"The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out.
You left me in the dark.
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart.

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became."

The bright sunlight of the morning reflects fiercely off the white linens as it peers in through the window, and Sansa can see her eyelashes lit aflame under her sleepy eyelids. Her hand needfully searches the bed for Petyr, but he had risen earlier than usual, and his side of the bed was cold to the touch.

*****
He slept fitfully through the night, and his tossing woke her in the darkness of some late hour. He was facing away from her, but she knew he was awake by the sound of his uneven breathing. This was a regular occurrence for some nights now, and in her stubborn anger she had contained her urge to comfort him. Tonight, Sansa wrapped her arm around him, her belly keeping her from getting as close as she wanted to be. She felt a pang of guilt run through her because of the being that kept them apart. Their bodies could no longer entwine like they used to, and she thought it a good representation of the void that sat between them now. It was all the unsaid things and all the secrets that passed between them wrapped up warmly in her womb.

"What's wrong, Petyr?" She quietly asked him, her breath warm on the back of his neck. It was a begging question.

He sighed loudly, and turned around to face her causing the bed to groan in the darkness. She was surprised at his irritation. As he drew closer, she could feel his nose as it touched hers, his breath on her lips, but she could not see him. She desperately wanted to search his eyes. They were her only clue to the secrets that he kept hidden behind them.

"Nothing, my sweetling." He whispered. "Sometimes matters of the day will not leave me be at night. That is all."

She knew he met it to be reassuring, but his comment annoyed her slightly with its dismissiveness. She did not wish to return to their argument from the other evening. So instead she nuzzled into him, hoping her display of concern had at least comforted him in some way. Then she kissed him lightly on the mouth, and let herself slowly drift back to sleep.

Rising slowly, Sansa groans trying to sort out the worried memory of last night. She tries staring at the floor for a moment to will away the nausea brought on by the emptiness of her stomach. She can feel a fluttering there, and knows that the baby moves. She had been feeling this for a week or so now, but when she tried to have Petyr feel it he would huff with annoyance, and swear nothing was happening, "I think you tease me, My Lady." He would grumble with a disagreeable frown. For as much as he was trying to be lighthearted Sansa could see the blame registered on his countenance. He was angry with her, and she could feel it oozing from him. He thinks he is hiding his feelings from me. He thinks he is getting away with something. I can feel it, she thought gravely. I just don't know why.

She wanted to ask him why he was lashing out at her, but thought it better to wait until this evening to make her sentiments known.

Before she can get up off the bed, there's a steady knock at her door. It's the maester on his usual check-up. Due to Petyr's insistence, he comes to her every morning making sure that she's feeling well. She thought it rather overbearing, but given the circumstances didn't think she was in any position to argue. It is our child after all...It is Littlefinger's child.

She gathers her robe around her tightly, and peeks around the large oak door.
"Rather early, Ser!" She says cheerfully trying to mask her irritation.

"I know, My Lady. I am sorry."

"You would think a woman has never given birth to a child before at the rate Lord Baelish sends you to see me. I am quite certain that there have been many women in the world that have survived their pregnancy without so many visits from a maester." She says as she makes her way to her dressing table.

He smiles at this, but looks at her seriously. "Not all women are Sansa Stark of Winterfell, My Lady."

Sansa tries desperately not to let her child-like fury cross her features.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Perfectly well," she states dully, "I am having my usual nausea, and the baby moves during the night which is keeping me awake."

"These are all normal things, I can give you something for the nausea."

She questioningly eyes him, "Lord Baelish has had trouble sleeping these past nights as well, Maester Ayman. Has he mentioned anything to you by chance?"

She searches his face for a reaction. She thinks she sees a hint of hesitation, but no emotion gives the man away, "No, My Lady. I am sorry, but he has said nothing of it to me. I will ask him today if he wishes for a sleep remedy."

"Yes." She says flashing a girlish smile his way. "Very well. Please mention this to him. I would be greatly obliged."

"Very well, Lady Baelish." With that he leaves her.

Her smile fades as quickly as it came. The man's reaction only added to her suspicion of her husband. If it was really just the "matters of the day" that were bothering him while he slept he would have asked the maester for something by now. Petyr was not a man that would allow lack of sleep to trouble him for longer than a night or two. He was always so adamant about how important being well-rested was for the mind. He would never allow himself to let something as boring as sleep get in the way of his work. If that man thinks he can have me be his wife and keep me out of his affairs, he thinks wrong. Sansa fumes and stares ravingly into the mirror her cheeks red with ire. A vision comes to her falling through the furious wind, her body thrashing against the rocks. The sea taking his prize and his only heir to its depths. She had thought on it so many times these past weeks, the notion had grown tiresome.

Before she can think better of it she leaves the room and paces as fast as she can muster to his solar. She will have an answer, and she will not let it rest until this evening. She rushes past maids and servants, and almost runs into the maester in her haste.

"My lady!" He exclaims grabbing her elbow, but is unsuccessful in his attempt to stop her. She rushes by him without as much as a sideways glance.

The large oak door is shut, and while normally she would give him a soft knock so he can prepare himself she decides he is in no such luck this morning. Sansa wants him to feel her rage as it passes through the doorway.

She smashes through, slamming the door with all her might. It crashes with a loud thrash into a side chair behind her as she enters and papers go flying off his desk. But when she gets her bearings of the room she realizes that there is no clever remark at her entrance, no haughty chuckle escaping his lips. The fire crackles loudly next to him, and she realizes he is asleep in his chair, his arm hanging limply by his side.

"Petyr!" she angrily exclaims as she rushes over to his desk. His name has grown comfortable on her lips, especially in her anger. The urge to slap him across the face is making her hand itch so she grabs at ther skirt to keep her hand in place.

"I demand you tell me the truth!" she yells at him, but the air is taken out of her command when she realizes he still hasn't woken up. The slam of the door should have done that let alone her angry whales.

Immediately deflating, a gasp escapes her like she was punched in the stomach, and her brow cinches into deep lines of concern. "Petyr?" she asks. It comes out as a defeated whisper.

His eyes are half closed, and his head has fallen limply resting on the side of his high-backed chair. His hand is in his lap, its inked stained fingers still holding the milky quill pen. She follows the lines of his body down past the awkward, lifeless placement of his legs and feet, to the floor where his ink vessel had crashed to the floor.

It takes a long moment for Sansa's brain to comprehend what she is seeing, but when it finally does, she lets out a wretched cry, "Petyr!" Her voice cracks in a grotesque scream as she rushes around to his side of the desk. Her hands reach his face first, and they find the back of his neck. She shakes him violently, "Petyr! What's wrong! Wake up! Petyr!" His head rolls violently against his chair with each shake, and when she catches a glimpse of his eyes, she recognizes nothing. There is none of the usual robust life present in them, nothing playful...

Nothing.

She can feel the tears uncontrollably falling down her cheeks, and with each violent sob of his name she feels them get heavier and heavier mixing with snot and spit as they turn more and more desperate.

"Petyr! No, no, no..." She sobs again and again. In her desperation, she slaps him across the cheek expecting him to suddenly wake, and this was all some cruel joke.

Nothing.

Her desperation finds her clinging to him, her hands ripping the buttons of his doublet, exposing his lean chest and scar. She rests her ear against it, and listens. Except for the sound of the fire crackling she hears nothing but silence. The familiar beat is nonexistent.

And there is no heat.

The coldness present veritably makes her want to recoil from the feel of him against her cheek. She shudders as the cold seeps deep within her and touches her soul.

Her knees scrape the ground as she falls. Her legs just couldn't hold her weight any longer, and all she can do is stare up at him as her body shuts down and will not move.

She remembers little of the rest of it.

She doesn't know when. It could have been hours later, a maid came running into the solar. She remembers the woman's scream when she realized what she was seeing, the fading sound of her heavy footsteps as she ran down the hall Then many others came rushing in and out. Her maids tried to pull her away from him, all of them failing until the maester ordered some of the servant men and guards to drag her away. She flailed and screamed and choked out sobs, biting her tongue hard when she flung her head into the man's face behind her making her able to see only a flash of white, and then stars.

She let her gaze fade into the bright whiteness of their room as she was carried to the bed. Someone had undressed her and some moments later the maester let himself in quietly. He held some tincture in his hand and she knew it was something to make her sleep.

They knew it was the only thing they could do for this hysterical creature. Her sobs had abated somewhat after she choked on her tears so badly she thought she was going to wretch on her maid.

"Is he well, Maester?" her voice sounded like that of a mouse. "Tell he must be all right. I just saw him this morning. He was fine. He was the picture of health. Someone must have done something. Someone must have done something!" she was yelling now, her sobs returning to her. Her confusion adding to her anxious plead. "Please!" She screams up at him hysterically, "You must do something! You must..."

"Ssssh." He quietly hushes her and tries to put his hand on her forehead, but she thrashes away from him, and fitfully slaps the serum from his hand and it spills all over her as it falls onto the bed. She feels her body convulse as she tries to escape his grip, but even with all her might she feels herself restrained as one would an invalid.

They force the stuff down her throat.

It takes only moments of her thoughts to fade, her body becomes heavy, and the last thing she remembers is a whisper in her ear, his soft breath falling against her cheek as his lips graze her skin...

"Remember my words, Sansa."