The sun sank in the azure waters and rays of purple and orange coloured the twilight sky. Sansa's tears had dried and her heart had petrified. Right when she thought she had found her harbour, she found herself lost in deepest ocean.
The voyage was making her queasy, so she spent the whole day in her cabin; alone and heavy-hearted. She never touched the food a guard had brought for her earlier. She stood next to the small circular window and stared outside blankly.
I wish mother were here. She would brush my hair and tell me stories and she would make me forget...

There was a knock; she didn't respond but the door opened nevertheless. Petyr hadn't made an appearance all day until then.
"Are you feeling seasick, sweetling?" He came close and laid his palms on her shoulders.
He tried to kiss her on the lips but she turned away so his lips landed on her cheek. He didn't seem to bother.
"For how long will we be travelling?" She asked quietly, nonchalantly.
"If the wind doesn't change, a couple of days. Not long, do not fret." He rubbed her arms slowly as if to soothe her.
Why is he doing this? He proved how little he cares...
She frowned and walked away from him, circling the table in the middle of the cabin. She refused glancing at her bed; earlier when she had tried to lie down and rest, all she could see and hear was him atop of her, sighing and kissing her.
He didn't move but his eyes narrowed and followed her.
"I think it is high time we agree on what you are going to say once we arrive at the capital." Lord Baelish stroked his short beard. There was a hint of a crafty smile on his lips.
Sansa looked at him and her eyes were colder than Winterfell's snow. She nodded, indicating that she was listening to him. How foolish of me to even think he would talk about last night...
"By the time we arrive, Robert will be back from the North, along with your father. We will meet them at the Great Hall. Prince Joffrey will be there, as well as Queen Cersei." Petyr clasped his hands and continued. "I had asked for a month-long leave to return at my home-place and arrange family business. Or so they thought. On my way there, I heard the screams of a girl in the forest. There was a group of thieves and they held you captive. I saved you from them and once you revealed your identity and I heard the rumours about your father possibly coming to the capital as Hand of the King, I decided to take you with me."
Sansa stared at him with wide gleaming eyes. She had been a pawn in his plan from the very beginning. He lied to the King, he came to Winterfell to meet her, he kidnapped her, he seduced her and now he would feed them all a lie and give her away. She shuddered, realising how little she must matter to him. He doesn't want you. He wants to play the hero and be rewarded with power...
"And why would those thieves steal me? What was their motive and how did they do it?" Her calm tone reminded her of her mother.
"Clever girl." Lord Baelish grinned. "One of them served your father and knowing your value as a lady, he arranged it. Not to mention your beauty" He came close to her again and stroked the auburn hair at the side of her face.
She looked down but she didn't move away. The smooth touch made her heart jump, reminding her that she was alive.
"And so I will reunite with my father and you will be rewarded for your kindness. Father will send me back to the North, with the rest of my family." She said, sounding more certain of herself this time.
Yet her comment only made him cackle.
"Why, you will tell him you want to stay of course. To be with him and the Prince. Robert always wanted to connect his House with your father's, due to their long-lasting friendship. Now that you will appear in front of him, it will be the perfect chance. No time to waste."
"What if...What if I won't like Prince Joffrey?" Sansa raised her oceanic gaze, desperately searching for signs of emotion in the depths of his emerald hues.
He stayed silent for a short time. Could it be he wasn't expecting this question? His palm dropped to her shoulder and he smiled barely. His eyes lost hers when he finally responded.
"You will."
He turned around and walked away from her, returning by the window and looking outside; night had fallen. Something about the silence and the way he avoided looking at her persuaded her that his guard was on the edge of dropping; and he refused to let that happen.
"Petyr..." her cheeks flushed with a rosy colour at the use of his first name. She gulped. "What happened to my father when he disappeared?"
He looked at her over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow. His puzzled gaze made her shiver.
"I can't tell you who tried to harm him, sweetling, for I don't know." Is this a lie? "But I can tell you this: Jon Arryn was growing old and weak. After his death, it is widely known that Robert would ask your father to be his Hand. Some people didn't want that, so they tried to harm him and get him out of the way so Robert had to ask someone else to fulfil that duty."
"Who would be Hand if my father..."
Silence.
He speaks of rivalries but father has no enemies...
Not yet, an inner voice whispered to her. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself defensively, fearfully.
"How did you know that my father would survive?" She wrapped her arms around herself fearfully.
"Let's say that I assisted him."
"But you were in Winterfell."
"I paid others to do it for me, how much exposure do you think I can bear?" The lord's eyes shined with craft.
"But you don't know who exactly tried to harm him?" Sansa furrowed her eyebrows.
"No. Men paid by some prominent family, apparently."
"How did you know he was going to be harmed?" Her frown deepened suspiciously.
"Rumours spread and I have many sources." His shoulders rolled in an indifferent shrug.
The deafening silence returned.
Could it be that he was being honest with her? If so, the world seemed to be far more wicked than she thought. His plan was cynical but the conspiracies that hid behind her father's disappearance appeared to be truly sinister.
His back was facing her; Sansa stared at it and suddenly felt cold. Was it because of the night or because of the distance that had grown between them ever since the morning?
"I need some air." She muttered and rushed out of the cabin.
She heard no footsteps behind her; he wasn't following her. Why would he?
She found herself alone on the deck. The wind struck her sensitive skin and the smell of the sea filled her lungs. She stood on the edge of the prow and looked ahead at the dark water lying ahead of the ship. The infinite distance it seemed to cover and the obscure colour engulfed her with terror. The boundless sea was intimidating and Sansa was overwhelmed with awe.
As the ship was rocking on the waves, the saline odour was becoming more acute. Sansa gripped the rail to steady herself; vertigo had taken over her again. She yelped with surprise when a voice came from behind her unexpectedly. Barely stabilising herself, she turned around to face the sailor who had sneaked up behind her, quiet as a cat.
"Do forgive me, milady, I ain't wanna frighten ya."
Sansa could tell the sailor was foreign. His teeth were yellow and his cheeks covered with a messy beard. His accent was one she did not recognise.
"Me name's Edwyn, milady." The man stepped closer and grasped the rails next to each one of her sides, imprisoning her.
His breath smelled of wine and his clothing of sweat and salt.
" 'Tis a pretty night, milady. Not as pretty as yer."
He tried to cling to her but Sansa pushed him back and walked away as fast as she could. He ran after her and before she could return inside, he grabbed her arm and threw her against the spar. Her back slammed against the wooden surface, sending a wave of pain down her spine. A hand covered her mouth forcefully whereas another was constrained to her chest and squeezed her breast. She tried to squirm, to shove, to scream but it was no use. Her heart was pounding with fear and her hands were feebly beating the sailor's chest. Her eyes were closed so she didn't witnessed what followed; she only heard.
A blade sliced, a man gasped, someone collapsed and got dragged away. The last sound was a splash. Silence followed and raindrops started falling.
Sansa was trembling, crippled by fear. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, moistening her skin like the light rain moistened her gown. Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably but she gathered all her courage and opened her eyes. The tears had blurred her vision but she managed to spot the figure of a man coming towards her. She whimpered dreadfully but the two arms that wrapped around her felt familiar. She was pulled in a protective embrace. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled the minty scent she had come to long for. Her hands were on Petyr's chest, formed in fists, holding the fabric of his cloak ever so tightly. He rubbed her back comfortingly and held her for a long time. Eventually the shaking stopped and so did the tears.
What had happened to the sailor? Did Petyr kill him?
Sansa allowed him to guide her down the staircase to the inside of the ship and this time at his personal cabin; it wasn't much different to hers. Only then did he let her out of his safe hold. He cupped her face and traced her cheekbones with his thumbs.
"Do not be afraid, you are safe now. It's over." His tone was low and his voice soothing.
She sniffled and met his grey-green eyes; the coldness had vanished and just like that day at the Fingers when she had stumbled, she could recognise a hint of concern in his pupils. Could it be true? He cared?
"What hap..." she started but he pressed a finger to her lips.
"It's over, sweetling. Do not worry, no one will harm you again." He whispered. "I won't let them." Petyr leaned upwards and placed a tender buss on her forehead.
Sansa sighed and once the kiss was over, she laid her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes reluctantly, afraid to see the sailor coming at her; but she didn't. Petyr's fingers were stroking her hair and his protective aura enfolded her warmly. The longer she nestled in his arms, the more her shock and fear faded.
After a while, Petyr laid her down on his bed and covered her with the fur. She didn't object nor resist. He sat on the edge of the mattress and held her hand. In the candlelight, she thought she saw his collar and silver mockingbird stained with red...blood?
"Rest, sweetling. The morrow will be a better day, I promise you."
He bent down and kissed the back of her hand. Sansa caught herself smiling barely.
His fondness had returned and so had the warmth in her heart. She tried to squeeze his hand but she felt too feeble after all the squirming and fighting she had done.
"Stay." She murmured as her eyelids fell shut.
She drifted but right before sleep snatched her, Sansa heard one single word that she held onto for the next two years.
"Always."