How To Kill a Flower

Chapter 7

Dear Robb,

The days here feel so much longer with the sun shining all the time. Days in Winterfell flew by, while here i am left waiting for the moon to come out so the day can end. The faster time goes by the closer i get to traveling home.

Father is busy most of the day, while Arya is getting dancing lessons. Can you believe that? Arya. Dancing. I never thought id hear those two words together. Sansa is spending as much time as she can trying to impress the Prince. 

He worries me, Robb. Whenever i'm around he stares at me. He gets this possessive, cold look in his eyes. I know he can't physically hurt me, i know how to fight back, but i don't trust him around Sansa. She still believes in fairy tales and i feel it will get her hurt one day.

How is Bran? He still cant walk can he. I can't imagine. Gods Robb, he wanted to be a knight one day. What will he do now?

I miss you brother.

Ciri Stark.

Finishing my letter made me realize how miserable i was here. Sansa loved being in the capitol, around Princes, and dresses. It was a dream come true. Arya had even found something she had loved in this shit city. The only one as miserable as i was, was father. Being the Hand of the King was a difficult job, especially when the King didn't actually want any part in ruling his kingdom.

Today was the tournament in my father's honor, though he really didnt care either way if the tournament took place or not. It just costs the kingdom more money than it had. 

Sitting down between Arya and Sansa, we waited for the tournament to start. People were already cheering even though the games haven't even begin. Looking around i noticed Sansa turn her head towards where the royals were seated. I looked back to see what had caught her gaze. Catching the cold stare Joffrey was giving Sansa  before his eyes caught mine. A smirk grew on his face, still with a cold look in his eyes.

"Lover's quarrel?" A voice asks, one that i had not recognized. Looking up i saw a man with short black hair with a patch of grey on the sides, with a pin attached at the top of his tunic. A bird of some sorts.

"I'm sorry. Do we-?" Sansa asks looking over at me.

"Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish. He's known-" Lord Baelish cuts Septa Mordane off.

"An old friend of the family," he said sitting down on Sansa's other side, "I've known your mother a long long time."

 Always curious and never afraid, Arya blurts out, "Why do they call you Littlefinger?" She actually asked the question i had in my mind at that moment. Having heard whispers around Kings Landing about him. I only knew he was the master of coin on the small council with father.

I nudged her in the side, giving her a stern look at the same time Sansa scolds her, "Arya!"

Septa also scolding the little wolf, "Don't be rude!"

 He cuts in, "No, it's quite all right." Looking down at the younger Stark to explain his story, "When I was a child I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called The Fingers, so you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

Before anyone could ask another question, the King shouts out over everyone, "I've been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss myself!" Looking back in front of me with a slightly disgusted face. I saw a man larger than the hound ride up on his black stallion.

 "Gods, who is that?" Sansa asks in disbelief.

 "Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain." Baelish explains. I follow the Mountain's eyes up to his brother's. Both glaring at each other. "The Hound's older brother."