Hers Is The Fury

Warging & Dangerous Discoveries

[Winterfell - Crypt]

In the cold, dark Winterfell crypt, Sansa Stark knelt before the tomb of her father, Lord Eddard Stark. Her breath misted before her as she closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of the damp stone beneath her fingers. She could almost feel the earth itself, pulsing with life, like a living creature. She had been practicing her warging skills every day since her conversation with her mother, pushing herself to the limits of her abilities. As she sat there, lost in thought, she felt a strange sensation wash over her. For a moment, she was no longer in the crypt, but somewhere else entirely.

She was a bird, soaring high above the treetops, the wind rushing past her feathers. She banked gracefully, following the curve of a hill, before diving down into a stand of ancient trees. The forest was thick with life, the air heavy with the scent of pine and earth. As she glided through the branches, she caught sight of a familiar figure, cloaked in red, walking purposefully through the underbrush. It was Littlefinger.

Her heart raced as she followed him at a distance, careful not to draw too much attention to herself. He led her to a clearing, where a lone figure waited, cloaked in black. Her aunt, Lysa Arryn. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely audible over the rustling of the leaves. Littlefinger told Lysa about his plans, his ambitions for power. She listened intently, nodding along, her eyes shining with a strange light.

Sansa's breath caught in her throat as she realized what they were discussing. They were planning the death of Jon Arryn, her father's mentor and father figure. They were going to send a letter to her mother, blaming the Lannisters for his murder, setting in motion a chain of events that would eventually lead to the War of the Five Kings. And all along, Littlefinger had been pulling strings behind the scenes, manipulating events to his advantage.

As the conversation continued, Sansa felt a rising sense of anger and betrayal. Littlefinger had deceived her family, played them like pawns in his twisted game. And her aunt, once a kind and loving woman, had been corrupted by his influence. She watched as they plotted and schemed, their faces lit up with the lust for power. It was then that she knew what she had to do.

She withdrew from her warging, her mind and body back in the crypt, kneeling before her father's tomb. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to compose herself. She had to tell someone, but who could she trust?

Sansa eventually found her mother, Catelyn, in the Great Hall, pacing before the hearth. The fire crackled and spat, casting dancing shadows on the ancient stones. As Sansa approached, she could see the tension in her mother's shoulders, the worry etched into her features.

"Mother," Sansa said softly, taking a tentative step forward. "I have something I need to tell you."

Catelyn Stark turned to her daughter, her eyes filled with hope and fear. "What is it, Sansa? Has something happened?"

Sansa took a deep breath, steeling herself before continuing. "I-I was with Father today, and I-I... I saw something. I saw Littlefinger and Aunt Lysa talking, in the woods. They were planning something, Mother. They're the ones who killed Jon Arryn, and blamed it on the Lannisters."

"But, why? I mean, Lysa has always been in love with Petyr. No doubt this was his doing and he strung her along."

"I don't know, Mother," Sansa said, her voice wavering. "All I know is that they were planning something, and they seemed happy about it. Like it was what they wanted. And Littlefinger... he's always been so kind to me, but now I realize that he's been using me all along. He's not the man I thought he was."

"No, he is not."

Catelyn herself had found herself weary of Littlefinger upon her return to Winterfell, after recapturing it from Roose Bolton's bastard.