And indeed, there will be time for the soot to pass, for I to soar above the blackened clouds of smoke, and ignore the wailful cries ringing in my ears. To pass through the shadows of the verdurous trees, and land on the white-stalked branches of the Weirwood tree. There will be time to see shadow-stalkers stumble their way to early graves, and to hear the long howl of a direwolf beckoning them home. There will be a time for me to fly, to soar above the towering trees and see the blackened ruins of the Stark's cherub; that amiable, honourable, antient seat befitting for the Kings of old. And so, I dive once more into a cloud of ash, but long black wires appear before my eyes, and enrapture my slender form- and with one sharp merciless tug it yanks me from the sky.

"Sansa!" a voice called out in the darkness. "Are you alright?"

"Petyr?" I chocked into the frosty night air, faintly recognizing the low tenor belonging to Lord Baelish.

"Yes."

With trembling hands, I reached out to touch the darkened figure until my fingers grasped at his arm with silent relief. "Petyr," I breathed into the sullen gloom, "I had such a terrible dream."

A long arm wrapped around my quivering frame, softly stroking the length of my arm in a soothing manner. "What was it about, Sansa?" he asked, in the softest tones.

"Home."

"Home?" he repeated, and tilted his head away from mine to study my white face and pale blue eyes. "Winterfell was not pleasant in your dreams? Not like how you saw it last?"

"No," I chocked. "Winterfell is gone."

I rested my pale cheek on the arm of Petyr's soft woolen coat, and it wasn't until I was perfectly nuzzled in his shade that I confessed: "I saw the shadows of my parents returning to their grave, and my brother- Robb quickly following the same fate. I saw so many things, Petyr, like I stepped through the gates of hell. It was all death and destruction! But that's all there is now, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Sansa."

"I know the Bolton's hold Winterfell! I've heard the whispers… what they've done to my mother and brother at the wedding," I confided into his sleeve. Suddenly, my hand began to beat against Petyr's arm, as the wound re-opened; anger kindled deep inside my bones, igniting a fire which threatened to blaze out of control.

"Sansa?" Petyr said with concern.

"I'm sorry! It's just that- I know I'll never be able to set foot on Winterfell again. Not when the Bolton's hold the fort. I am not ignorant, Petyr, I know that I am the last surviving Stark. I know that everyone wants me dead! But what I don't understand is why your willing to help me? And why do you promise to take me home- when you know I have no home to go too?"

"For now," he said softly. Petyr bowed his head a little closer, and whispered, "But there is a lot that can happen between now and never."

I eyed him suspiciously and asked, "Then you will keep your word? Even if there is nothing left for me to go home too?"

Petyr stroked his hands through my tightened curls, until it found a stray ringlet down my lower back. I could feel the heat of his hands sliding further down my spine, until it reached the very edge where the final button of my dressing gown resided. It was there that he drew small circles along my back, until I leaned into this new-found pleasure of his deft fingers trailing up and down my spine. Petyr in turn pushed down harder, until a loud moan escaped me as my back-arched forward. In a hoarse voice, Petyr replied, "For you, sweetling, I will keep my word. But only if you keep yours."

His fingers ceased its wandering movements, and instead planted itself at the bottom of my spine. I turned towards him now, and was surprised to see how close our face was to each other. I could feel his steady breathe on my brow, and the lingering scent of mint in the air. In a small voice I asked, "What must I keep?"

"You must promise me that once we step off this boat you will no longer be Sansa Stark, but my bastard daughter, Alayne Stone."

"Why?"

"Because I want to see you safe. I want to see you happy," he drawled. "I want to see you to reign at Winterfell, and be herald as the Queen of the North. But, the only way to do that is if you trust me completely. Could you do that for me?"

I blinked up at him, deliberating whether Petyr was a man to be trusted. He was asking for a great deal, but was I not asking for too much as well? I wanted to go home, and if Petyr wished the same thing for me as well, wouldn't it be better to just go along with his plans? But he wanted me to be his daughter- a bastard daughter too. "Alayne Stone," I chanted under my breath, it felt foreign to my tongue.

"It was my mother's name," Petyr uttered in a small voice similar to my own.

Petyr's face was riddled with pain as he looked down at me. "It means beautiful," he murmured. "I think it suits you well."

I slipped my hands into Petyr's limp one and gave it a meaningful squeeze. "Of course, father," I purred into his ear. "Why else would name me Alayne?"

Petyr eyes widened at this statement, a small chuckle escaped the corner of his mouth as he looked away. "Well, aren't you full of surprises today?" he muttered under his breath.

"Aren't I always?" I teased.

He looked back at me, and for a moment he carefully considered my frosty blue eyes with deliberation. He apparently liked what he saw, for he smiled while saying, "With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling."

I blinked open my languid eyes to see a silver mockingbird pin glistening against a black woolen cloak. With the back of my hand I rubbed the shutters of my weary eyes, before I blinked them open again, and sure enough Petyr's pin mockingly stared back at me in the dim morning light. "I don't understand," I thought, as I moved further back in the bed only to find myself thwarted by the long wings of his cloak; capable arms maintained a tight hold around my slender waist. Baffled by this predicament I tried to wriggle out of his hold, but I found my legs mercilessly entangled with Petyr's underneath the sheets. A small simper escaped me, as I began to realize the inevitable- I could not escape from Petyr's mighty grasp. "We are bound to each other now," I thought, as I settled my aching head on the off-white sheets and stared at Petyr's pin pensively.

"My mother would be ashamed," I mused, while my eyes burrowed into the mocking pin. I was in bed with a man- a man who was not my husband. "I should have asked Petyr to leave," I thought, while biting my lip with frustration. I intended too, but the nightmare seem to wash over me again and I found I could not part from his tender embrace.

With a long sigh, I inclined my head upwards until I could see my captor's face. In the dwindling light I could not see clearly, so I squirmed in his grip till I could at last see Petyr's physiognomy. In the dim light I studied his long eyelashes and the way they curled effortlessly, his well-defined check bones, and the sharp precision of his goatee; but the pale rosy hue of his lips captivated me most of all. "Petyr did not kiss me last night," l thought bitterly, unaware of how much I missed his tender kisses. Slowly I leaned in, until his lips were but a breath away, and then I pecked them lightly with my own. Petyr's lids suddenly flew open; grey-green austere-like eyes locked onto mine. "Sansa?" he asked, in a voice that was not quite his own.

Fear grasped me like iron fetters, freezing me into place under his mystifying gaze. "He's bewitching me," I contemplated, as I felt his hand slither up my spine until it reached the back of my nape. Slowly he leaned forward, until his visage was blurred in my line of vision.

"What's in a kiss?" Petyr asked with uncertainty. His lips touched mine gently, so softly it was barely a kiss. I licked my lips, wishing for more- something to hold onto instead of that feeble one he gave. Petyr must have sensed how discontent I was for he whispered, "Nothing," before he leaned in to take my lips hungrily.

I leaned further into his formidable frame, and to both of our surprise, I kissed him right back. Petyr laid flat on his back, and I crawled over him like some wanton whore until I our faces were barely touching. I graced him with light, sloppy kisses denoting my own naïveté experience in the art of kissing. Petyr enjoyed it all the same, for I felt the corner of his mouth curl into a lopsided smile as I trailed my lips around it. I leaned back to catch my breath, and gazed into his sublime eyes- mossy green with specks of grey circling 'round his blackened orbs. "I should say something," I thought, as we lay perfectly still for a moment, with nothing but our breathing to break the silence. I opened my kiss-swollen lips, but no words would come out, it seemed to dwindle away in the eternal silence.

Petyr's hands feverishly moved down my slender form, until he suddenly squeezed my ass. I instinctively hissed into his ear, shocked by his immodest gesture. "Petyr!" I cried with horror, before shifting my body away from his formidable grasp, though it did little to ease the tenseness of his grip. I cast him a threatening glower, and he responded in turn by lifting his eyebrows in a playful manner.

"Forgive me," he muttered, before his hands cascaded down my sides and smacked the bed. "I forget how young you are…"

"I'm not young!" I snapped back. I could feel my cheeks blazing from the sudden embarrassment of it all, and it only grew worse as I considered Petyr's subtle insult. I was torn- was it wrong for Petyr to touch me this way?

"I should go," Petyr said through gritted teeth. Ever so slightly he lifted me into the air, and lay me down beside him. He then pounced out of the bed like a cat, and fled to the door.

"Wait!" I breathed, but the words hardly escaped my mouth before he was out the door; a violent shake resounded across my room after Petyr slammed the door behind him. I cursed under my breath, while pounding a balled fist into the pillow beside me. I hated that insufferable locked door! The door that frequently stood in the way between Petyr and I. It was the lock, no the distance between us now, that made me want him even more.