"Time it took us
To where the water was
That's what the water gave me
And time goes quicker
Between the two of us
Oh, my love, don't forsake me
Take what the water gave me
Lay me down
Let the only sound
Be the overflow
Pockets full of stones"
The Silent Sisters arrived from the House of the Dead for the cleansing the next morning. Sansa had refused to have him moved anywhere other than The Eyrie, and demanded entrance to his chambers as they bathed his body. She watched their slow and graceful movements as they brushed the cloth against his now pale and lifeless skin. She followed them from his collarbone, across the fiery scar that sealed his fate, to the protruding hip bones of his thin waist. It was still impossible for her to fathom he was no longer contained in this body she had come to know so well. That his heart did not beat, and there was no brilliance in those green-grey eyes. That the Earth would reclaim him, and he would disappear forever, no longer a part of the waking world. It was a Vale custom for the men to be clean shaven before burial. One Sister gently coaxed the razor along the scruffiness at his cheeks and at the top of his lips. He looked so much younger without it, but she did not like the change and used all her strength to keep herself from ripping the razor from the woman's hand. To calm herself, she leaned against the cold stone wall of the solar. His writing table had been moved to the center of the room and clean linens had been hung over it. His body was resting upon it, hands clasped neatly at his chest. The Silent Sisters had dressed him in the traditional habit and placed a seven pointed star covering his compact chest as well as weave prayer beads through the graceful divots of his fingers. She almost laughed at the site. Petyr, of all the people in the kingdom, being buried with such pomp and superstition. It seemed almost ridiculous. He would have never allowed it if he had had any say, but since he was the Lord Protector of the Vale, and it was his birthplace (even originating from such a meager part of it). It was only proper to have the full, traditional wake.
Usually, when the Sister's have finished the cleansing there is the traditional Keening, where family members and close friends join the women who prepared the body to mourn. She had read in one of her stories that the crying from the mourners is so loud that it can be heard as an eery, melancholy song to haunt the prisoners trapped in the sky cells. In reality, Pety'rs was nothing of the sort. For it was only Maester Ayman and a few of the key house servants that joined Sansa in his Solar. The air stunk of tobacco and the smoke cast a hazy glow to the room. There was no time for anyone to travel from so far away, and it was not like Littlefinger had many close associates worried about him in King's Landing. In actuality, once news had spread there in the next coming days, she knew how relieved many of them would be to be rid of him so prematurely. Her mouth puckered with disapproval at the thought of their gloating smiles. All the visitors lined up to give their sympathies, but she heard none of them. She didn't even remember it being over until she realized she was alone.
Everyone had left her and she realized it must have been a long while that she had been staring at the floor. The sun had gone down, and the candles were burning the last of their wick, creamy wax gliding to the floor like steps. She looked up to see him still laying there, still silent. She stifled the sob trying to escape her lips, but it caught in her throat and she coughed; spit, tears, and snot all combining messily in her mouth. Sansa compelled her body to inch itself closer to the table to rest by his side. She had to glance at his face one last time before he was buried the next morning. She couldn't allow herself to forget it. Before forcing her hand to his cheek she gave one last wish to the Gods to feel the heat radiating from him. But there was none of it to speak of. His skin instead was atypically smooth and cool as the stone wall she had been leaning on.
At this touch, the tears became uncontrollable, and all she could think was that she was nothing more now than when she had been that scared little girl, afraid of everything, and possessing no home, no family, not even a real friend to be trusted counting on a dream of a knight to rescue her. She was a flowered woman of seven and ten, married and bedded, heavy with child, and widowed. But the sad truth was that it didn't make any difference. She very well was all of these things, but she was just as alone and terror-stricken as she was in King's Landing. Nothing had changed. It was a veil over what was real, a lie. And the one thing that saddened her the most was that even though she never completely trusted him, and couldn't believe that she wasn't somehow just a part of one of Littlefinger's bigger schemes...It was that she realized that she loved this man. The complete version of him. It was an arduous, puzzling love she never saw coming. He wasn't a knight or big and strong and brave. He didn't possess the gentle demeanor and perceived masculinity she had thought she wanted. He wasn't even a thought in her mind before their arrangement, but that didn't change anything. She had loved him, and what she most regretted was never telling him the truth. Even if she was just some piece in his grand scheme, or just some way to re-imagine his love for her mother. Even if she met nothing to him, all these things didn't change the fact that she knew he deserved to know that he was loved and precious to her. She was sure that was what he had been searching for since he was a child, and he died before he ever got to see that not everything we believe is an illusion.
Notes:
I am sorry for the hiatus- that pesky thing called life! I am also sorry for another short, depressing chapter, but I hope you like it and I've had inspiration for this fic so expect an update soon!