Game of Thrones season 7 fanfiction

SANSA

The twin towers of the Freys were built adroitly. Both of them were an exact replication of the other as if someone had placed a mirror in between.

Their wayn pulled up a fair few meters away from the tower. It had been a long journey.

Three Frey soldiers rode out from the eastern gatehouse, clad in the Frey armour.

Sansa wrapped her brown furs more tightly and got down from her cart. Though not as chilly as Winterfell, the night was still freakishly cold. Baelish and Brienne got down beside her.

"Do they know we are coming?" she asked.

Baelish nodded, removing his moleskin gloves. "I sent a raven."

The soldiers halted to meet their guests. The stout soldier hosted the Frey banners. "We have been waiting for your arrival eagerly."

"So have we," Petyr affirmed.

The soldiers led them to Clistar's chambers. There weren't many braziers in the narrow hallway. The coarse stony wall was wreathed with portraits of people Sansa didn't recognize. They walked in deathlike silence.

Baelish inched closer to her. Sansa turned her head and looked at Brienne. Baelish moved away.

They stopped inches from the room whose door was left open. In the luminously lit chamber, a boy of about twenty sat reading at a table. He was a lanky youth with long curly black hair that reached and a neatly trimmed beard. The sigil of the Freys festooned his brown doublet.

Petyr cleared his throat. The boy looked up. "We are delighted to have you."

"I am glad too," Baelish said drawing a chair for Sansa and then one for himself.

The boy glanced at Brienne. "You think I am that distrustful, don't you? Bringing a bodyguard of your own."

"Brienne is harmless, my lord," Petyr said as if Brienne was a dog. "She won't raise a sword unless we command it."

"I hope it never comes to that," Clistar said flippantly.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your losses," said Littlefinger.

Clistar shrugged. "My family got what they deserved. When you slay a guest under your own roof, you cannot expect the gods to reward you with gold."

"I heard about your misgivings with your uncle."

"He was a bloody pimp," Clistar abused. "But we are not here to discuss about Emmon Frey, are we?"

"I'm sorry, my lord." Sansa was astonished to hear the politeness in Littlefinger's voice.

Clistar turned to Sansa. His sky blue eyes bore deep into her. She could not help but blush. "I heard the north has crowned a bastard as their king."

Petyr warned me about this, she thought. "In the north, we focus on the person's deeds, not his name. Jon won Winterfell for us."

Clistar grazed his beard. "I'm not sure we see eye to eye on this. It seems to me that you and Baelish won the battle."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Petyr smirk. "You honour us," she said civilly. "But it was Jon who convinced the wildlings to battle. He was the one who formed the predominant part of the army. All we did was clear up the mess."

"But he would have lost if it wasn't for you," Clistar Frey said.

"He would have found some or the other way."

"You seem to have boundless confidence in your brother," Clistar admitted. "So why should I trust this Jon Snow?"

Sansa shifted in her seat. "The woman who sits on the Iron Throne is vile and spiteful. I'm not just saying that out of hate for what her family did to mine, but I've lived under the same roof as the woman. It's not just the queen. All the Lannisters lack immense trust. They don't trust in family, they don't believe their friends. Her father blames his poor son for everything. There's no warmth and no faith at all. Everyone has their eye on that filthy iron chair. When one lion puts a foot forward, the pack brings him down."

Frey folded his hands. "You didn't understand my question, darling. I asked you to tell me about house Stark; not affront House Lannister."

She looked back, awestruck.

"I'm sorry," Baelish intervened. "But I think Sansa has made a pretty valid point. House Stark really needs you. We really need you."

"We?" Clistar laughed. "You are like a gluttonous honeybee in a field full of splendid flowers, Lord Baelish. You choose one, suck out all the nectar and move to the next one leaving the previous one withered."

He laughed raucously at his own stupid joke. "Weren't you serving House Arryn before and House Lannister before that? The next thing we know is you'll be off searching for Targaryens!"

Sansa glanced at Littlefinger. He fixed Clistar with a dark stare.

"I apologize," Frey said controlling his laughter. "Please go on."

Baelish cracked his knuckles. "How much army do you have here?"

"About ten thousand," Clistar replied.

"And how much does your uncle have?"

"Lesser."

"But he has the support of the Lannisters," Petyr framed.

Clistar leaned forward, listening curiously.

"One command from Cersei and a horde of Lannister soldiers will root you out of your keep even before you can raise your sword."

"I see," Clistar said narrowing his eyes.

"What you need is the support of a strong house," said Littlefinger. "And House Stark will definitely help you. The north has more army than all the six kingdoms combined.

All you have to do is sign on the parchment and seal our alliance." He handed him the paper.

Clistar read the parchment and without saying a word, he signed it. Sansa exchanged looks with Baelish. He nodded exuberantly. She felt a bit sorry for sentencing him to death.

"I suppose you would be spending the night here today," Clistar said. "It is never safe to travel alone at this hour. And as you Starks say, winter is here."

"That was easier than I thought," Brienne admitted as they stepped out of the room.

"You did well," Petyr told Sansa. "Ned would have been so proud you right now."

They started to walk, their shoes scraping against the hard stony floor. "We return to Winterfell tomorrow," she told Baelish.

"You return to Winterfell ," Baelish corrected. "I have to travel to the Vale."

Sansa stopped in her tracks. "J... Just like that?"

Baelish shook his head sadly. "The business in the Vale is extremely important. And I do not trust Robin Arryn to manage it alone. I cannot afford to miss it at any cost."

Sansa's heart sank. "But we have been doing so well with you... You can't parade off that way."

Petyr took a step closer. "I'm very sorry. I had grown rather attached to the north. I'm going to dearly miss all of you." He moved closer. "And you know who I'm going to miss the most?" He caressed her cheek. "You."