Chapter Text
Sansa fled, she rushed and ran and charged away from the dining hall outside. She just needed to be away so at first the redhead didn't know where she was going but then darkness and a chill took over and Sansa realized she was in the crypt, that was when her feet finally stopped and Sansa just dropped to the ground with her petticoats in a pool around her. The demoness panted as the new bond and realization of what she'd forced upon her parents settled within her slender body, her chest pushed against her corset but somehow the cold air soothed her and steadied her breathing.
Blue eyes blinked around when she was finally able to once again, why had she gone straight to the crypt? What could the crypt possibly offer her?
Sansa sighed. "Silence."
Everyone down in these depths was dead, they had no thoughts nor feelings for Sansa to accidentally absorb and reflect. Their emotions wouldn't cause her to explode so in a way Sansa supposed that crypts, caverns and abandoned places would likely become Sansa's sanctuaries. There was something inside her which said that should have been monumentally depressing but she ignored that voice, any sanctuary was better than none. Besides, the crypt wasn't a bad place, the dead hadn't ever bothered Sansa and she'd always have the memory of Petyr, Lothor and Olyvar helping her to retrieve the sword. Yes, sanctuary would certainly be the right word. Odd, until that very moment Sansa would have said the gardens or the solar were her favorite places at Winterfell Hall but being there in the darkness Sansa decided those place had been beaten.
The bond between Sansa and her beloved Lord of Harrenhal had strengthened more than Sansa could explain. Though it was all new to her the teenager couldn't help but feel as though it had always been like this. Had Sansa not needed the silence she'd have gone straight to Petyr, thrown herself into his arms, but down there in the crypt with this stronger – complete maybe – bond she still had his arms around her waist keeping her safe.
She sat there a long time uncaring as to the iciness which bit into her knees, just let any and all sentiments which were not her own bleed away, drip out of her skin and be absorbed into the dead ground where it couldn't hurt anybody. The seventeen-year-old couldn't help but wonder if Petyr became overwhelmed due to his ability, or maybe he didn't since he forced people to think and do what he wanted. He'd said empaths were rare and she was grateful for her skill but she'd certainly found cons to her gift.
Remain in the crypt, that was what she'd do, she'd stay there until their bond told her he was about to leave and then she'd go to see him off no matter what her parents or Septa Mordane said. If Petyr was going to be banished from Winterfell then she'd damn well say goodbye to the man she loved. With her choices made Sansa gathered her skirts and shifted to sit with her back pressed against the wall, she let her head fall back as well and her eyes slip shut. Sansa wouldn't ever take emotional quietude for granted again.
~X~
Catelyn watched Petyr's carriage depart with a furrowed brow, a brow which only deepened when she spotted her eldest daughter all but shove Septa Mordane out the way so she could storm back inside. Sansa had changed so much since she'd returned from Harrenhal, no, she'd started changing long before her trip. For at least three years Sansa had slowly been growing disconnected like her body was there but her mind had wandered off somewhere else. With a sigh she turned away from the window to her husband who sat in his chair by the crackling fire, his back was hunched as he rested his chin on his fist. He'd not spoken since Sansa had run from the room, hadn't so much as cleared his throat.
"Ned, you can't just internally growl about this." Said Cat as she went to sit in the chair opposite his own. "I- I don't know what is happening any longer, Sansa is like a different species. And what was that... feeling? It was as though I suddenly felt nothing but loneliness and despair, I couldn't keep myself from crying and I saw you, you cried as well. Ned, you haven't cried since your brother died."
Still Lord Stark made no attempt to speak, just kept his eyes on the fire's delicate dance. After a few seconds of silence Cat accepted her husband had nothing to say so continued.
"As much as I hate to admit it this has gone far beyond a simple childish infatuation for Sansa, I believe she does genuinely love him. Still, to give him her virtue, how stupid could she be? I thought we'd raised the girl better than that."
She paused hoping that her husband would say something, anything, but no he just carried on with unhelpfully putting the fear of the gods into their fireplace. Catelyn's eye twitched, silence really wasn't helpful.
"Petyr is different around her as well which is … strange. He never even looked at me like that when we were young and I don't know what to make of any of this any longer. Petyr used to be such a kind boy and then that duel – what did that duel do to him? Sometimes I think there is a demon of some kind inside him. Maybe – maybe he does love her. What am I saying, of course he doesn't he's Petyr Baelish." The redhead brushed a hand over her forehead, she could sense a migraine coming on; possibly the worst of her life. "Where did that feeling come from though? It was like the emotions of someone else. Is that- is that how Sansa feels? I'm her mother, I love her, I don't want my girl to constantly experience that horror. Did you see the look in her eyes?"
All fell silent then save for the occasional crack of spit from the fire. Had Catelyn not seen Eddard's chest rise and fall as he took in air she'd have thought him dead and just propped up.
"I don't want her to be miserable all her life, Ned, but she is a Stark and she has to have good standing. Sansa needs to marry and have a respectable position. Yes, Petyr is a high lord as Sansa like to keep saying but he is a brothel keeper as well. What will be said about the girl half his age married off to a brothel owner? A girl who was to marry a prince? We need to think of a way around this, Ned, she cannot marry Petyr."
Suddenly one of the footmen entered the hall then and Cat's eyes flicked up to him. She wanted to send him away but the servant held a letter in his hand and looked as though he'd been running.
"I apologize for interrupting, Lord and Lady Stark, but a letter has arrived from King's Landing and I am told it is of the utmost urgency."
Ned continued to remain silent but the footman's words did get him to hold a hand up expectantly. The man rushed to his lord and handed over the letter only to take the hint and leave quickly.
Catelyn watched him rip the letter open and start to read. Without warning his face drained entirely of blood until he was deathly pale.
"What is it, Ned?" Asked Cat, her voice full of concern.
"Robert … he's dead."
For a great many minutes Catelyn stared at her beloved husband hoping he was making some feeble attempt at humor but this was no jest and the Starks knew that everything was about to change. Suddenly Sansa's naïvety nor Petyr's sick audacity seemed all that important; strange how priorities could be shoved aside so easily.
Lady Stark took a calming breath as she rose to her feet and went to her husband's side where she rested her hand on his shoulder in order to provide him some comfort. Their lives would now be overwhelmed with uncertainty and more than ever Sansa would be forced to wed. A world run by Lannisters did sound horrific, especially one where Joffrey was king.
~X~
Not an hour after the letter had reached Ned he'd departed for the capital and hadn't been seen since, only one letter had arrived for Cat which hadn't brought the redhead much comfort.
Meanwhile, Sansa hadn't left her bedchamber for anything since Petyr's departure. The teenager had refused food and had locked her door to everybody except for Claudette; Cat had even yelled at her eldest daughter to open the door at one point but nothing had come of it. To most the situation probably looked as though Sansa were throwing a childish tantrum and in some small way she was, but the primary thing which spurred Sansa's self-forced isolation was heartache, she had no desire to be subject to whatever her mother had to say until she'd come to terms with her own anger as well as the emotions she'd forced upon her father and mother. In Sansa's mind she was not throwing a fit but protecting her family from another outburst, she needed to learn how to control her empathic ability and with word of King Robert's death that had become even harder for the seventeen-year-old.
She missed her adored demon greatly, to an almost inordinate degree but Petyr's initial worry, which had drifted to her through their new bond, had now faded to comfort and that perfect sprinkle of tenderness he always made sure to surround her with. Petyr knew, Petyr understood why young Sansa had suddenly chosen to avoid her family and wouldn't dare pressure her to rejoin them until she was ready.
Almost a fortnight after Sansa had locked herself away, and at least two days after her mother had given up ordering her to come out – she'd hardly even opened the door to say goodbye to Jon when he'd left for The Wall – an unassuming knock sounded at Sansa's door. The hour had started to grow late and Sansa been picking at her evening meal without much interest. Frankly the noise had startled the teenage redhead. Sansa knew all the knocks at her door so she had no hesitation when she opened the door knowing it was her lady's maid.
"Yes?" Sansa asked, voice soft.
A letter was thrust out towards the eldest Stark daughter and she took the proffered item without issue.
"Orders were to give it to you right away, Lady Sansa."
"Thank you, Claudette."
The lady's maid quickly excused herself and Sansa went to sit at the foot of her bed among the furs. She recognized her father's hand instantly and practically clawed her way into the letter all but destroying the wax seal on her way. Inside Sansa found a rather thick stack of pages indicative of a long letter which quickly piqued Sansa's interest as well as her concern. The start of the letter was written in her father's usual hand but as it progressed his letters grew messier, much more hurried, as though he'd been determined to finish it as quickly as possible. However, despite the speed with which much of the letter had been written Ned had made no attempt to simply brush over anything he wrote, everything in the letter was explained in good sentences.
Dear Sansa,
My sweet lass, as you are undoubtedly aware the king has died and Joffrey will shortly be crowned. I know my departure was sudden and that we had much to discuss but I don't think that is going to be possible now and so this letter will have to do. I'm sorry, you deserve more. With the crowning Joffrey and Cersei will push for you to wed him as quickly as possible – though I have heard a rumor that Lady Margaery has set her eye on him – and I cannot allow you to be married to that imposter. Everything I said before was while Robert lived but with him gone we now play by new rules; the Lannister's rules. I have discovered Cersei's secret and she will not let that stand so now my fate is up to time, either I shall succeed or Cersei will. I have no intention of scaring or hurting you, my girl, but since I left Winterfell Hall I have found myself wondering if you – and even Baelish – are more than imagined, if Robert may have been on to something when he went looking for demons; I have to admit it would explain so very much despite how insane it all sounds. I suspect you know more than given credit for, much more, maybe even more than I do. Regardless, you were right, you shouldn't have to marry Joffrey and I won't let the Lannisters force you now. They may try to take you to the capital, do NOT let them. As far as I am concerned your betrothal was agreed with Robert Baratheon not any of the Lannisters. After what happened the night I left, the emotions I and Cat felt were unnatural, it was as though I was overcome by your own feelings and I cannot allow such pain and sorrow to continue. I will not pretend to like it but that scoundrel, Baelish, does have the power to protect you and annoyingly the only thing out of that man's mouth I have ever believed is that he loves you. More importantly I believe you when you say it is not an infatuation on your part but something true and real. If you are his wife then you cannot be forced to be Joffrey's and while I would like to keep you as far away from that conniving monster as possible he is the lesser of two evils. You have my permission to marry Lord Petyr Baelish and I have written a separate letter to your mother stating the same. She will not like it so there is also one I have sent to Robb regarding it since he seemed to be on your side when it came to a betrothal to Baelish. I will tell Baelish myself shortly that he may have your hand. Please do not misunderstand me, Sansa, I do not allow this to sate your whims or to give in to what that rat of a man wants, I do it to protect you from a much worse evil, to protect you in one of the few ways I have left. I love you so very much, my sweet lass, I hope that I am doing the right thing and I desperately hope you never forget my love. I have been many things in my life; warrior, husband, Hand, friend, but it has been the honor of my life to be father to you and your siblings. Of course I urge to return home and be with all of you but should I not be able I want you to be happy, Sansa. The world is about to change and I need you to be strong for me, for your siblings and mother but mostly for yourself.
Never forget you are a wolf no matter who you wed.
Your loving father.
Sansa sat a while and just let the tears rush down her pale cheeks. Air didn't want to reach her lungs or maybe it did and her body just wouldn't accept it. Long ago Petyr had told Sansa that her father would likely not make it out of this mess alive and while she'd shoved it away and tried to hide everything but deep inside her soul she'd never dismissed it, the utter horror had just sat quietly in her heart waiting for another time to strike. The time to strike had come though and now Sansa felt as though her ribs were braking, some unseen spirit had its hand in her chest in a savage attempt to crush her heart into dust.
The redhead didn't want to speak, didn't want to think and she sure as hell didn't want to feel.
~X~
1798
The year was 1798 and though the world seemed chaotic it had actually started to heal. Battles had been fought and won, kings had lived and died. This time the guise of peace could finally become a real peace those of each kingdom could be proud of.
Sometimes it was hard to believe only five years had passed since Sansa had received her father's letter, while other days the redhead felt as though only mere moments had sailed by. Her father had been correct in what had been his parting words to his eldest daughter, the world had changed and for a long time it hadn't been for the better. Ned had been executed as a traitor and the Starks had been forced out of their ancestral home. Robb, Talisa had both been slain at their makeshift wedding venue along with Catelyn. Then Rickon had been taken hostage only to get an arrow to the back and Arya had just simply vanished for years much as Bran had. And Jon, well, Jon probably belonged over The Wall where life was simple and a monster's only cause to kill was to eat.
Sansa's life had been a whirlwind of one nightmare after another but through it all, through all the darkness, she'd had Petyr to guide her. Petyr had protected her, wed her, and for the first time in five years Sansa thought their might actually be some light on the horizon. With the Lannisters all dead, save for Tyrion, and Daenerys Targaryen's dragons gone Westeros had started to figure out a way of carrying on. Nobles and royals had been fighting for so long that life before the war had become nothing but a distant memory; now was the time for new memories. The Six Kingdoms and the North, it was what Robb had wanted and quite frankly it was safer for all in the North. Petyr had always promised to make her a queen, this wasn't quite what she'd expected but the knowledge that he'd kept his word soothed her.
Queen Sansa stared out her bedroom window at the cold northern night while the large fire crackled behind her and provided the room an orange glow; odd how that color alone made one feel warm. Sansa had lost so much but that view hadn't ever left her, that view was home no matter where she went.
The heavy door creaked behind her when it opened then closed but the redhead ignored it not wanting to be drawn away from the mountains and forest just yet. There were footsteps, a pause, then more before Petyr's arms wrapped around her from behind, Sansa leant back against his chest seeking out his warmth and comfort.
"I could feel you from downstairs." He kissed her shoulder. "There is no need to feel sorrow, my sweetling, the family you have lost rests in peace now, they are in the crypt as you wished."
That was true, Petyr had vowed not to rest until the Starks lay in the crypt at Winterfell and Sansa knew full well that he'd only done so to make her happy, to bring her comfort. The task had taken Lord Baelish a great amount of time but he'd finally managed to track down the bodies or her mother, father and siblings – or at least what was left of them – and entombed them in the crypt. Sansa knew Petyr hadn't much cared about burying bodies but the act had filled Sansa with love and finally let the dead truly rest.
"There will always be sorrow, Petyr, but now I believe we can start to look forward as well. The Lannisters are dead and we are not."
Petyr smirked. "That sounds more like me than you, my queen."
"Perhaps it does." She told him before turning in his arms to tease him. "My king consort."
Their lips met in a loving kiss, the sort of kiss only shared by soulmates. Petyr longed to tighten his grip around his wife, press her flush against his chest and ravage her but he couldn't, not with the bump between them. Instead Petyr lowered one of his large hands to Sansa's stomach where their child slept and smiled. The child inside her was almost ready to enter the world but not quite yet, for now it would slumber inside her belly where it was warm and safe.
"You should get some rest, Sansa." Petyr encouraged. "I shall lay the twins in their cradles."
"I think you're right, but let the boys stay with us. Please, Petyr, just for tonight?"
How could he ever deny his wife? When he'd first entered the room he'd paused at the foot of their bed to watch their year-old twins snoozing happily on the bed, it was no hardship to simply settle down on either side of them.
With a nod the dark-haired demon went to ready himself for the night before he helped his queen to do the same then aided her in settling down for some sleep. He blew out the candle then rolled onto his side to gaze at his wife and sons with only a crackling fire to light their faces with dancing flames.
Sansa adored her children more than any mother he'd seen before so all he could do was smile while he watched her press little kisses to their boys' heads. Evander, the eldest, scrunched his little face up a bit but Galeas didn't rouse from slumber in the slightest.
The king consort stretched an arm over his family to once again lay his hand on Sansa's rounded belly.
"You do realize that when she is born we will run out of space in the bed for this."
"I'm the queen, I can have a bigger bed if I want."
That earned a chuckle from the demon. "Anything my queen wants my queen gets. You are Sansa Stark after all."
The redhead paused for a moment then as thoughts invaded her mind, Baelish didn't need to ask though, his demoness didn't keep secrets from him.
"Am I? Or am I Sansa Baelish?"
Petyr sighed out a breath at his sweet, silly wife. "I think your father said it best in his letter to you, my love. You are always a wolf no matter who you marry. Our children, they may have feathered wings but they are still wolves, still princes descended of House Stark."
That soothed Sansa and brought a smile to her delicate features. "I thought you were insisting this one will be a girl." She gestured to her belly where Petyr's hand still rested.
It was true, when Sansa had been expecting the twins, Evander and Galeas, they'd gone back and forth regarding names for both girls and boys for some time. However, when it came to Sansa's second pregnancy Petyr had always been adamant that they were expecting a girl; oddly Sansa thought him more excited about that than the twins.
"Fine, princes and princess." He corrected himself with a smirk only half lit by the fireplace. "And worry not, Sansa, you and I are immortal so we shall be here for Evander, Galeas and Vipsania forevermore."
Sansa nodded only to ground to a halt, she snapped her eyes to her husband expectantly. "Vipsania?"
Baelish lifted an eyebrow. "You don't like it? I was just testing it out. I thought it sounded powerful yet feminine."
"It's better than the last name you tried."
"What was wrong with Lucrezia?"
Sansa spoke simply. "It sounds like something Cersei Lannister would have named a child."
"I actually can't argue with you there, sweetling."
"I do like Vipsania though."
Petyr smirked. "Ah, so my queen shall consider it."
"She will." Sansa confirmed with a twinkle in her eye. "Maybe we should come up with lots of names, one for every letter of the alphabet."
"How many children do you intend for us to have, sweetling? I am not my brother."
"He'll put you to shame then." His wife teased only to be cut off by a yawn.
With a little encouragement from Baelish the redhead soon fell asleep with their children between them and he couldn't help but smile fondly to himself. Five years ago when Ned Stark had been excited Petyr hadn't known how things would turn out despite his eternal planning. Still, he'd had a Dornish prince for a twin brother and immortality on his side. The war had effected demons as well, he and Oberyn had lost three siblings during it including their family's golden boy, Sebastiyan; not that it had been any great loss to Petyr or Oberyn. This was his endgame though, he had his soulmate, children, the title of king consort and power; sweet, sweet power. Figuring out how to be an immortal king and queen without causing some sort of religious war or cult would be a new game.
THE END
'Beware I am fearless and therefore I am powerful'
Frankenstein - 1817