Sansa spent the rest of the morning locked away in her rooms our out on her balcony. After everything Lord Baelish had told her Sansa couldn't bring herself to go and sit with the other guests, to smile at their jokes and try to figure out what was a genuine comment and what was tainted. She'd debated laying down for a while but had soon decided against it, the redhead couldn't have slept even if she'd wanted to and had she somehow found slumber there was no telling here her mind – or maybe more correctly her soul – would wander to. Would I find myself stumbling back to Lord Baelish's secret room?

At mention of the hidden room Sansa's mind returned to the objectes located there, so much history locked away behind stone walls where light couldn't penetrate. How long had it taken him to collect everything? Did Sansa really want an answer to that silent question?

The young Stark girl had been truthful when she'd said she believed him, it was the first time she'd felt honestly complete in all her life. When Mockingbird Island had first come into view she'd stared at it from the upper deck and breathed a sigh of relief, not for land finally being in sight but a deeper relief as though all was suddenly all right.

Everything, absolutely everything, Lord Baelish had said had sounded insane, like the story of a lunatic, but not to Sansa. To her it had been a reassurance to hear she'd not suffered from some form of hysteria. A demon though? Evil creatures who had turned their backs on the gods both new and old? Sansa shook her head as she looked out over the sunlit courtyard, no, that's not right. Petyr said they were almost as old as time so they would have to pre-date the old gods, maybe even religion entirely. The Lord of Harrenhal had explained that humans had long ago forgotten his kinds real name so Sansa couldn't think of him as the monsters religions had described him as; it was unfair. Just because he wasn't human didn't make him a monster, wolves weren't human and yet they were the emblem of her House; wolves were not monsters. Many may not have agreed with her but Lady Sansa didn't believe Baelish was evil, an opportunist most certainly, devious without a doubt, a man who could run and plot at the same time, but not inherently evil.

The redhead sighed deeply as her brain continued with its turmoil. Perhaps she couldn't think about it as though she were on the outside any longer, Petyr had stated quite firmly that she was like him. A demon. Though Sansa would ever admit it – especially to her parents – she'd never been the same as her family, Arya was by far the black sheep but Sansa had always been different, she'd never quite fit in with the other Starks, had always had more in common with Jon then the rest. She'd always felt out-of-place, tried to hard to be the perfect daughter expected of her station but it had been a lie. Ladies of her station were expected to sew, so Sansa sewed, were expected to sit straight and smile in all the right places, so Sansa did, she'd never enjoyed it though. The young redhead thought that all noble women felt that way – Arya certainly did – but now she wondered if it was possible that her incongruous feelings had been caused by something more than the weight of her station?

Then there was Lord Baelish's 'empath' statement, she'd heard that word before but always dismissed it as fantasy or fiction just as everybody else around her had. It sounded like something out of one of Jeyne's books; the ones she hid from her father. Sansa had considered herself highly observant but she had seen straight through Xaro Xhoan Daxos' kind smiles and she'd noticed Lady Margaery to be far more dangerous than expected, or were those things just obvious? Oh she didn't know! Petyr made so much sense and so little sense all at the same damn time! To her heart all he'd told her was true but her mind would require far, far, more convincing.

Was Sansa as mad as Lord Baelish appeared to be? It ran in her mother's line if her Aunt Lysa was anything to go by.

Sansa's aunt was another issue. Arya had clearly stated that Lysa was madly in love with Lord Baelish despite her marriage and son, always had been apparently. Petyr hadn't mentioned her once though, almost as if the Lady Arryn hadn't ever existed. Why is all of this so confusing?!

It was then that Sansa started to wonder if she should have heeded Petyr's desire to tell her after the conclave, to not 'overload' her as he'd put it. She felt as if her head would combust leaving behind nothing but puzzlement and dozens upon dozens of questions.

While alone in her rooms Sansa once again sat herself at the desk between the two ornate doors to the balcony and wrote another letter to her family back in The North, the first would not have yet reach them but another would help ease their anger with her. Sansa spoke of loving her family because even feeling out-of-place she'd always loved them. The redhead also gained some peace from writing to them, some normality in her suddenly disrupted life and world view. Once finished Sansa pondered if a letter to either Jon or Arya would be wise, if she could talk through at least some of the oddities she'd experienced they would be her best chances for an actual conversation rather than being disregarded as mad or lying right away. In the end the seventeen year old decided against it, wanted to think things through herself a little more before she tried to explain to either her little sister or cousin.

~X~

After a few hours Sansa heard the gong finally sound, it echoed around the halls of Harrenhal like a ghost screaming through the walls. She'd been listening out for it for almost an hour despite the clock in her room. This was the moment she joined the world of secrets, would she succeed or would she be tossed out like a naughty child in the kitchens?

After a calming breath she rose from the settee she'd been sat at since penning her letter and brushed non-existent lint from her supposed battle dress before she steadily made her way down the grand stairs. No one met her as she descended those marvelous stairs, not that Sansa had expected anyone to, all the guests would be in the expansive guardens somewhere or maybe the gallery or even the parlor for some quiet. Sansa was, however, delighted when she spotted Olyvar as he made his way towards her from the hall that led off to the east wing. He looked charming as ever in his blue uniform with his bold smile and golden hair. Sansa couldn't help but return his smile.

"Olyvar, lovely."

He came to a stop within arms distance of her.

"Yes, Lady Sansa? May I be of any assistance?"

"I'm sorry to keep bothering you since you are Lord Baelish's valet but I never seem to see any other servants." She held the letter up. "Would you please have this added to the mail?"

Olyvar nodded with that smile of his still firmly in place as he took the letter.

"Certainly, Lady Sansa, I shall see to it personally. The conclave is beginning though, if you'd like to make your way to the conclave hall just beyond the sitting room I am sure Lord Baelish would be most grateful."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Olyvar." The blond gave a polite bow then started away from her but Sansa's voice drew his attention back. "Olyvar, may I ask you something?"

"Anything, my Lady."

"Do you trust Lord Baelish?" Sansa enquired with that lyrical voice of hers.

Olyvar smirked but it was gone just as swiftly as it had appeared, had Sansa not been looking directly at him she would have certainly missed it.

"No." He stated plainly. "However, that is because he has taught me better." He stepped forwards then as if intending for them to become conspirators. "If I may, my Lady, Lord Baelish is never to be trusted, he is conniving, cunning, manipulative and intelligent enough to get away with it. Although, I doubt he would ever lie to you, not you, despite his talent for equivocation."

The pair just stared at one another a moment, one a servant, one a noble but both with disturbingly similar blue eyes.

"You know, don't you."

It wasn't even a question but still Olyvar did her the courtesy of nodding.

"For a long time neither I or Ros believed what Lothor told us. He saw the Lord leave his old body and take this new one, but to answer your question, yes, I know he is not human. Lord Baelish is the closest to a father I have ever had after all."

Sansa nodded. "I thank you for your honesty, Olyvar. You had better go before someone stumbles across this conversation."

Once more the blond bowed and then he was gone leaving Sansa with her thoughts. It seemed as though the weight on her shoulders had started to be lifted. Olyvar knew about Petyr's inhuman nature as did Lothor – who had yet to materialize from wherever he hid – and Ros; Armeca probably knew as well. If all these people were aware of Petyr's nature and had accepted it then there was suddenly more credence to his claims. The question of Prince Oberyn still lingered like a storm cloud though.

The sound of a door slamming caught her attention then, sounded like it had fallen shut rather than been an act of anger though, either way it managed to jolt Lady Stark out of her internal thoughts. Whatever madness – or otherworldly magic – was going on at Harrenhal, she couldn't lose sight of this mysterious conclave where secrets were passed back and forth for a price.

She straightened herself and made her way through halls she'd come to think weren't actually haunted towards the conclave hall Olyvar had spoken of. She'd just passed by a large column topped with a vase of lavender and roses when a large hand caught her by the right elbow, next thing she knew Sansa had been hauled backwards to the small space behind the vase and column but when she looked up to reprimand whoever had grabbed her she found Prince Oberyn stood in the shadows.

"How are you after you spoke with Petyr?"

Sansa had to pause a moment just to process his sudden question, it hadn't been hostile or forceful but still she'd needed a moment.

"So it's true." She said more to herself than the taller man.

Oberyn tilted his head. "Oh sweet girl, my brother has always played things close to his chest but I know him better than anyone else."

"I suspected he told you most things."

"You'll be surprised." The prince chuckled, something which created a twinkle in his eyes. "Now, tell me how you are."

Sansa was silent a time. "I- I don't know what to tell you, maybe I haven't really taken it all in."

"You'll be all right, Sansa, I have complete faith in you." He suddenly pressed two fingers underneath her chin and lifted her head so she was forced to lock their eyes, dazzling blue with rich brown. "You're one of us, Sansa Stark, you should be proud of it, not afraid."

"It all sounds so crazy."

Oberyn let his hand fall to his side. "Just because something is insane does not mean it is wrong. You are not mad, the world is." He linked their arms together. "Now, shall we?"

Together they strode towards the large doors which were promptly opened for them by two guards dressed almost identically to Olyvar. She forced herself not to gasp when she saw the hall's beauty. Everyone appeared to have already gathered inside in small groups. Dark wood chairs had been arranged in a large circle for each of them and stone pillars – just like the ones she'd seen in Petyr's secret room – defended the four corners of the room. This room wasn't like the rest of Harrenhal, or at least not the bits most people got to see, instead of paintings and ornate works the hall had old, carved stone and stood more imposing than the rest of his home.

Instantly she spotted Petyr and tensed but Oberyn squeezed her arm comfortingly.

"Do not worry, little one, you are one of us, remember."

"You mean a demon?"

Oberyn nodded as they moved further into the room. "Yes."

He took her hand into his own then and pressed a gentle kiss to it before excusing himself. Stood alone Sansa felt the nerves kick in as she peered around. Sansa had thought 'war' was a bit too much, an exaggeration, but seeing the setting Sansa finally realized no one had been exaggerating. Suddenly she was grateful for Petyr's dress, that was part of the war at least.

She wanted to leave, the whole room seemed filled with trepidation and, for some reason, anger. Somehow she knew the anger was to her right, it didn't feel like it had come from her own body, sure enough when she looked over to the east side of the hall there stood Xaro. The tall, black man had his back to her but she knew it was him, like a darkness in an otherwise brightly lit room. The anger actually hurt her head but when she shuffled away from him she noticed it slowly subsided. Suddenly Sansa was struck by Petyr's comment, empath he'd called her. Was this what she felt? Not an observant nature but actually feeling someone else's emotions. Was that even possible?

Demons, empaths, strange castles which may or may not have been haunted, mumbled her mind. Sansa had come to Harrenhal for adventure and answers but just gotten more questions. There had been so much back and forth that Sansa truly didn't know where she stood any longer.

She elected to avoid Petyr and instead made her way over to Margaery who stood with the Greyjoys, Varys and Tyrion. Fortunately Petyr made no attempt to approach, just left her to what made Sansa feel more comfortable. She wasn't ready to stand at his side again.

Lady Margaery flashed the redhead a smile which Sansa knew was more of a nicety than anything else. Such a shame, Sansa had liked the Tyrell girl at the start but she'd started to grow increasingly wary of her.

"Are you all right, Sansa?" Theon asked then. "You just disappeared after breakfast."

She was grateful for Theon's concern though suspected saying she'd been hiding in the walls of Harrenhal with Lord Baelish may not have been a comforting or believable response despite being true. Sansa shrugged the comment off as best she could.

"I needed to pen a letter to my friend, Jeyne Poole." She lied. "I promised to do so as soon as I arrived on the island, she's quite enamoured with Harrenhal, but I had forgotten until today." Thinking about it, I should actually do that.

They all seemed happy enough with the answer and the redhead didn't particularly care if they believed her or not – Varys certainly didn't – they had their secrets so Sansa would have hers. She was slowly learning to play this game as she'd heard it called.

She chattered with the group of nobles for a short time, Sansa now understood that everything they said fell into one of two categories. The first was simply probing, a sentence designed neatly to seek information out sometimes more subtly than others, everybody around her in the conversation did it though Lady Yara was anything but subtle and Theon hardly spoke at all. The second was defensive, words used to hide what they knew or hold back until they'd figured out how much someone else had deciphered. Armeca had been right, it really was just war fought with words and they hadn't even sat down yet. Varys and Tyrion seemed to have taken some semblance of pity on young Sansa and hadn't asked too many direct questions and had insinuated even less, a kindness or an attempt to form trust Sansa didn't know, she'd have never even debated that as a factor before she'd left The North. Still, Sansa felt that Lords Tyrion and Varys were the – for lack of a better word – nice ones at the conclave.

After a while, maybe ten minutes or so, she felt eyes on her and glanced over her shoulder before she'd had a chance to stop herself. There she found Lord Baelish watching her while he spoke in a hushed huddle with Prince Oberyn, or should Sansa have said his brother!

Sansa hated the intense urge she felt to rush to his side and just be near him but was mightily proud of herself when she resisted, she forced herself to stay firmly planted between Lady Margaery and Lord Varys. Anyone else would have been able to dismiss Baelish's words as lies or the raving of a madman but Sansa couldn't deny her own feelings or the things which had happened in her sleep, he couldn't have faked that. Maybe remaining at Winterfell as a naïve girl would have been better.

A second gong sounded then and all eyes turned to Olyvar as he stood by a golden gong marked with a floral engraving, Sansa was quick to realize that there were three people other than the guests or Petyr himself, two she knew as Olyvar and Ros while the other was another man stood by the door to the conclave hall chewing on an apple. He wasn't exactly handsome but not ugly either, Sansa thought him rather average, although she did noticed the patched, leather breeches he wore. This must have been the Lothor Brune she'd heard mentioned, Petyr's house guard head, another boy Petyr had supposedly taken in as a child. It made sense that these were the three servants that Petyr allowed to remain, his most trusted; one to guard, one to take notes and one to actually be a servant.

"And that is noon precisely." Stated Petyr with a charismatic smile. "If you'd all like to take your seats we can begin."

Everyone obeyed, all eager to get the conclave started and over with so they could go home to plot some more. The wooden chairs were arranged in a semi-large circle in the middle of the room and each – just as their rooms – had plaques which held their names, didn't take Sansa more than a second to notice that they'd been arranged so as Sansa sat on Petyr's left while Oberyn took a seat on his right; she suspected there was a reason for each placement though didn't know what it was. Sansa was, however, pleased that on her left sat Theon rather than someone like Xaro Xhoan Daxos; she really didn't like that man.

While everyone took their seats Lord Baelish remained stood before his chair like a king residing over his council; maybe that was something he desired. A curt nod was sent in Olyvar's directed and he quickly took the hint to start pouring glasses of wine.

The man with ash at his temples cleared his throat. "Thank you all for joining me here at Harrenhal for this conclave." Each word was perfectly enunciated and clear. "Also, welcome to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and Xaro Xhoan Daxos all the way from Qarth in Essos." Petyr gestured to both of them in turn, the pair being practically diagonal from one another in the circle. "I will take this opportunity to remind you all that should anyone draw a weapon in this room not only will you be removed, rather violently, from my island, you shall also be removed from this plane of existence by Lothor."

Baelish's eyes darkened and Sansa had no doubt, not for one second, that he'd actually do it and make sure they did vanish; she didn't think any of the other attendants would say a word just to hide their own involvement.

He finally sat himself down and the seventeen-year-old had no idea what was meant to happen next but she didn't have to wait very long. While she felt some trepidation as to how things would unfold some of the others clearly didn't have that reservation at all as proven by the way Xaro leant forward in his chair as if everyone had gathered in his home and not Petyr's.

"Let us move straight to the important things here and avoid reading the minutes." He announced with a vast wave of over-confidence that suggested he'd been there a thousand times before.

Yara snorted from her place beside her brother and cut the black man off before he could say more. She sat slumped in her carved chair completely unlike the other lords and ladies who had their backs straight; quite frankly Sansa admired Yara's ability to be who she was without being self-conscious, it must have been quite freeing.

"Do we look as though we keep the fucking minutes? Sure Ros is here but that's more as a distraction for Tyrion."

Everyone, Tyrion included, breathed out a laugh at that, all save for a grumpy looking Xaro. The member of the Thirteen just ignored Lady Greyjoy as if she were little more than a fly buzzing around his face and kept on talking.

"Essos should have better access to Dorne for trade." Oberyn lifted an eyebrow at that statement. "Dorne keeps blatantly disregarding my offerers for new trade routes between Qarth, Yi Ti and Dorne, and I am sick of such disrespect."

It was Oberyn's turn to snort then as he relaxed into his chair and rested his head on a fist; clearly the prince was not phased in the least.

"Offers? Demands are more like it. You have nothing Dorne cares about and I won't just provide you trade access to our waters so you can puff yourself up to the rest of the Thirteen, that Targaryen girl you want to bed – unless your tastes lie elsewhere – or the Baratheons. You're a merchant not a king."

Tyrion laughed as he took a goblet of wine from Olyvar's tray. "Oh trust me, King Robert doesn't even care you exist." He indulged in a long swig of his wine.

The angry black man's brow furrowed deeply before he slammed his palm down on the arm of his chair then shot to his feet as ire filled his eyes to glare at everyone.

"I will not accept this opprobrium!"

Lothor partially unsheathed his sword but Petyr shook his head and adopted a relaxed position very similar to Oberyn's own. The two brothers shared knowing expressions before Petyr spoke in an eerily calm tone of voice.

"What did I say not a moment ago, Xaro?"

The voice may have sounded calm but there was warning in it and the man from Qarth took the hint to sit down when he glanced off to his right – almost over his shoulder – and saw Lothor. Many of the other guests smirked to themselves behind their wine goblets at the way Xaro practically deflated.

"Good boy." Margaery teased; hadn't been able to resist.

It was the bald man known as Lord Varys who entered as the level-headed voice of reason. He tried to get things running rather than letting the man from Qarth overtake the conclave by essentially throwing a tantrum.

"Merchant prince Xaro, this conclave is to aid all sides not just answer your demands. Now, I have a subject which affects us all; Daenerys Targaryen. King Robert is concerned about her-"

The little lion cut him off. "He most certainly is and my father is becoming irritated as a result of it all." He turned his attention to Petyr directly. "Baelish, you are Robert's Master of Coin, what is Robert's next course of action?"

Sansa knew this was more her father's territory than her own but it was much too late to back out now.

Petyr sighed. "He wishes for her assassination but, of course, people have been trying that unsuccessfully for a while now."

"Only cowards attack little girls." Theon announced suddenly which got a little chuckle from his sister.

"Not a little girl though, is she, brother?"

Lord Baelish returned everyone's attention to him then. "Quite frankly the dragon princess is a problem for another day. For now there is a rather more serious issue that, up until now, only I have been aware of. Robert has essentially bankrupt the crown." Petyr shrugged. "He's fucked."

Both the Dornish prince and Xaro chortled at that.

"Give yourself some comfort, Lord Baelish, make your bed a little warmer." Said Xaro as he loosely gestured to Oberyn. "Provide the Thirteen access to Dorne for trading and I shall personally give you the money to save your king."

Once more Petyr and his twin glanced at one another then shuddered with disgust, everybody else had probably missed it but Sansa was in on the secret now and knew they were brothers not lovers; knew the innuendo wasn't just wrong but horrid to them.

Petyr folded his fingers into a pyramid and rested his chin atop them. "Frankly I don't give a damn. Robert insisted on getting himself into this mess despite my warnings, do you honestly think he's not aware of how much he owes to the Iron Bank? He can burn for all I care."

"Yes, always king of the ashes." Muttered Varys but he went almost entirely ignored, Petyr hardly spared him a glance before he carried on.

"Oberyn has already told you Dorne will not be opening up to your trade and I see no way for you to make him or Doran Martell."

Melisandre piped up then, surprising since she'd not spoken or let out so much as a hum of approval at the taste of her wine. She sat directly across the circle from Baelish with Xaro on her left and Tyrion on her right with the doors behind her; doors which Lothor guarded like a hungry wolf.

"Then what do you wish to discuss that regards King Robert, Lord Baelish?"

Oberyn smirked, a bold, wide smile which had his eyes twinkling. "Oh he's so glad you asked."

Sansa found herself wondering how she'd missed the brotherly nature between the two men, true they weren't like Sansa and her brothers but honestly how had anyone mistaken them for lovers? The two were like little boys in cahoots to steal dessert … or at least to Sansa they were now she'd been made privy to their secret.

"The simple fact he's bankrupted himself by going against the advice of his Master of Coin is of little consequence. It is what happens after his inevitable death which needs to be our topic of discussion."

Sansa was shocked. "Death?"

Petyr nodded as Sansa realized she was the only surprised person in the room, even Ros and Olyvar didn't look surprised. Truthfully, when she set her shock aside to think about it Sansa had heard her father do a lot more sighing since he'd become Hand. Ned Stark was a good man and clearly had not taken kindly to his king's way of leading, the redhead herself had thought on more than one occasion that King Robert seemed to have dissociated from the needs of his people and she'd been little more than a child. Queen Cersei clearly hated her husband and her mother seemed to have had hardly any faith in him. The question as to if Robert Baratheon was a good king had long since been answered but was it really enough for someone to kill him? Looking around at everyone she supposed not, the question now had become who and when rather than if it would happen.

"Then why did you say the money was serious?" Margaery enquired from her place between Oberyn and Varys.

Petyr smiled at her, something which tilted his moustache up. "Because most of the money came from the Iron Bank yes, but the rest came from Tywin Lannister, a man who now thinks himself entitled to things he most certainly is not."

Tyrion just shrugged and gestured for Olyvar to come and refill his glass. "My father is rather ruthless unless you'd not all noticed."

Theon – bless his soul – appeared to be having a hard time soaking in the information. He shuffled forwards in his chair clearly the total opposite to his sister's almost too relaxed position.

"I'm sorry, can we go back to the bit about the king being dead?"

The bald man nodded in agreement. "Mmm, it does sound a lot as though we're conspiring against our king."

Oberyn didn't look bothered at all. "Not my king."

"Oh Varys," began Lord Baelish "I don't need to plot for this. Cersei Lannister and her minions will see to that soon enough for us and if she doesn't get him I'm sure his heart will give out."

"How do you know all of this?" Yara half demanded while her feet swung back and forth where she'd left them over the arm of her chair.

Tyrion chortled. "It's Baelish, he always knows everything. Besides, Cersei is my sister, trust me, she'll kill him soon." Another gulp of wine. "Surprised it's taken her this long."

"When the fat piggy dies three things will happen. Petyr-" the Dornish prince gestured to his brother to hand the conversation over.

Sansa knew full well that Oberyn and Petyr would have discussed this to quite some extent probably in another hidden section of Harrenhal.

"One, the inbred brat will assume a throne he has no real right to. Two-" Petyr counted them off on his fingers "- the Lannisters will have control over the Seven Kingdoms."

"And the third thing." Melisandre asked expectantly.

Varys rolled his eyes. "Come now, my Lady, that one is obvious. No one will be able to keep Stannis and Renly under control." Varys turned to his left to face the woman from Highgarden. "Not even you, Lady Margaery."

Margaery donned that smile which said she refused to be offended or show any sign of concern. "I can be rather persuasive, my Lord."

No one doubted that she could. In a way Margaery Tyrell was an inspiration to women everywhere both noble and common born; she was ambitious, beautiful and confident enough to go after what she desired even when others said no.

"What are you getting at here, Baelish?" Asked Theon.

Melisandre finished her wine then held her glass out for Olyvar to fill again. "War, little one, he's speaking of war."

Yara sighed. Truthfully Sansa thought Yara Greyjoy just as inspirational as Margaery, she may not have worn the same beautiful clothes and certainly spoke with far fewer niceties but she was unafraid of what anyone thought of her. Yara cared for her people and that was why not only had her brother stood by her, but why her people wanted her to lead their House rather than her father or uncle.

"It's inevitable all right, and he's spot on … Robert's fucked in the ass."

That got Xaro snickering to himself which annoyed everybody else in the room because they'd so enjoyed him being quiet.

"Westeros is in chaos." He announced with contempt.

Sansa really didn't like this man so before she knew it words fell from her lips. "And Essos isn't? Almost all of your people are either enslaved or oppressed." The teenager didn't quite know where that sudden outburst had come from but somehow she felt as though Xaro's words had also been a comment on her father's work as Hand to King Robert. "Essos is built on slave labor, and now the Dothraki are serving as an army for Daenerys Targaryen. So stop pretending you have any real power here or in Essos because even though think you sit happily playing merchant king now, she will come for you long before she turns her attention to Westeros."

Petyr and Oberyn had identical smirks on their faces while Tyrion and Yara just looked proud of her, Varys even had a glint in his eyes. Sansa had been invited to this conclave for a reason, if it was to just tell her she wasn't human Petyr could have faked an invitation to get her to his island. She wasn't there because Lord Baelish had just wanted to bed her, he'd wanted her to see and take part so this teenage girl would stand tall and play this game alongside him. She may have been young but since reaching Mockingbird Island Sansa had realized she wasn't a child any longer.

Clearly the man from Qarth had not been expecting such comments from a teenage girl, the anger and outrage was plain to see in his dark eyes.

"And you have power? Not even the eldest child of the Hand. You're a silly little girl whose only purpose here is to fill a chair."

Petyr didn't take kindly to that, Sansa knew, she felt the spike of rage drift from Daxos. Is he really right that I'm an empath?

"Have I not already made it clear not to underestimate women, especially the young and beautiful ones?"

Yara finally straightened herself in her chair as she grumbled. "The real question here is what is going to happen to us after this shit happens?"

Petyr suddenly clapped his hands together a single time which had everybody look at him in an instant.

"There we are! The root of all our issues and concerns. Has no one honestly figured out what we are all headed towards? Westeros, Essos, even Sothoryos and the damn Summer Isles, all of us?"

Sansa knew, suspected her father knew it was coming as well. Slowly she took a calming breath and opened her mouth to speak.

"War shall create a free for all. Houses will be ended and nobles will scrap over a crown in the dirt, each screaming about their right to rule."

Petyr gazed at Sansa with something akin to awe, like she was even more perfect than he'd imagined; Sansa had no idea just how right that was.

"Very good, Sansa. We need to protect ourselves and make sure we do not crumble with everybody else."

Xaro puffed his shoulders up. "Why should I care about any of this? What if the Thirteen were to aid the Targaryen girl, we would watch your war from a distance."

Varys looked at the black man pointedly. "On the contrary, if Westeros descends into war as is expected Essos nor the Thirteen shall be spared. The trade Westeros and Essos have now will die out."

Tyrion sighed, he really was running out of wine again. "So what do you suggest, Baelish?"

"Simple, that we satisfy ourselves for the new world order."

"How, man!" Yara demanded. "Get to the fucking point and quit the damn theatrics."

While Petyr spoke Sansa did her best to remain in actuality but found her mind drifted off to each of the guests as they spoke in turn regarding the hole Robert Baratheon and the Targaryens had gotten them all into. Tyrion, he was confidant and prepared for the conclave but Sansa knew there was fear deep within him which he tried to hide behind his drunken nature. How she knew all that was a different topic entirely. Lady Margaery was much the same, prepared, confidant and ready for just about anything that could be thrown her way, but there were still some insecurities locked away inside her. How did Sansa know all of this? Theon was haunted by things that made Sansa want to curl up and cry even though she'd not seen those things, she'd been able to feel Theon's pain inside her heart.

Sansa stopped listening almost entirely after that and found herself drifting away on a sea of emotions she didn't quite understand, or at least she did until her family were mentioned. Sansa's full attention returned to the conclave as she did her best to dismiss their comments about her father; should I be worried that I actually seem to be rather good at this? When that battle had ended though she zoned straight back out without really thinking about it.

Sansa turned to Petyr, everyone else she could read or feel or whatever it was Sansa had been doing, but Petyr Baelish? No, the Lord of Harrenhal gave her nothing, he was blank. Yes, she'd seen Petyr's ire when Xaro had cast her off as nothing but a pathetic girl but Sansa didn't think that was anything supernatural since he'd not made any attempt to hide it. Anything else though was utterly blank, she couldn't feel anything from him. Almost as if he'd got a wall up around himself or something similar.

When she gave up and turned to Prince Oberyn the redhead discovered it was much the same, blank and wall-like. Is this something unique to Demons? Great, now I'm thinking like all of this is normal, she muttered to herself. The Stark girl felt eyes on her then and peered upwards to see both men staring at her, had they known what she'd been trying to do? The looks on their faces said a firm yes but how? Demons remember? Sansa had truly either gone insane or had an awful lot to learn.