"Your mother always had a sweet tooth, you know?" Lysa Arryn said,
letting Sansa take a lemon cake from the tray she'd brought. Pouring
her a drink as she spoke of Catelyn getting fat before being put on a
diet.
She'd seemed so sweet and caring until Sansa asked where the she
got the lemons.
"He feels responsible for you," she said holding Sansa's fingers,
cutting her off to ask, "Why? Why does he feel responsible for you?"
No matter how she'd answered, Lysa barely listened. She was
hurting her fingers, Sansa fighting back tears as she pleaded for heraunt to believe she was a virgin, that Petyr loved her, that she was
nothing more than a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never
learns. She was nearly as shocked as she was relieved when Lysa
got to her feet and hugged Sansa to her chest.
"Shh, shh, shh. It'll be alright. It will all be alright. You'll be a widow
soon…" Lysa looked to the head of auburn hair against her chest,
lighter than her own, just like her sister's, and she knew. She knew
she couldn't take the chance. She couldn't lose Petyr, not now, not
ever. She wanted to obey him, trusted everything would be alright if
she did as he said, and yet she couldn't trust this girl.
"I bet you miss your family, don't you?" Lysa asked, her voice sweet
again.
Sansa looked up, still shaken and uneased by the sudden shifts in
her aunt. "I do. Every day."
"All of them?" Lysa asked carefully.
Though confused, Sansa nodded. "Of course. I loved all of them."
"Even the bastard?" Lysa's brow arched, managing to keep her tone
from being too accusatory.
"Jon?" Sansa's brow knit, frowning. He was the only one left alive as
far as she knew, the only one not taken from her, not lost or
betrayed. With a hint of shame she nodded. "I was awful to him
growing up, but I do. He's the only one left."
For a moment she thought her aunt was about to slap her, fighting
back a wince before Lysa's hand settled against her cheek and she
beamed. "Would you like to see him again?"
The fire in her aunt's eyes was unsettling, as though Sansa's answer
didn't matter. Still, she nodded. "Of course."Then you will," she said firmly. "You'll go to your bastard brother.
You'll go north, stay hidden away there, far from the rest of the world.
Far from those awful lions." She stroked Sansa's cheek, sighing
contently, satisfied with herself.
"Aunt Lysa," Sansa started, but Lysa cut her off.
"I'll send some men with you, ones who can keep you secret, keep
you safe. It will take time, but you'll be safer there, at the edge of the
world."
There was no fighting this. No arguing with her. That was clear from
the look in her eyes, wide, joyous, frantic.
Pushing her lips up into a smile, Sansa nodded. "Thank you, Aunt
Lysa."
Alayne Stone traveled slowly across Westeros, making her way
through the Vale and Riverlands, skirting the edge of both to keep
away from the Kingsroad. She'd hoped it would be easier in the
North, when she was home. Instead it got worse not long after they
slipped past Moat Cailin.
They had camped the night and preparing to leave after sunrise
when they heard them. The barking. The screams. The men.
Two men, knights dressed down to keep from drawing attention,
hurried toward the noise while two more stayed with her. They heard
the yells, the clash of steel followed by pained screams.
With a shared glance the men at her side went into action. The
larger one drew steel and moved toward the barks while the shorter
one grabbed Sansa's arm and dragged her toward the horse they'd
brought to hold their supplies. "Lady Stone, hurry. Leave. Go back
through the swamps and they'll lose you. Go with the wind as much
as you can, keep them from picking up your scent."She couldn't find her voice. She wanted to ask if he'd join her, but
she knew he doubted that as much as she did. He stood resolute,
brave, sure he would die but willing to try.
Her knuckles were surely white beneath her gloves, clutching her
reins harder than the thread of hope she clung to every day since
she left the Eyrie. She had no place to go, no course to follow, no
haven waiting for her. Only north. Only the Wall.
She could barely remember the path they'd taken around Moat
Cailin, but she managed. Somehow she trekked through the bogs
and mud, ignoring the bite of bugs. The shriek of it's inhabitants had
twisted her stomach their first time through, but they were nothing
compared to what she'd heard past Moat Cailin. The terror and pain
in those women's screams.
Even once she had passed it, once Moat Cailin was no longer visible
on the horizon, she rode. Surely it would be safer back in the Eyrie.
With Petyr, who had saved her from King's Landing. If Aunt Lysa still
wanted her near the Wall, then Petyr would give her better guards,
let her sail their, whoever hunted through the woods of the North.
Her bag was emptied, her waterskin empty, so she made for the
roads. Her hair was still dark, she could play at Alayne still, play the
bastard girl who lost her way. Play on their pity if she needed to, if
the silver stags left in her bag weren't enough.
With her stomach twisted in hunger, she made her way to a crowded
in. Once she entered she made her way to a table and ordered
something cheap and filling, deciding the rest would need to go to
supplies. She smiled as a young girl came to her along her path,
accepting the offered mead.
"Lady Sansa," a female voice called firmly, drawing her gaze to the
tall blonde woman dressed as a knight. "My name is Brienne of
Tarth." Stepping beside her table, she knelt beside Sansa. "Before
your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would
find you and protect you. I will shield you back and keep yourcouncil, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old
gods and the new."
Looking past the lady knight, she saw Podrick Payne and her breath
caught in her throat. "No, no," she turned back to Brienne, tears
stinging her eyes. "You've come to take me back."
Brienne shook her head, "I swear I haven't, my lady. I swear, I am
here to protect you. To help you however you need."
"I know him," she said looking to Podrick, who shrank where he
stood.
"Podrick is my squire," she said, realizing what she thought. "He is
loyal to me. And I am loyal to you, not the Lannisters or Baratheons.
You." She reached for Sansa's hand, taking it gently. "I swear, I am
here to help you however I can. You need only ask."
Brienne's earnest sincerity held Sansa's gaze. She'd seen plenty of
people lie, their eyes alight with amusement at their false words,
aloof and empty to keep from betraying themselves, cold and hard
with false assurance. Brienne had none of that. Only a warm,
pleading honesty that reminded her of home. Of Mother and Father.
Of Robb. Of Jon.
Her throat shifted as she took a breath, nodding carefully. "If what
you say is true… then I vow that you shall always have a place by
my hearth, and…"
Seeing her searching, Podrick supplied with a solemn smile, "meat
and mead at my table."
She glanced at him before meeting Brienne's eyes again, continuing,
"Meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that
might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new."
With a breath she gave a quick nod. "Arise."Brienne's face warmed, her jaw shifting as she got to her feet.
"Where shall we go, my lady?"
She could have continued on her path. Returned to the Vale, her
aunt. Asked for Petyr's help once again. But she knew it would be
best to avoid being in his debt even more than she was. Best to
avoid her aunt's paranoia over his involvement with her. Best to stick
to her original goal.
"The Wall," she answered firmly. "Take to me to Jon Snow."