Behind the mountains flickered the first rays of dawning sunlight. The horse's hoofs made splashing sounds as they buried in the mud with each step the mount took. The man had his face pressed against the horse's neck and he was barely holding on from its mane.
"Halt! Who's there?" Ser Rodrik Cassel yelled from above Winterfell's Walls.
The rider gave no answer. Considering the way he was hanging from the horse, he could as well be dead.
Suspicious, the master-at-arms descended to the gate and drew his sword cautiously, approaching the horse along with two other guards.
"Who is asking to enter?" He asked again with determination.
The man tried to sit up on the horse's back but he only ended up falling off completely and collapsing to the muddy ground. The knights looked at each other, with curiosity as well as suspicion. Alone this time, Ser Rodrik neared and pressed his boot on the man's shoulder, to push him to lie on his back. His face was covered with dirt and bleeding cuts and a thick beard hid his chin and jaw. He had blacked out. Something about him though felt strangely familiar. The knight beckoned the other guards to help him carry the man inside the walls and take his horse to the stable. They laid the stranger in a resting chamber and washed his face with a wet cloth. In the candlelight, the familiarity was confirmed. It was Ser Rodrik who noticed it and pushed amongst the others, to kneel next to the sleeping man and thank the Old Gods. His eyes were widened with surprise and he yelped when the man opened his eyes weakly.
"Lord Stark!"

Sansa woke up when the first beams of light invaded from her window. The sun was warmer there, and brighter. There were times back in Winterfell when she would get tired of the cold and crave the southern warmth. The Fingers certainly weren't like the capital or Highgarden or Dorne of course, but the difference was still felt; and yet she couldn't appreciate it. She rolled on her other side so her back was facing the window. She thought of her discussion with Petyr Baelish last night at dinner. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, was dead. Fever took him, he told her. The next closest friend to Robert Baratheon was her father. Petyr seemed certain that by now he would have returned to Winterfell and soon the King would pay him a visit, to offer him to be his Hand. She couldn't help but suspect his certainty but he claimed he knew what had happened and he would tell her when the time was right. All the secrets, all the mysteries and the lies, they were making it hard to adapt. I wish father was here…he would keep me safe…
She didn't want to get out of bed and go through another day at that unfamiliar, dull place. This isn't home. She squeezed the pillow and buried her face in it. It was fluffy and it smelled fresh and clean. Another memory of Winterfell sneaked in; Lady Catelyn always made sure the sheets, the furs and the pillows were often cleaned and pleasantly scented.
She had almost drifted off again when she heard a knock on the door. She had been expecting it sooner or later. Considering how Kella had served her so far, she would be up to help her get dressed and brush her hair; or was that too royal to be true?
"Yes?" She mumbled and glanced at the door that creaked open.
It wasn't Kella. It was him. A sudden blood-rush coloured her cheeks with a scarlet shade and she pulled the furs up to her chin immediately.
"Lord Baelish." She muttered in surprise. She had decided that was the most decent way to address him. They weren't acquainted enough – or were they? – to call him by his first name and using his nickname would be rude. He was dressed differently today, just a pair of brown breeches and matching boots and a white tunic of which the top buttons were undone. His casual clothing made her blush more and look away. What is he doing?
"Good morrow, sweetling. I trust you slept well?" He clasped his hands together and smirked; she could see it almost clearly from the corner of her eyes.
She kept silent and nodded. Dressed in her nightgown and tucked in bed, she was feeling uneasy around someone who wasn't much more than a stranger to her; one that followed her in the godswood, one that kissed her and kidnapped her and told her about his past and plans for her, partly at least, but she was still in the process of knowing him.
"I was wondering if you would like to join me for horse riding, after breaking your fast? You have been taught how to mount, yes?"
She arched an eyebrow at him, taken aback by such an offer. Is he going to pretend that I am not his prisoner? She stretched her neck upwards so she could see him better. His sly smirk was there, distorting his features with malevolence.
"Yes…I'd like to." It wouldn't be any use to reject his offer. After all, she had nothing else to do in this foreign to her land.
"I will see you downstairs." Pleased with her agreement, he graced her with another quirky smile before departing and shutting the door behind him.
He could have just told me while we are breaking our fast…
Her cheeks were still burning when she got up from the bed. Kella didn't pay her a visit that morning. Perhaps Lord Baelish had found other tasks for her. Sansa brushed her hair and gazed out of the window. Every minute she spent away from home made her feel as if her heart was hardening. She changed into a black gown with grey laces and circular lines sewed on its fabric and descended to the hall.

After they had broken their fast, Kella brought a light grey cotton cloak for Sansa and helped her adjust it to her dress.
"Shall we go?" Petyr's enigmatic smirk shined when he opened the door and beckoned her to follow him outside.
The weather wasn't much different to yesterday. The sky was clear and the sun was travelling towards its middle. Walking closely behind him, she followed him to the stables.
"Lord Baelish." A short middle-aged man with barely any white hair on his head crept out of the amounts of wheat tossed all over the stable and greeted the lord with a bow. Sansa guessed he was the stableman.
"Barth." Lord Baelish greeted the man with a nonchalant nod. "Prepare two horses for us, if you will."
"Which ones, my lord?"
Petyr turned to Sansa. Their eyes met. She felt like he was calculating her thoughts and movements.
"The lady will choose hers." Petyr muttered at the end and guided Sansa further into the stables.
"As you command, my lord."
She could count at least ten horses; though from the first moment they walked in, one had caught her immediate attention.
"That one." She pointed at the tall white horse with light brown mane.
"His name is Fog." The stableman blurted out from behind them.
"Get Stormwind for me." Petyr instructed him before walking outside with her to wait.
She followed him silently, avoiding saying another word. As they waited, she averted her attention to the scenery around her. She wondered how they were supposed to ride on such a stony ground but she assumed Petyr knew what he was doing. He needs me, he won't let me get hurt…
"Why did you choose that horse?" He suddenly asked her.
She shrugged. "I just liked that one better."
White for innocence. Brown for slight corruption. His kisses…
The stableman didn't take long to walk out of the stable with their horses prepared with their reins and saddle. Sansa pulled herself up easily and mounted the horse. She had always preferred more lady-like activities but being taught how to ride was considered necessary by her father. Petyr mounted his horse as well and pulled the reins, bestriding away.
"Follow me." He called to her over his shoulder.
Her horse pranced after his. His steed was pure black and contrasted his white tunic. She caught up with him and rode beside him. They followed a pebbly path that led them out of that sparsely populated place. The rocks seemed to only be getting larger but the path was clear. They continued their course in silence and rode up a cragged hill. When they reached the top, Petyr stopped his horse and she imitated him. She didn't have time to wonder why they stopped; the scenery lying ahead of them took her breath away. They were facing the top part of the Narrow Sea, the part that met the Shivering Sea. It was the first time she saw the ocean. The horizon, dressed in a dark shade of blue, carried the water further that the eye could meet. She stared at the blue abyss with awe.
"I figured you haven't seen the sea before." Petyr spoke calmly from next to her. His voice faded in her amazement. "There are so many places in the world but we don't have the time to see them all."
Sansa had always been curious what the Free Cities looked like, how different the civilisation there was, even though her dreams rested in the castles of her own land. Life in Winterfell lacked the privilege of travelling, at least so far. She had asked her father once whether they would have to move when winter came. "The Starks will endure. They always had" he had told her. She valued and respected the Stark strength and endurance, even if it demolished her hopes and dreams of traveling. She could feel it running in her veins constantly now that she had been taken away from her home.
"It's beautiful." She couldn't think of a better word for such a sight. This is the first pleasant outcome of my rapture…
"The city of Braavos is almost straight ahead from where we are. Sometimes you can scarcely spot the curves of the land." Petyr pulled the reins of his horse and put an end to the pause of their course.
Riding side by side, they went down the hill and approached the sea even more. The more they neared, the vaguer the path was becoming. They had to stop again and dismount. Lord Petyr tied their horses to a rock and they continued on foot. The wind was stronger there and it blew her auburn locks behind her shoulders. The smell of moisture mixed with salt coming from the sea pierced through her nostrils; exciting and invigorating. Petyr lend her a hand every time they had to jump off a rock in order to descend lower and reach the level of the water. When they finally arrived at the seaside, he guided her to a small pebbly shore that was hiding discreetly behind the huge rocks that covered the rest of the area. The breeze was blowing to the opposite direction, so the surface of the water was calm and it splashed the shore ever so lightly.
Sansa kneeled down next to the sea and immersed her hand in it. It was cool and clear as crystal. Further ahead she spotted a small fish floating around. She had to smile, as it made her think of her mother. The sigil of House Tully was a fish. Lady Catelyn spoke of them sometimes; how she, Lysa, Edmure and Petyr used to fish at the river in Riverrun. Her father Lord Hoster wasn't always pleased with them, he considered it a non lady-like activity; but Catelyn loved it. She missed Riverrun and the fish, she had admitted to her one night, after a bedtime story.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Lord Petyr stood next to her, with his gaze fixed ahead.
She stood up and straightened her gown. The colour of his eyes matched the one of the water. Her cheeks burnt with a sudden flush and she imitated his staring afar.
"Yes, it is. I've always wanted to see the sea." But he knows that already, doesn't he?
"The sea is full of mysteries and opportunities. Many men invest in ships." His tone was thoughtful this time. Distant and pensive.
"Even you?" She turned to look at him with sudden curiosity. She realised she knew more about his past than she did about his present.
He chuckled at her question.
"No. I've found that other kinds of business make better investments."
She swallowed and held herself back from asking more about it. Considering his obscure persona, she didn't even want to know in what kind of business he was involved in.
He flopped down on the gravels and beckoned her to do the same. Once she did, he unlaced his boots and took them off, rolled his breeches up to his knees and placed his legs in the water, up to his calves. She looked at him in surprise. Why did he bring me here?
"Go ahead." The rosy colour returned to her cheeks and she rubbed her hands together nervously. She kept feeling as if he was looking inside her mind. He is reading me like an open book…
She bit her lip and took off her boots hesitantly, lifting her gown to the level of her knees. The exposure intensified the blush that kept spreading on her face. With a side-glance she could see how amused he was. She closed her eyes when her legs sank in the shallow water. The feeling was new and overwhelming; nothing compared to a bath. The water felt more refreshing and exhilarating. Full of mysteries, he had said…
She tilted her head back and smiled. She could see the sky even behind her closed eyelids. She listened to the water spattering the small stones. She felt the flows wrapping around her legs and drifting her away to unexplored places.
A hand cupped her cheek and warm lips pressed to hers. For the first time, that didn't disturb her internal peace…