DISASTROUS ( Jon Snow )

40

... here comes midnight with a dead moon in its jaw ...

__________

There was something daunting about the statue of a dead woman. There was something cold in the eyes of the stone woman that stared down at Amaris. It was unsettling.

The crypts of Winterfell were a terrifying place. Despite having a child of Stark blood within her, Amaris felt wrong. As if she didn't belong. As if she were trespassing on sacred grounds.

And perhaps she was. Before her stood the statue of Lyanna Stark. To her left were the bones of Ned Stark, his statue not yet carved. Some further ways down, Amaris knew the charred bones of Rickard and Brandon Stark had been laid to rest, their statues lording over the crypts. The kings of winters past... all laid to rest in the same place... decades of difference disappearing as they all returned to the gods.

The crypts were a place for the Starks. Amaris might have been married to the son of Ned Stark, but she, herself, was no Stark.

"The crypts are a peculiar place, no?"

Amaris would know that voice anywhere. Face pulled into a snarl, she spun on her heel. Petyr Baelish was smirking at her, his dark eyes glinting menacingly.

"What do you want?" Amaris snarled.

"I see the quick tempers of the wolves have rubbed off on you," Petyr said offhandedly.

"Tell me what you want and leave me alone or I will set my guards on you... or perhaps I'll let Sansa deal with you as she did Ramsay," Amaris hissed. "I'd say you deserve it considering you're the filthy pig that sold her to that monster."

Petyr merely smirked, to which Amaris responded with a glower. She didn't enjoy how smug he was. He thought far too highly of himself. Something needed to be done before he could plant seeds of betrayal and doubt in the minds of the Northerners.

"Stay away from Sansa," Amaris said, her voice commanding and powerful.

She did not give Petyr a chance to respond before she walked away from him.

"Your grace," his voice called. "How do you intend to get these Northern lords to follow you and your husband?"

"Jon is the son of Eddard Stark," Amaris snarled. "And the brother of Robb Stark."

"Is he?" Petyr jested.

Amaris bristled.

How could Petyr know? When she was not even sure herself?

"With the support of the Vale—"

"I'm sorry, Lord Baelish," Amaris said, cutting him off with a snarl, "but you seem to be speaking in hypotheticals. Has the Vale not already loudly declared for House Stark?"

"Loyalties can change."

"Ned Stark would know that well, wouldn't he?" Amaris sneered. "I recall you were the one who betrayed him."

"Maybe so," Petyr said, his eyes hardened. "How is it you seem to know everyone's secrets, your grace?"

"I have my ways."

"Hmm... well, like I said, loyalties can change. However, a marriage would forever seal such a deal."

"Marriage? I am already married, as is Jon. Unless... are you proposing you marry Ser Davos?" Amaris smirked.

"Lady Sansa and I," Petyr said.

"Lady Sansa will not be marrying anyone ever again unless she so expresses the wish to me," Amaris said, her voice dark and angry. "She has been hurt far too many times by men with ulterior motives. She has been hurt by you, Littlefinger. Stay away from Sansa, or it's your head."