A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for all the kind words, thoughts, prayers and messages-I was truly overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support! The worst of my treatment is over and I will have surgery on January 14-nothing too major and hopefully that will end this phase of treatment. It's been rough but I have reread your messages many times and I am truly grateful to each and every one of you! I will be updating more regularly but I'll definitely get back into the swing of things after January 14, so here's something to tide you over :) *Big group bear hugs*
Chapter 17
Standing before the roaring fireplace of the cavernous great room, Petyr heatedly watches Sansa glide down the stairs, gracefully managing her skirts with ease on Sandor's arm. Observing the man's demeanor, Sandor can plainly see their precarious situation degrading before his very eyes. Silently he thanks the gods Elder Brother sent his raven before breaking his fast with Baelish. Watching his beloved wife, he knows the time has drawn near to make their escape.
Stepping onto the landing, Sansa finally allows herself to look upon Petyr, her nails digging into Sandor's arm anxiously; he responds with a quick pat on the hand. She grows even more beautiful every day, Sandor muses as he steals a glance at her, her radiance sending his heart racing anew. The deep emerald green of her gown sharply contrasts with the lovely auburn highlights returning to her hair and accentuates the rosy blush in her cheeks. Her deep cerulean eyes remain lowered, her countenance guardedly passive, careful not to betray a hint of emotion as she coolly walks toward the waiting men.
As the couple enters the great room Sansa purses her lips ever so slightly, nodding toward Elder Brother and Lord Baelish. Infuriated, Petyr jerks her arm away from Sandor. "You kept our guests waiting yet again, dearest," he hisses low in her ear, carefully observing her reaction. "I do not believe the Silent Brother objected. He rather seemed to enjoy waiting for me," she comments casually, tucking a stray strand of hair back into her comb demurely.
Littlefucker keeps his eyes solely on her; that'll make things easier for certain. 'What we don't know is what usually gets us killed'...he used to say, he's going to find out how right he is; it won't be long now…Clearing his throat, Sandor turns toward the fireplace to hide his mouth twitching into a grin. "That is not the point. We have important matters to discuss and we cannot waste another moment with this foolish behavior." Maintaining her disinterested expression, she dully replies, "Oh, yes?" then clinks her spoon around in her teacup without waiting for his reply. Sighing, Baelish growls, "Stop this insolence this instant! What has gotten into you? As your father you owe me an explanation."
My father, his words scorch Sansa's ears. "My father?" She taunts, sharply turning toward him, barely able to contain her ire. "You are not my father! Elder Brother, Silent Brother-gods be good, even Ros knows I am not your daughter-it must be the worst kept secret in the entire Vale!" Sansa sneers, her eyes filled with hatred. "My father would not lie to a septon, which is the very the least of the differences between you. The brothers of the Seven here know my real identity; let us at least have honesty with them and end this ridiculous pretense. I would like to be referred to as Sansa from now on and put Alayne away once and for all."
Elder Brother looks at Sandor, whose dark eyes are brimming with fury. Comprehending Sansa's indignation is partly caused by her echoing Sandor's feelings, he tries to steer the conversation in a new direction. "Lord Baelish, this alters matters considerably. You sent for us to perform a wedding between you and Lady Stark and then claimed she was Alayne, your daughter. We agreed to come here based on an untruth. This naturally leads me to believe there may be even more deception to this whole situation. What would you propose I do?"
"I would suggest very carefully considering how much you value your Quiet Isle before making any hasty decisions that would negatively impact your sept." Petyr speaks his threats deliberately and calmly. "You will perform the marriage between me and Sansa Stark on the morrow and I will accept no argument on the subject." At this several sellswords appear in the greatroom, brandishing their weapons and blocking the entryways. Frightened, Sansa's eyes dart around her and for a moment Sandor fears she will try to flee.
"Sansa, there is more news my dear. Your cousin has finally succumbed to his illness and passed away." Gasping, Sansa visibly pales, leading Sandor to offer his arm in support; his breath is taken away by her intense suffering resonating in his heart. "When did this happen? He seemed fine when I kissed him goodnight." Baelish nods curtly, feigning grief. "Indeed I came upon him suddenly; the poor child drew his last breath within the past hour."
Closing in on her, Baelish hisses in her ear. "We simply must keep this hidden as long as possible. Once word spreads through the Vale the Royces will no doubt be swift to stake their claim. That is why we must wed as soon as possible; on the morrow in fact. Then we will be in a position to retake Winterfell."
"But…but Sweetrobin must have a service…" Sansa stammers, reaching for Sandor, forgetting herself in her grief. Elder Brother steps in and takes her by the arm, his calm countenance remaining unaltered by the threatening appearance of the men. "The boy deserves a proper burial my lord. Lady Sansa, please be seated my dear." Several of the guards step forward; Petyr dismisses them with a wave of the hand.
"Lord Baelish the poor lass is shocked witless by the mere suggestion of allowing this terrible loss to her family go unrecognized." Petyr Baelish grins wickedly. "Perhaps you may perform such before our wedding Elder Brother; your silence on the matter is required of course. I will allow a small ceremony for the boy on the condition it precludes our wedding."
Elder Brother calmly gazes about the room, surveying the armed men. "Are these men supposed to ensure my cooperation? I assure you it will have no effect whatsoever-I have already told you death holds no fear for me Lord Baelish; in fact, I welcome it, for my loved ones await me in the afterlife. Now then, I suggest a less aggressive approach to the matter."
"Really Lord Baelish…bringing these men into the ancestral home of my cousin at such a time as this is beyond contempt." Sansa's voice is strong, though she trembles as she folds her hands together, supporting herself against the divan. "Please, just make your wishes known and let there be an end to this for everyone's sake."
Sandor's body is flooded with fear, her fear. Enraged by her suffering, he struggles to maintain his composure so that he may wait for the right time to strike. Taking a deep breath he fights to still his fury, clearing his mind in the manner Elder Brother taught him when he was healing from his injuries. Images of their time spent in the old Stone Crow Carrig's cabin come to mind, and he focuses on the peaceful feeling of holding her in his arms, their bare skin pressed close together as they snuggled under the furs. His heart wills Sansa to feel his calmness and allows it to spread throughout his body and mind, desperate to project the same to her so she too will calm down.
"My wish is for us to be wed on the morrow. You will cooperate as the dutiful daughter of Winterfell you were raised to be by your mother. Family. Duty. Honor," Baelish intones, walking toward Sansa. "Remember the words of your mother's house. The North needs this, Sweetling, as do we," he stares into her eyes and runs his hand along her arm suggestively, sending a shiver of disgust through her. "I will do whatever it takes to see this accomplished."
Sickening bile rises in her throat as she meets his gaze. He killed Sweetrobin for me; he will never let me go and he will never stop hunting me. His obsession with my mother will never allow it; he will haunt me as long as he lives, gods help me…
Bitter tears sting her eyes and Sansa understands the role she must play for her own safety, as well as that of Elder Brother and Sandor. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sandor, his jaw clenched, his hands resting on the fighting knife strapped to his thigh beneath his robes watching, waiting for the signal to strike.
"Alright, Lord Baelish, you are right; I should remember my house words. I do not want to seem ungrateful-after all you took me away from King's Landing and have provided for me this entire time now; it is time for me to return north as a married woman." Her words leave a bitter taste in her mouth but Sansa smiles and puts on her familiar obedient mask, continuing to meet Petyr's gaze as she holds out her hand to him. His preoccupation with power renders the true meaning of my words obscured, Sansa thinks scornfully.
Smirking, he lowers his mouth to her skin, placing a wet lingering kiss on her hand while never breaking eye contact with her. Trembling, Sansa's mind is flooded by Sandor's anger coursing through her but ever the proper lady she maintains her façade, hiding away her revulsion for the man. "I couldn't agree more my dear. I see you have inherited your mothers' sense of duty and practicality."
"That is kind of you to say," she replies, her mouth pulling into a tight smile. "We will have the funeral and the wedding on the morrow." When Baelish finally releases her, Sansa walks over to Elder brother and loops her arm through his. "I wish to go to the godswood and pray for my cousin Lord Baelish; will you join us?" Nodding slowly, Petyr winces at her words and then triumphantly grins. "You go ahead my dear, you may go accompanied by two of my guards of course. What did you say you shall you pray for Sweetling?"
Glancing sideways at Sandor, Sansa's voice is barely audible. "Well first I will pray that the Father will reunite my cousin with his mother and father in the afterlife. I will pray the Mother will bless my marriage and I'll pray for home-for Winterfell and for our safe return." Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulls Sansa toward him. "That pleases me Sansa; that pleases me greatly." His breath is hot against her cheek and the very nearness of Baelish sends a shudder through Sansa.
"I'll see you at supper my Lord," she smiles and bows before taking the arm Elder Brother offers her. Sandor falls in behind them as they leave the room with Baelish's sellswords in tow. "Let us go to the godswood my dear, quickly now," Elder Brother hurries her along while Sandor hangs behind, walking beside the sellswords. Once under the cover of the trees, a sharp twisting pain churns though Sansa's abdomen, the sudden intensity bringing her to her knees gasping for breath.
Elder Brother scoops her up in his arms and continues onward without looking behind. "Close your eyes my dear," he whispers in her ear; peeking over his shoulder Sansa glimpses Sandor moving with surprising speed. His blinding rage pulses in her head and stomach as she watches him mercilessly slit the throat of the first sellsword before plunging his fighting knife into the abdomen of the second man. Sandor looks down at the bodies, smirking as he watches their blood steaming in the cold air of the forest. "Oh! Elder Brother he-" Gulping, Elder Brother takes her deeper into the canopy of trees that open into the godswood. "I know my dear, I know," he says softly as he sets her down onto a fallen log.
"But how-how did you know?" Sansa asks, visibly surprised. "Lady Sansa, Sandor did no more than I would have done in his place-I was once a knight, you know. It is second nature for him to protect you as your husband. The gods have made it so between marriage mates my dear; do not fault him for safeguarding you." Stunned, she slowly shakes her head. "No, no I would not," she whispers, thinking of another time long ago he killed to protect her. "How did he know they would try to hurt me?" Patting her on the shoulder, Elder Brother leans down as he speaks. "He sent the men to kill us my dear. Lord Baelish knows I will not perform the marriage no matter whether you agree under duress. With Sandor and I out of the way he would send a raven to the sept in the Vale in my name saying you were married before the gods and take you as wife, giving him power over any other claimants to the Eyrie as Lord Protector of the North married to the last living relative of Robert Arryn."
Her head swimming, she nods, raising her hand to her throat. It would have all been too easy for him to seize Winterfell with my father's bannermen; none of whom would dare doubt the word of Lord Eddard's oldest daughter. Suddenly she is running toward Sandor, jumping into his arms, ignoring his blood spattered clothing and the dead men strewn about his feet. "My love, are you alright?" she asks, frantically searching him for wounds, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't fret; I'm not hurt Little bird." Pulling her close against his chest, he whispers into her hair, "Calm yourself love. These bastards would have been no match for me on my worst day."
"We…we must find a way to escape soon…Petyr will only hire more men," she sobs out, desperately clinging to him. The sound of Elder Brother's footsteps cause the couple to look up. "Lady Sansa, you must calm down; your health is only beginning to return to you." Making the sign of the Seven over the pair, Elder Brother continues into the godswood. "Peace be with the two of you now. I will leave you both alone for a while; I shall be praying for our safety and wisdom on how to best handle these matters."
"Sansa, listen to me now; it'll be alright." Sandor whispers to her, handing her a handkerchief as she sobs against his chest. "I know it looks bad but you must trust me. I've already made arrangements for our escape; your health has been so fragile Elder Brother thought it best to keep them quiet." Lifting her chin so she meets his gaze, he stares deep into her eyes. "I want to hear you say it. Say you trust me."
Smiling tremulously, she nods. "You know I do Sandor. Why must you ask me? Raising his eyebrows he looks down at her. "I believe you do. Don't you believe I will keep you safe? I promised you I would girl. You mustn't-" The crunching noise of hooves in the snow startle the couple out of their conversation, heralding the arrival of Carrig in the company of a half dozen Stone Crows.