good dirt | arya stark

three: lord baelish

THE PAST

Irene Tyrell watched Sansa Stark run away from a bumblebee in the gardens with a smile on her face. Sansa was hardly ever smiling, especially because she was married now, and her family was wiped out. Irene knew it was hard, and that it was nothing she could ever begin to imagine. Sansa wore red and gold with touches of gray as a slight sign of defiance, expressing the words that she probably would never say aloud. She ran from the bee that only chased her more.

"Sansa, just let it sting you!" Irene laughed, sitting in her chair as her own bee landed on her. She watched it make itself comfortable on her arm in nonchalance, putting her eyes up to Sansa again, who had finally gotten rid of the bee. "What, no bees in Winterfell?" She teased.

"It's too cold for them up there," Sansa explained, slightly blushing as she sat down again. "I'm sure you'd run if you saw a bee chasing your for the first time."

"The first time I remember seeing a bee, I couldn't run." She said, smiling still. "But I would have. I'm used to them now, you see. Beautiful flowers are meant to be enjoyed by everyone, Lady Sansa. Especially the bees, who make it possible for them to live."

"Why do you still call me formally?" Sansa asked, a playful expression on her face.

"Because it's a complete contrast to our friendship." Irene said, drinking from her cup that wasn't holding nearly enough water for the day's heat. "I don't think I'll ever stop calling you Lady Sansa."

"Ironically?"

"It's more of a joke, a nickname, perhaps." Irene said, smiling at Sansa. There was something special about the Northern girl. It didn't matter what happened to Irene before seeing Sansa, when they saw each other, Irene could no longer be upset or angry. There was just no way.

"Did you mean to say that you were so young that you couldn't run yet?"

"No, I was very fragile when I was young, I'm sure you've heard." Sansa shook her head slowly. "There was something wrong with me. I couldn't be outside for long-"

"Lady Irene?" A purring voice asked, and she turned around to see a man she had never seen before. He was skinny with grayish hair and a smile that wasn't as much as a smile as a smirk or grin on his face. He held his left arm out, expecting her to go with him. "May I speak to you in private?" She looked to Sansa, who was emotionless at having her conversation interrupted.

Even though Irene seemed older than Sansa sometimes, she still looked up to her. If Sansa didn't know the man, she wasn't going with him. "And who are you, My Lord?"

"Oh, excuse me." He bowed gently, a dip in his posture. "I'm Lord Petyr Baelish."

Irene's heart soared. She momentarily forgot about Sansa upon seeing the man that she admired from afar. She felt small again, like how she felt when she first spoke to Cersei Lannister. She stood. "My Lord, apologies."

"No need." He smiled. "I'm already quite acquainted with Lady Sansa, but I'm afraid that I haven't had the chance to meet you yet. Lady Sansa, if you'd excuse us."

"Of course, Lord Baelish." Sansa said, and Irene began walking with Petyr Baelish.

   They were far from Sansa, certainly far enough to be unheard. "I heard that you're more ambitious than your sister."

  "I've been told that, My Lord." She said, not looking into his eyes but at her feet as she tried to get in step with his.

"Do you believe it?"

"Oh yes." She admitted. "Margaery was always wanting to be something important, someone important. I wanted to be a lot of things."

  "Oh?" He asked, his gruff voice rumbling in his chest.