The moment they entered the Tyrell camp, Sansa was greeted by an unwelcome sight.

"Catelyn! Sansa!" Baelish said, striding forward. "So good to see you again, and so soon!"

Catelyn continued past him without a word.

"Petyr!" Sansa said with her biggest smile. He offered his arm and she took it easily. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

He smiled down at her, placing a hand over her own. "Yet here we are."

"Petyr," she said, turning him to face the rest of the Stark retinue. "I don't believe you've met the other lord accompanying myself and my mother: Theon Greyjoy, a ward of my house. Theon, Lord Petyr Baelish."

Theon squinted. "You're the one they call Littlefinger?"

Baelish's smile thinned. "I am."

"Petyr is the King's Master of Coin and one of my dearest friends in King's Landing," Sansa said, willing Theon to understand, to remember his own words about her befriending a spymaster…

"It is a shame you had so few friends and that your stay was so short. We are all the poorer for it," Baelish said with another smile down at her. He turned to Theon. "I hear we have you to thank for that, Lord Greyjoy. Quite a feat of daring, rescuing a lady from under the Lannisters' noses."

"A princess," Theon corrected. "Her brother's king."

"Princess Sansa," Baelish tested it out. "That does have a good ring to it." He turned toward the main tent, still leading Sansa by the arm. "Shall we? The Tyrells always have marvelous refreshments."

Theon stared at the man as they walked, trying to figure him out. Watching him with Sansa made Theon vaguely uncomfortable. He'd never seen Sansa act so friendly with anyone before, yet she'd never spoken of Baelish.

"Lord Greyjoy," Baelish asked. "What was it like being a ward of the noble Starks? I myself was a ward of the Tullys, raised alongside our dear Catelyn."

Theon frowned. Sansa stared at him with a blank gaze, her face betraying nothing. "It was fine," he said.

"Oh? 'Fine,' was it?" Baelish said with a laugh. "It wasn't hard being around a family not your own, with privileges and expectations you were never born to share?"

Theon was tempted to simply reply, 'No,' but thought that might be taking it a bit too far. "I'm a Greyjoy. I've my own family's expectations to live up to."

"Yes, a Greyjoy wearing furs and finery," Baelish replied. "Seems the Starks do like to housebreak their pets."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Theon snapped.

Sansa clapped her hands together. "Petyr! You haven't seen my pet in the longest time!" She leaned closer, as if sharing in some mischief. "You'll be so surprised. Meet Lady."

As always, the direwolf came without needing to be called. Her sleek light grey body stood at a level with Sansa's chest, her steps soundless as she stopped next to her mistress. Lady's fierce gaze locked unwaveringly on Baelish. With the slightest baring of fangs, a hint of a growl rumbled in her chest.

Immediately, Baelish dropped Sansa's arm. He took hurried steps backward.

Sansa laughed, high and girlish. "Oh, don't worry, Petyr! As you said – the Starks housebreak our pets."

Baelish swallowed.

"I've seen her rip a man's throat out before he could even draw his sword," Theon said, enjoying himself far too much. "And she's the nicest of the litter."

To his credit, Baelish tried to smile, even if it did wobble around the edges. "If you'll excuse me." He strode across to the main camp. Theon was impressed that he wasn't running.

"Did you see his face?" Theon grinned. "I'll bet he–"

Sansa grabbed his arm, turning him to face her. Only barely moving her head, her eyes flitted around them, checking that they couldn't be overheard. "Don't trust Baelish for an instant and don't appear too friendly with me around him."

"Whatever for?" Theon frowned. "You said he was your friend–"

"Yes," Sansa said. "I'll say a great many things in order to get letters to dear Winafrid. Assume Baelish is out to kill you and you'll never be wrong."

His frown deepened. "Sansa, you can't mean that–"

She dropped his arm like it was on fire. "If you've ever trusted me on anything, trust me on this." Without another word, she strode for the tent.

Theon was left in her wake, trying to figure out what to do with such an enemy.

. . .

"–Lord Mace Tyrell, his son Loras, and his daughter Margaery," Baelish concluded the introductions.

"Please," Margaery said, sweeping her arm towards the room. As always, she wore her graceful smile. "Make yourselves at home."

Much small talk was had, especially by Mace Tyrell and Lady Catelyn who discovered they had friends in common, though they had never met. Sansa kept up polite discourse with Margaery, Loras, and Theon, though her real goal was to study Margaery. She had never seen Margaery before she'd been betrothed to Joffrey, never seen her when she was grasping for power as opposed to having already obtained it.

"Not that it isn't wonderful to meet you, Lady Stark," Margaery said to Catelyn, "but why come all this way just for the greeting?" Margaery gestured to a servant for wine to be poured for the table.

Catelyn smiled. "To congratulate you on your upcoming betrothal, of course."

So quickly that if Sansa hadn't been looking for it she would have missed it, Margaery shot Baelish a glare. Then it disappeared, covered by a smile. "And where did you hear that? It sounds like gossip from someone with too much time and a dreadful imagination."

"King Renly is barely dead," Loras added. "You can't seriously be suggesting my sister would betray his memory so soon."

Catelyn faltered. She'd had only Sansa's word saying it to be true and had now offended the House they had sought to befriend.

Sansa cut a delicious slice of the peach on her plate, taking a moment to savor the way it melted in her mouth. Baelish had been right; the Tyrells did know how to do refreshments. "Yes, outlandish gossip, isn't it?" Sansa said with an easy smile of her own. "Makes it all the more fun when it turns out to be true."

Margaery watched Sansa with confusion. Whatever mental boxes she had for potential tools and enemies, Sansa had not yet been sorted. But, from the look on her face, Margaery was wondering if Sansa might be one of the players.

Behind Margaery stood Baelish. Sansa knew he was making a similar discovery, knew it would put her even more firmly into his sights. But what must be done, must be done.

Sansa smiled over at Margaery. "I'm sorry, our talk of gossip has upset you. There's no need to continue. I can share some of my own, though, if you're in need of a little diversion."

Catelyn watched Sansa, unsure who her daughter had become.

Margaery's smile radiated happiness. "Oh, do! Let us do away with this distressing talk of betrothals. There's nothing I love so much as good gossip."

Sansa's smile never wavered. They were a smiling pair of pretty birds, the two of them. Margaery would never know that Sansa's smile had grown from studying Margaery's own.

"I find gossip from the capital to be fascinating," Sansa said. "I spent so much time there, you know. Did you hear about the time a singer composed a rude song about King Robert's death? Joffrey demanded he sing it in the throne room and made the singer choose whether to keep his hands or his tongue. He chose his hands; Ser Illyn Payne removed his tongue on the spot."

The Tyrells stilled, not daring to breathe.

Sansa popped a grape into her mouth. "Oh, how silly of me, of course you did. Lord Baelish was there."

Margaery turned and stared at Baelish, who had gone very still. He had eyes only for Sansa, watching as the little dove revealed that beneath her feathers, a predator lurked.

"You may not have heard," Sansa continued. "That Joffrey took me onto the ramparts and forced me to look at my father's and my Septa's spiked heads. Only the Kingsguard were present for that. Of course, there's also the time he wanted to force a man to drink to death at his own name-day celebrations, or the time he stripped and beat me in front of the court, pointing his crossbow at me all the while."

Sansa smiled again as she took another bite of the peach. Her face was the only one in the tent not wearing a look of horror. Her mother was the most horrified of all. Sansa had not told her any of this before but Catelyn couldn't say a word without making her own daughter sound like a liar.

"Sweet child," Margaery said, with the sincerest sounding sympathy of them all. "I can't even imagine what suffering you've seen."

"There's no need to spend your sympathy on me, my lady. I'm well free of King's Landing. I only mention it as your camp is on its way there presently." Sansa's smile dimpled at the corners, turning sweet. "But you're so much prettier and cleverer than I am. I'm sure no one would dare do anything of the sort to you."

Theon snorted before he could stop himself. He tried to cover it with a cough. No one was fooled.

"I'm sure they wouldn't do anything of the sort to Margaery," Catelyn said, flicking her eyes at her daughter in a warning. "The Tyrells have always been much loved at court, for as long as I've ever heard the name."

Mace Tyrell smiled happily at that, finally offered a piece of the conversation that he could understand.

"That is certainly true," Sansa replied. Catelyn shot her another warning look, saying, Hold your tongue! but Sansa wasn't about to risk losing the Tyrells to half measures. "The Tyrells are loved, whereas I was the daughter of a traitor who died proclaiming Joffrey a bastard. I'm sure none of the Lannisters would remember that the Tyrell's beloved King Renly's claim to the throne was based on their incest."

"Sansa!" Catelyn said, scandalized.

Margaery stood. With the slight motion, every eye drew to her, regaining her control of the room. "I've only just remembered you've been on the road for days! How thoughtless of me. You must be so tired. We have tents prepared if you'd like to rest and refresh before supper."

Sansa offered her a curtsey. "Lady Margaery, you are too kind."

"Not at all," Margaery said. Thorns hid behind her smile.

. . .

A stream passed by the edge of the Tyrell camp. Theon sat by its edge, idly tossing rocks in and watching as they splashed. Rescuing Sansa from King's Landing had seemed the obvious thing to do but ever since then, he'd felt more and more adrift. Robb didn't need him. He'd barely let him come on this negotiation mission. Wasn't his place with his family, back on Pyke?

But the Greyjoys weren't on Pyke. They were in the North, according to Sansa, sacking the homes of the Stark bannermen he fought beside.

Theon tossed in another rock.

"Lord Greyjoy," Baelish said, standing on the hill behind him. Theon turned, staring up at the man Sansa had warned him about. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Theon gestured toward the open grass next to him.

Swallowing a look of distaste for dirtying his robes, Baelish sat.

"Marvelous women, those Starks," Baelish said.

Theon wasn't sure how to give a reply. Thankfully, it seemed Baelish didn't need one.

"I found an interesting piece of information circling among their soldiers," Baelish continued.

"Oh?" Theon said. "What's that?"

Baelish's dark gaze fixed on him. "That you declared intent for Sansa Stark."

Theon swallowed. Sansa had warned him not to appear too friendly with her, warned on pain of his life, and it had been for nothing. Of course a spymaster would ferret out a rumor no one was bothering to hide.

"Did you, now?" Theon finally managed, knowing his casual air was too belated to be convincing. He looked back toward the river. Assume Baelish is out to kill you and you'll never be wrong. But Theon had his sword with him while Baelish appeared unarmed. If Baelish were going to kill him, he doubted it would be immediate.

"Did you know that I declared intent for her mother?" Baelish said.

Theon spun toward him at that, unable to keep from staring.

Baelish smiled. "Two confused little wards, you and I. A mockingbird trying to swim and a kraken trying to run with wolves."

"I manage," Theon said, looking away.

"I'm sure you do," Baelish replied, his tone light and noncommittal. "Just as I did when Brandon Stark won Catelyn's hand."

Theon didn't know what to make of him, this friendly man Sansa had warned him about. Still, he trusted Sansa. If her method of dealing with Baelish was by returning his friendliness, Theon could do worse than follow her example.

"It's nothing of the sort." Theon forced a chuckle. "One of the lords suggested betrothing her to House Darry and I figured I was a more suitable match than that."

"Ah, yes," Baelish returned his chuckle. "Hard for even a ward to be less suitable than someone who's dead."

There was a strange gleam in the older man's eye. Theon ran back through his words, trying to see what could have gotten Baelish so excited.

Theon mentally cursed with every foul word he knew. He'd told Baelish the Starks were desperate for an alliance – and willing to sell Sansa for it. He ran through his curses again, directing every single one toward himself. He knew he was talking to a spymaster, damnit!

"I don't know if they're still pursuing her betrothal, though," Theon lied casually, scuffing his boot along the riverbank. "I think an offer they liked came through."

"Oh?" The predatory look was back in Baelish's eyes. "From the Vale? I always thought that the obvious choice."

Theon shrugged. "Not sure. Robb and Lady Catelyn kept it to themselves."

Baelish hummed in reply, staring out at the river. There was something Baelish wasn't saying, some reason he'd sought Theon out that Theon couldn't quite put his finger on. If only he could press, just a little bit further…

Why was Baelish friends with Sansa? He'd admitted to being in love with her mother but nothing about Baelish felt very… fatherly.

"You knew Lady Stark when she was young and a reputed beauty," Theon said, watching him closely. "When she was Sansa's age, were they anything alike?"

Baelish smiled. "In almost every way."

"Oh?" Theon replied. "How have they differed?"

"Cat was sweeter. Sansa is…" Baelish took his time, considering. Abruptly, he smiled his empty smile. "You'd know Sansa better than I."

With a nod, Baelish stood, taking his leave. Theon frowned at his retreating back. There was something going on there. Something he didn't like. He just needed to be sure of what.

A/N: FINALLY Margaery can start earning her character tag. Writing her and Baelish is such fantastic fun, my goodness.