her cousin brightened at her words. "I tried to build the Eyrie last night," he admitted, "But I'm not very good… Do you, do you think you could help me?"

Sansa smiled back at him, determined. "I'd like that," she replied, "Why don't you show me where you're staying, and we can build it there?"

Robin grinned and grabbed her hand, tugging her off down the wall once more.