Sansa sat out on the balcony in the west wing of the castle. Her hair was dark and billowed around her shoulders in the cold wind. The light dusting of snow leapt off the ground to swirl around her. However, her countenance did not reflect the playfulness of the white powder. It was firm and pale, her eyes were surrounded by dark circles. If you listened carefully she seemed to sigh in unison with the wind, equally as heavy hearted.
She was listing through her various memories. It was something she had tried hard not to do. Petyr expressly taught against emotion. It was fine to feel it, but never to show it. But when Sansa thought of the myriad things that had happened to her in the capital her face turned sour. Her features strayed from the safety of the blank face and twisted, allowing tiny tears to leak from her eyes. Sansa thought it impossible for her to cry anymore. After all of the tears that had leaked from her eyes over the past year and a half it seemed they were empty. And stilled they produced salty little morsels to stream down her cheeks and freeze before they reached her chin.
While her mind wandered she thought of the night she had been whisked away by her new Lord Protector. How Ser Dontos had brought her to the ship, rowing her away from King's Landing as they shouts filled the night air. She was pulled up onto a ship from the dingy they had rowed across the water in. Her feet swayed beneath her and the steady hands of Lord Baelish rest lightly on hers as he helped her past the railing and onto the deck.
She watched him as shock as she stumbled for words. With nothing to say she walked over to lean and help Dontos. He had looked to Baelish for a response who had merely thanked him and flicked his hand at a man to the side. The air hissed and Dontos fell back in the dingy dead, and arrow shot through his chest. Sansa had opened her mouth to scream, but Petyr's light hand had already clamped down across her open lips.
"Quite sweetling," He spoke softly in her ear, his breathe tickling down her neck. "It'll be for not if they hear you scream out here. Do you want to go home then?"
Sansa nodded, grasping at his forearm for support. He grinned from ear to ear and plucked his hand away softly, moving it down to rest on her shoulder he began steering her towards the lower decks of the ship.
"Rest now," He commended as they came to a cabin beneath the steps. "It's a long journey to the Vale."
Sansa blinked to find herself still in the middle of the snow. She was cold, the wind bit through her thick dressings. Layers of wool and fur seemed to do nothing when you were this high up. Sansa thought of going inside, but it was much colder in the castle. It was drafty yes, but it reminded her of the place she had just left. Machinations seemed to bounce off of the walls like footsteps and made her spine tingle. At least in King's Landing the air hadnt been so thin. These things were noticeable there, but only if you watched for them.
Her last months there were filled with only that. Sansa recalled how she had looked upon the city in the distance with wonder. That had been before the smell had reached her, of course. Yet there it had stood; the Red Keep towering above on the hill side, a symbol of power then. The Red Keep now was a reminder of the time she had been stripped on it's floors. A landmark of her pain and suffering ranging from her father's death to that knight being shot in his dingy for saving her.
No, she couldnt think like that now. No use in crying over the past as he tutor might say. And besides, she wasnt the girl who had been nearly raped by a mad man, nor embarrassed by the incestous Queen Cersei. Instead she was Alayne Stone. An innocent bastard whose father was going to give her everything.
The soft padding of feet in snow interrupted her reminiscing. Oh yes, here comes "Sweetrobin" to have his little fits in my lap. What enjoyable activity might he have in store for me today?
Instead she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, the same hand that had pulled her from the fears King's Landing held. Her eyes followed the fingers, to the arm, to the face of Lord Baelish. He stood over her smiling sadly at her, his eyes transfixed on her like they had gone out of focus while looking at her. It was the way he often looked at her when no one was watching. It left a chill to wiggle down her spine and put her hair on end.
"It's far too cold out here." He scolded, "I must insist my daughter not catch cold. Who might I trust to watch the Vale when I leave on my trips."
"Have you been called away again then?" She inquired, turning her face out over the vast expanse of mountain.
"No," He shook his head, his fingers stroking the darker hair away from her face. "You do look beautiful among the snow."
"That's very kind of you father." Sansa bowed her head and smiled sweetly.
"Good girl,"
His hands fell to her waist, where he pulled her onto her feet. His arm wrapped around her side as he escorted the two back into the mountain castle.
"It's all well and good to keep up appearances in public," He smiled casually at her. She could see the visible change in his eyes as he regarded her. "But theres no need here, now. Out in this open air we might call each other what we like."
"My apologies, Lord Baelish." Sansa's head fell to her chest. "I was only worried someone might spot us."
"Not in such a secluded area as you have picked, my dear. Tell me, are you hiding from your little cousin then?"
"No never," she allowed herself to smirk.
Petyr's eyes lighted with mischief and pride. "My little mockingbird has found her sense of humor out here in the cold then?"
His brow furrowed as he scrutinzed her face, his hand tangling in her hair.
"Have you been crying again?"
"I was only thinking of...."
"I told you not to think of it." He snapped, his eyes darkening dangerously.
Sansa began to panick. She had watched him push her aunt from that door in the middle of the floor. What if she werent a good student, if she was not longer the pawn he wanted her to be.
In a strange moment of clarity she straightened and looked up at the man before her.
"Not of that, but of how you saved me from the wretched place. I was only thinking of what would have happened to me if you had not taken my under your wing. It can be.. truly frightening." She allowed a little sob to escape from her mouth as her eyes cast down to the snow covered stone.
Petyr's fingers laced under her chin, tilting to make her meet his eyes. That frightening stare had been replaced with the softest gleam. His earlier lesson echoed in her head, there are only the players and the pawns for the players to move. If his tuteledge had taught her anything it was to choose what to be a player instead. And so Sansa Stark would play this lovely little man, whom betrayed his own lessons everytime she was around.
"My mockingbird grows stronger everyday." He grinned. "You should know better though than to play me. But what a sweet story you cooked up. It'd be devilish if I were to ignore such an effort without a reward."
His hands dropped from her shoulders to pull her flush against him. His eyes fluttered as he bent to kiss her. His lips were warm against the cold. His kisses more precis than that of Ser Dontos which had been sloppy. Sansa could feel his hands on her hips, the warmth from him. It was more comfort than she had allowed herself to feel than when Margery had rescued her from the marriage with Joffrey.
Though Lord Baelish was sly and impossible to read. He at least allowed her to feel safe. It was not a lie when she had said she was thankful he had saved her. She often thought of what would have happened if she had remained in King's Landing. He could see through her, it was true. But perhaps not as well as he thought.
Her hands were timid at first, but they soon found there way to him. She held the Lord Protector of the Vale against her in an attempt at human contact. He pulled away slightly, his eyes wide and confused. The Stark could watch him change in an instant, Littlefinger was replaced with the child like wonder that could be seen in Petyr at times. His grin widened and pulled her close again, his head burried in her shoulder.
There was always a game afoot with Lord Baelish. Sansa felt she might like to play a round. After all, what fun was there in merely watching.