The days passed by but the dark stranger wasn't forgotten; after all, how can we escape those who have the power to sneak into our minds? Sansa would lay in bed at night, remembering how his cold skin felt against her cheek. He had frightened her. He had come to her in peace and had started a war with her sanity. One night she woke up screaming, after a nightmare where he was drowning her in the small lake in the godswood. Arya threw a pillow at her, telling her to shut up. It was her mother though, who came in the room and comforted her in her warm embrace.
"Tell me stories from your childhood, mother." Sansa had begged her as they were sitting together in the dark.
"It's too late for that, Sansa. Go back to sleep." Her mother's calm tone always managed to soothe all her troubles. She often wondered how Lady Catelyn always managed to seem so tranquil.
"Please. They help me sleep." Indeed they did. But not this time; she was only searching for an excuse to hear more of her mother's childhood; to hear her speaking more of the obscure man she had met in the woods.
"Very well."
Catelyn narrated to her about one time when she had gone with Lysa and Petyr to the river. They were practicing kissing with him when it started raining and their gowns ended up all muddy. Lord Hoster Tully, her father, only scolded Petyr, accusing him of inducing them to go to the river. Petyr had accepted the blame, since it kept her and her sister out of trouble. He was a sly and clever boy, Catelyn said, but also brave and caring. Usually after a story Sansa had dozed off; not this time though.
"Mother? What happened to Petyr? Where is he now?" The question she wanted to ask from the beginning; but she had to ease into the matter or her mother would suspect something…but Catelyn suddenly appeared troubled and melancholic. Did I ask for too much?
"My friendship with Petyr had an unfortunate ending, child. I will tell you another time." She tried to move but Sansa shook her head. No, don't leave now. Not when I am about to learn all I need to know.
"Please tell me mother, I'm not tired." She begged but her words were no use.
"But I am, Sansa. Try getting some rest." Her mother kissed her forehead and left the room, leaving her upset and disappointed. What could she mean by unfortunate ending? Sansa sighed and fluttered her eyes shut, only to see him again behind her closed eyelids. What's wrong with me?
She didn't visit the godswood again for the whole week. She had other, greater worries. Robb's name's day had arrived and her father hadn't returned from the Wall, though he had promised he would be there for the feast. Maester Luwin had sent a raven to the Wall but the only response he got was that Lord Stark had left two nights ago.
Nevertheless, Lady Catelyn decided to go through with the feast, as it was an important day for her eldest son. All citizens of Winterfell gathered at the largest hall of the castle. The Stark family was sat at the biggest, main table whereas the rest were spread across the room, at smaller tables.
"This is not right. Father should be here." Arya complained and stabbed the piece of meat on her plate with her fork.
For once, Sansa couldn't disagree with her. She missed their father. He wasn't one to particularly enjoy feasts but his plain presence would have given the room a different essence. A sense of safety and utter serenity. She sighed and let her gaze to roam around the hall. A couple of girls who practiced sewing with her were seated across the room, whispering in each other's ear. She envied them. She only had Arya on her right and Robb on her left but he was always standing up and wandering among the tables, making toasts with each family. Next to Robb sat Lady Catelyn, preoccupied with admiration for her eldest son and making sure every table was served well and correctly.
Sansa took a small sip of her cup of wine. No wonder everyone in the hall would end up drunk by the end of the night; but not her, her mother never allowed her to drink more than one cup. I should go talk to the girls, she thought and casted her oceanic pools towards them again. They didn't even seem to notice she was missing from their usual company. She didn't have time to worry about that as she caught glimpse of someone sitting at the corner of the room. Alone, dressed in black…a black cloak, black hair…no, it couldn't be. It was him. And he is looking at me? No. Not her. Sansa felt her hands shaking as she turned her head and realized it was her mother he was looking at. If he wanted to keep his presence a secret, why would he come here? Why would he do something so reckless? Why would he force me to see him again…
She shuddered and didn't even notice how hard she was squeezing her fork. Her knuckles turned white.
"What in the Seven Hells has gotten into you?" She heard her sister saying, in her usual exasperated tone; but her voice sounded like it was coming from far far away.
She released the folk and tried to focus on her food. Maybe he is not truly there, maybe my dreams got to me too much. She didn't manage to control herself for long. She raised her gaze from her plate and looked at him. He hadn't moved from his position. The only difference was that this time, he was staring right at her. The instant eye-contact made her blood rush to her cheeks, colouring them with a scarlet shade. He smirked at her, in such a sly manner that it made her swallow thickly. He pressed a forefinger to his lips, as if to silence her. He was asking her to keep quiet about his presence…why should I keep doing this, just because he is asking me to? She managed to compose herself and look away from him, or else her hands would never stop shaking. She turned to her mother who was currently glaring at Robb; he and Theon Greyjoy had already drunk too much for her standards.
"Mother, who is that at the corner, next to the door?" she asked twice. The first time her voice sounded too weak and soft for her mother to hear.
"Who, child?"
"Right there…"
But he wasn't there anymore for her or anybody else to see. Sansa froze and quickly searched the crowd with her eyes. He was nowhere to be found.
"Never mind." She bit her bottom lip in shame for disturbing her mother for unnecessary reasons.
"What did they put in your wine?" Arya laughed at her but she couldn't find the strength to answer to her.
Her head had begun spinning but it wasn't the wine; it couldn't be. She hadn't even finished her cup. Perhaps he truly hadn't been there after all. But it felt so real…
She rested her hands neatly on her lap and struggled to push him away from her thoughts. The girls were forgotten and so were Arya's mocking sayings. The evening went on and eventually people began leaving but she didn't feel any less ill at ease.
"Mother, may I be excused?" she finally found the courage to ask. It was her duty to stay, as a family member of the one celebrating; but she couldn't. All the time she could feel those grey eyes watching her, coveting her…and yet he was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you feeling unwell, Sansa?" her mother asked her placidly.
She nodded in response and, thankfully, got the permission to be excused. She stood up carefully and straddled among the crowd till she could finally leave the hall. With her hands folded, she walked through the long corridor. She could feel something moving in the shadows, as the flames of the torches on the walls danced in an obscure, mysterious rhythm. She shivered and quickened her steps. Arya was right. Probably the wine was too strong.
"Leaving so soon, my lady?"
Her feet resisted taking her any further. She remained as still as a mountain, staring straight ahead at the darkly dressed man who stood a few metres away from her, as if born by the shadows.
"What…what are you doing here?" she only managed to mumble. A foolish question. One he didn't bother answering. He only took a couple of steps towards her but she backed away. Are we going to play this game again?
"I will call the guards." His chuckle made obvious how she failed to sound threatening.
"You could. But you won't, will you?" He sounded so certain. But how could he know? I should just…
Her mind was working feverishly, filled with questions about his presence, about his purpose. Her heartbeat was so fast and loud in her ears that she could barely hear his footsteps anymore as he walked even more towards her. The more steps she took backwards the closer he came. Her back ended up hitting the cold, stony wall. Her breath hitched; she had to rub her hands together to stop them from trembling. Fear had consumed and paralyzed her. He stopped right in front of her and placed a hand against the wall, right next to her head. He was "wearing" a malevolent smirk, one that didn't reach his empty, emerald eyes. Why does he seem so amused?
"I trust you haven't told anyone about our little meetings. Though, you did try tonight." So he had truly been there. He knew she would tell her mother so he disappeared, slyly and quickly.
She avoided looking at him in the eyes; instead she stared at his cloak blankly, noticing a silver pin fastened on his tunic, one she hadn't seen the other time. From the lines carved on it she could tell it was a mockingbird. Confused about what exactly it meant, she decided to better close her eyes tightly.
"I haven't told anyone…please…I won't, I promise." Her voice was quivering uncontrollably. So did her body when she felt his warm breath against her cheek. What is he doing? She had heard stories about girls who had lost their maidenheads by force and then nobody wanted to wed them. This can't be my fate. I will call the guards.
But she didn't get a chance to.
"You look rather beautiful tonight, Sansa." The use of her name surprised her. They barely knew each other but he was acting as if they were familiar for years…and intimate?
"I…" Nothing else came out of her mouth. No words could be found. She wanted to push him away and leave but her terror had crippled her.
She felt something soft brushing along her jaw-line. Is it his hand? She opened her eyes, only to realise he had leaned so close that it was his lips that she was feeling. A smooth, tantalizing sensation that sent chills down her spine.
"Please…" she breathed out. Please don't stop. Her own thoughts made her upset. She tried to squirm but his free hand grasped her hip and held her pinned to the wall. He was kissing her neck, slowly but ruthlessly, and he began leaning against her. She lifted a hand and placed it on his shoulder, feebly trying to push him away. His kisses were making her skin tingle. Do I really want this to end? Yes. He was going to take her by force, every second that passed by made her even more certain of that. She was about to yell for the guards, as she should have done from the first moment she saw him, when his mouth suddenly covered hers, banning her from speaking. Swallowed down by his lips, her scream sounded more like a moan of pleasure instead. He had a sweet taste, of wine and mint. He feasted on her lips hungrily, as if some kind of unknown fierce passion had taken over him. But she didn't respond; she couldn't respond. She gripped his cloak, trying to push him away. He seemed to understand her struggle so he pulled away, leaving them both breathless. She opened her eyes but what she saw took her aback. He was staring at her but his expression was nothing she expected. He seemed amazed, dazed perhaps…he licked his lips and stepped away from her. He didn't say another word. He only felt his mouth with his fingertips and walked away hastily, soon leaving her alone in the dark corridor.
Her chest was heaving fast, though she was trying to catch her breath. Involuntarily, she touched her lips, just like he had done before he left. They were wet, warm and swollen by his hungry kissing. The shadows began surrounding her, drowning her, as black as his hair and cloak, as dark as his grey-green eyes that had stared right through her mind and left poison behind.
