Lady Anya nodded sagely. "Glad to see you've got some sense."
"And then there's the question of how he knew," Sansa spoke up, the words bubbling up to her lips. She had been preparing for this moment the second she had laid eyes on the letter.
...
All eyes turned to her. "Knew what, dear?" the Lady Anya Waynwood asked.
"That Petyr killed her. Only I, Marillion and Petyr were there when it happened. We told nobody else. Petyr made certain of it. So how did he know?"
The lords shared an uneasy look. "You mean you think he has spies? Someone else, who saw?"
Sansa shrugged. "If he has reach enough to know such a tight secret, I'd think he'd have reach enough to know whatever plans you all make."
"Do you think King Tommen capable of such a thing?" Lady Anya asked, leaning forwards with interest.
"I think Lord Tywin, or else Lord Tyrion, capable of such a thing," Sansa said. "I know not if Tommen is their puppet or another of their ilk. We got along well enough when I was at the capital. He seemed the quiet type to me. A little childish. Not entirely unlike Lord Robert. Good-hearted, I thought. Kind."
Lord Yohn lifted a gnarled hand to scratch his beard and nodded. "All the better we should make overtures whilst we have the advantage."
Sansa took a deep breath and steeled herself. "And you have the perfect envoy, too."
Lady Waynwood's look turned incredulous as she caught Sansa's meaning. "Have you gone mad, girl?"
"Tommen knows me," Sansa put in for her defence. "He likes me. And he has my sister. I have to go back."
"They could kill you," she retorted.
"Then let them," Sansa said. "Better House Stark should die with me than live on a shadow of it's former self. And I am more use to you as an envoy than a hostage. You all have fairly good relations with the North through my late aunt in any case. Holding me hostage won't give you much more. But sending me back could smooth over relations with Lord Tywin, which I know you all want."
An uproar of objections started, swiftly silenced by Lord Yohn. No matter how much it stung the pride of the Vale lords to admit, the Old Lion inspired a sense of fear in them all. A slight fear, perhaps, but fear all the same. A fear intensified by the prospect of spies in their midst. "What you're suggesting is very dangerous, my lady," Lord Yohn said once the last of the noise had settled.
Sansa nodded, feeling a lump rise in her throat, her hands trembling. "I know."
"You could die."
I wanted to die, just a few days ago. "I know."
"I can't allow you to wander into danger," Lord Yohn said after a second's thought. "Yet I also won't keep you prisoner if you truly wish to leave."
Horton seemed horrified. "You can't be serious, my lord. To send a daughter of Lord Stark into Lannister custody?"
"I want to go," Sansa insisted.
Horton turned his old head to look at her. "Forgive me, my lady, but you've been through a quite the ordeal, and are young besides. Your judgement may not be the most sound as of now."
"I know I want to see my sister."
"All you have is a letter," Lord Belmore cut in. "Lies can be written by any hand. Think of the danger you're putting yourself under. You say you don't fear death. Well enough. But what of torment? Joffrey beheaded your lord father on a whim. And as I understand it your treatment at the hands of the court was most unkind."
"Joffrey's dead," Sansa insisted as she clenched her fists beneath the table and fought to keep her composure. "And I met Tommen when I was in the capital. He's nothing like his brother."
"What of his mother, then?" Lord Redfort said. "Or Lord Tywin? How are we to ensure your safety, my lady?" He turned to face the newly-made Lord Protector. "It's all well and good to try and improve relations with the crown - much as I might disapprove - but this is too much."
"Worry not, my lords. She won't go alone," Lord Yohn said, looking her in the eyes. "Nestor will accompany you down to the capital with a company of Valemen and keep watch over your stay. When you are done with your business, you will return."
Sansa nodded, but before she could offer her gratitude Nestor interjected himself.
"You're sending me down with her?" he asked, eyes burning with outrage. He shook his head, beard flowing. "No, I won't go."
Yohn's gaze settled slowly on Nestor. "You closed the Gates of the Moon on us on the orders of the last Lord Commander. I know you to be a dutiful man. You'll go to the capital on the orders of this one. You'll deliver Littlefinger's head. And you'll bring back the Lady Sansa. Alive."
Nestor's objections caught in his throat. He could scarcely admit to selling his loyalty to Petyr. Not before all his fellow Lords. Yet if he left there was every chance Lord Yohn would act to weaken his hold over the Gates of the Moon. That seat had only recently become his by right. All at Petyr's behest. His hold over it, in spite his years faithful stewardship under Jon Arryn, was tenuous at best and prone to challenge.
Nestor's outrage twisted into a bitter scowl as he slowly swallowed his pride, the reality of his new position settling in. She was his punishment.
"I'll take Ser Lothor as well, if it please my lords," she said. She didn't trust the look on Lord Nestor's face. And Lothor Brune was as good as trustworthy as she was likely to find. Loyal to Petyr - and thus to her. Strong, quiet, and in need of a new benefactor.
Lord Yohn cocked his head in thought a moment, then accepted Sansa's choice with a nod. Another former loyalist of Baelish's he'd not have to deal with, doubtless. And ridding himself of her would serve his purposes nice enough. Many of the Vale lords were eager for war, still smarting over Lady Lysa's refusal to join the war on the Stark side. Lords Redfort, Belmore, and more. Sending her south would quieten their voices. Yohn may once have joined their call to arms, but now he needed peace more than war if he was to tighten his hold over the Vale, over those last few areas whose loyalty remained questionable. Gulltown, the Fingers, Heart's Home.
Petyr had underestimated him, she knew. She would not make the same mistake.
"And if Lord Nestor and Ser Lothor fail?" Lady Anya asked.
Yohn pursed his lips and let silence linger for a moment. "Lord Tywin would not be so foolish as to start a war now," he finally declared. Beneath his beard and stern expression, she couldn't tell if he was eager or afraid at that prospect.
She kept that thought in her mind even as the lords meeting wound down to a close and she left the solar, wandering through the halls and passages of the Eyrie half in a daze. The thought of facing Cersei again terrified her. But Joffrey's dead, she told herself. And Tommen was kind. Tyrion didn't rape me. Fear and doubt wrestled in her mind, the ache from their struggle spreading across her skull. I'm doing this for Arya, she thought, struggling to marshal herself.
Even as her head fell to her bed, she was still struggling. The next few days passed achingly slowly, as preparations were made for their departure. One by one, the Lords Declarant slowly left. First went Lady Anya, then Lord Belmore, then Lord Redfort. The castle was abuzz with activity. Soon enough, it would be her turn.
Then one morning, she was woken by a knock on the door.
Sansa readied herself in a hurry, made herself decent, and opened the door to find Ser Lothor behind it. "Ser Lothor," she greeted him.
The knight bowed his head slightly. "M'lady," he said. "The little lord asks your presence. He won't leave his bed." Asks. It had only been a few days ago that he would have commanded her presence.
Sansa sighed, nodded, gesturing for Ser Lothor to lead. As he went, she found the courage to speak. "How have you been, Ser Lothor?"
The knight shrugged. "Well enough, m'lady. Busy. Have a lot of work ahead, preparing for the journey. But it's nothing I can't handle."
"That's good," she said. It wasn't long before they had arrived at Lord Robert's doors. She turned the iron ring and pushed open the door a crack. "Sweetrobin?" she called.
Someone sniffled in the darkness. "Are you alone?"
She looked back at Lothor, who shrugged and went off on his way. "I am, my lord."
"Come in, then. Just you." She crept through the door and shut it tight behind her. "Did the Maester send for you?"
"No," she shook her head. "Are you hungry, my lord? Should I send one of the girls for some food?"
"I don't want food," the little lord said in a petulant tone. As she advanced on him she saw his eyes were red, puffy. "I want to stay in bed today."
"You can't stay in bed," she said. "Today we have to leave."
"I don't want to leave," he said. "You can read me a story."
"We have to go," she chided the boy. "Here, take a bath and I'll read you two stories. I'll call some of the serving girls up."
The boy scowled. "I don't like the serving girls. They always scrub too hard. It hurts. My mommy never scrubbed me so hard it hurt."
"I'll tell them to be gentle."
"I want three stories," Sweetrobin said.
...
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