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 her aunt 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 your council, 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."