Author's Note 16.09.2012:
Hello, I just reread the entire story so far, reworked it.
But don't worry the story is the same. It's more an expanded edition including some new scenes to spare me some groundwork later
I couldn't just let this story rot here
I advise to read all again, you will enjoy it
I own nothing
Sansa fastened her thick woollen blanked tighter around her freezing body. She was curled up in a ball in the corner near her little iron oven her knees tight against her chest. Sansa shook, freezing because of the cold winds howling through her three walled prison.
Sansa still couldn't believe he had done that to her, she had thought him capable of many things, gruesome things but throwing her into this hell never. She had lived for more than two years with him, silently enduring his attitudes because she hadn't had another chance to survive. She had chosen this faith, making the mistake of being bold enough to hope for a better future. She had trusted a fool and now she had ended up here, in a sky cell.
Her new painful hell, something she had thought pass her since she had escaped Joffrey had begun not a week ago. Lord Baelish had called her, the Stark-girl he had in disguise of his daughter, into his solar. She was disguised as his daughter since they had arrived at the Vale nearly two year ago, with her hair dyed and a false age, nobody had found this suspicious this suspicious.
Sansa had lived as a bastard, quickly she had figured out that her false father, the cold one, hadn't been her saviour, but yet another captor. Sansa had left King's Landing hoping for a knight in shining armour but instead she had exchanged one cage for another, and by now even more unpleasant one. And it had been worse this time, he might haven't beaten her but all the rest had been worse. Lord Baelish was smarter than Joffrey, more devious by getting what he wanted and by now Sansa knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to use her, her godsforsaken claim for his benefit, like everybody else, no not everybody. And this time she hadn't been a Lady, somebody the people knew, she had been a bastard, without any rights or privileges, nobody anybody would care about or speak up for. Was this how Jon had felt in Winterfell?
When Sansa had arrived in the solar her captor disguised as father had already waited for her a smirk on his face that had made her shiver, but she hadn't been allowed to show it.
"Good evening sweeting, you look stunning today." His creepy voice had rang in her ear while he had paced around her like a predator his prey. "You know, I think it is time that you re pay me for all my gracious service to you. I after all rescued you and I will restore you in your rights, all this isn't for free, without me you would be dead by now, you know?"
His smirk had made her even more uncomfortable, she hadn't a clue what he had been up to but when he had laid his hands on her shoulders she had feared the worst. She really hadn't wanted to know but the gods weren't merciful. His approach had been more urging, he had cornered her like she would have been a wolf and he the hungry pack of dogs. He had pressed her at the edge of his desk, his hands at both her sides.
"You know, your mother did the same for me" He had bend down bringing his face near to him. He had wanted to kiss her on the lips but Sansa had quickly turned her head away, pressing her lips and eyes shut tight. He had only met a cheek. "What is with you Sansa, don't you want to thank me?"
She couldn't have done what he wanted, she had of course known what he wanted, she had already suspect it then, the kisses he forced her into, his touches, but by then she hadn't wanted to realize it, a mistake.
He had killed her aunt, trapped her in his cage, all for that? She had felt the fear creeping cold up her spine and her bones. Unwilling to give in, remembering for a brief moment she was more than his prisoner, but a wolf Sansa had somehow manage to struggle her way free from him, ducking under his arms and fleeing to the door. But he had followed her quicker than she thought possible, not willing to give up a gimps in his eye. He had pressed her against the oak door with his body weight, lowering himself again.
Sansa had been paralysed by fear her limps had refused to obey and she starred in his eyes in cold sweat.
"No, please, you can't" She had started to plea, hoping to reason, but he had smirked ignoring her he curled her hair around his index finger, his face only an inch away from hers. Sansa starred in his eyes, his cold grey eyes, they were worse than Joffrey's.
"Oh, don't worry, nobody will notice" He had traced her cheek with the back of his hand, Sansa tried to get closer to the door and farer way from him.
"But...but my marriage, the annulment, Harry" Sansa had reached for the last help her paralysed mind had come up with. She actually didn't want to marry the boy who had already fathered two bastards at the age fifteen, but this had been her only protection, the only thing that might have stopped him.
"Nobody will care, the Imp will be dead soon and Harry, he is nothing, only a name, no, you belong to me" His smirk grew even wider when he had laughed his true intention in her face.
"NO," Gathering all strength she had been able to muster Sansa had pushed him away in a last act of desperation "I can't, please let me go"
She had felt tears in the corners of eyes threatening to stream free. Her captor had stumbled back by the force she had surprisingly managed to apply, his face growing dark by her rejection.
"You don't want me! Who do you think you are?" He screamed at her, anger, no wrath clouding his voice. He lost control, Sansa hadn't thought this possible but he last control. He had caught himself and towered over her dangerously "You're nothing! Nothing but the whore of an imp, depending on my grace, you would be death without me and you dare to reject me!"
He had lowered his head again, his nose only inches away from hers, his cold eyes starring in hers, she tried to avert her gaze but he had grabbed her chin and hold it in his firm grip.
"You will want me, you will come to me, Oh I will make sure of that, you will beg for me to grace you with myself. And maybe then you will learn. KETTLEBLACK!"
He had thrown her away from the door and she landed forcefully at the floor, her knees bleeding she had crawled in the nearest corner of the room. He had tried to hold her at her elbow but she had escaped, curling up in the corner, tears streaming down her face
Sansa had sobbed wildly when the old Sellsword had appeared in the doorframe short after his master had called for him. The man hadn't cared for Sansa lying on the ground
"Yes My Lord?"
"Bring Mord to me" Lord Baelish's face had been an evil grimace, he glanced to her shaking frame.
Mord, the servant with the golden teeth had brought her back up to the Eyrie, not caring for her too. Sansa had tried to escape him, hoping if she would reach Randa she perhaps would have mercy with her, but he had simply carried her on his shoulder. She had been struggling and screaming but she had no chance against him.
Lord Baelish wanted to break her, making her back, so he had in mind that the sky cells would be perfect for that purpose. To make her humble again she was supposed to spend some time in the cold of the winter, experiencing the horror.
The Eyrie and the cells were both cold and dark because of the winter snow falling from the sky. Sansa had been given a small oven and some blankets so she wouldn't freeze to death but this was all consideration she had gotten. Everyday Mord brought her something to eat, water and firewood and ask her if she wanted Petyr. But Sansa couldn't, she wouldn't let him win, nobody would touch her, taking the last that was truly hers because he tried to break or use her. She refuse every time, accepting that the next time he would bring her less food and wood.
She wouldn't agree, no, he only brought her here because of that, she knew this by now, because she looked like her mother he wanted her, he had never wanted to bring her home, he wanted her claim, a mistress. Sansa wouldn't give him that.
Over her time in the cold of the cell she asked herself over and over why she had trusted Dontos, she had thought he would be her knight but he had just sold her to a new captor, and his reward had been death.
Sometimes she asked if she would end up like him.
The floor of the cell slooped slightly driving her mad and she had to sit curled up in the corner, fearing to fall. But sometimes she asked herself if it wouldn't be better to give in, going in the sky, ending her horror forever. It perhaps would be better, a quick death like her aunt' or Marillion's.
Why did the gods punish her? Or was it her own fault, she could have gone with the Hound after the Blackwater or left King's Landing with her husband. Tyrion, he wouldn't have done this, he had always been kind. She had thought about him a lot lately, especially since she was in the sky, but also before.
Every time during the long two years, when Lord Baelish had forced her to kiss him or touched her, Sansa had averted her face in false shyness, hiding how sick he made her feel. She had tried not to vomit at her false father, he had never forced her to do so. He had promised her and had held his word.
Already a year ago Sansa had started to think she might have made a mistake. She would have been free from unwanted attention if she had stayed with him, he would have let her alone. He had even offered her to go away, escaping King's Landing, like Dontos, but most likely to a better place.
Maybe Casterly Rock wouldn't have been so bad for her, away from Joffrey, the Queen and her father she might would have breathed more freely.
He may would have allowed her to have her own chambers, after all he had said, if she wouldn't want him, he would tend to whores. He would have bring them into his bed and would have let her alone, in peace.
After a while in this dreams Sansa had started to wander off with her thoughts, starting to imagine how it would have been. She knew he had felt bad for her, for what he had done to her, even if it was less than any other ever done to her. And he had at least tried to make good for it. He would have showered her with expensive presents like he had done in King's Landing. She wouldn't have had to hide, would have had her own hair, her name and title.
He wouldn't have touched her without permission, she wouldn't have to fear him changing his behaviour or forcing the matter. Sansa wouldn't have to fear that one day he would force her to do what she didn't want, pressing her in the sheets, ravishing her like an animal, like now with Petyr.
Maybe, one day she would have overcome herself, lying with him, only as long as her belly would need to swell. In her mind he would have let her alone again in the afterwards if she would have wished him to do so.
In this dreams she would have had a perfect child, a son, with red hair, white skin and blue grey eyes, a Stark with no traits of his father. She would have named him Bran, or Rickon or Robb or Ned, like the Stark he would have been.
She would have finally gone to Winterfell, he would have let her alone there too. Her son would sit in her father's chair, wearing Stark-grey and a Direwolf as banner, all Lords of the North would have bowed to him. And then, there in her imagination, her husband would come to her and she could stand him wouldn't be afraid of his look, the only thing she knew she was hideous at him. And then, when she was lost in her imagination she wanted to believe it would have been like that, most likely it would have
After a while again different dreams started, strange dream, out of a fog she stood in a person came to her, small like a child.
But in her dreams he didn't look so terrible than she remembered, he still had no nose and the hideous scar, was malformed and twisted, but for her the image barred no dread. She dreamed he would kiss her, caressing her lightly, whispering in her ear he would love her. Another night she was in the Godswood, leaning against the Hearttree when he came to her, kissing her cheek before placing a small child in her arms, a perfect child with red hair, a Stark again, but with bright green eyes, one slightly darker than the other and there she was happy. It had confused Sansa.
The dreams had started to become more intense every month: She straddling him, kissing him out of her own effort, once she had dreamed of their wedding night, but there she had been happy again, and he touched her, caressing her body his fingers over her skin and she responded, leaning against his hands.
She always awoke sweaty and panting out of this dreams. Why did she dreamed about him, she hadn't wanted to dream about him.
'It's only because he was kind to you, nothing more' she had said to herself, not very persuasive.
But she couldn't lie to herself, he had been kind, he had been the only one being kind and demanding nothing for it. She hadn't had to go with him to be safe or doing his bidding, he had just done it, why ever.
She had gone in the Godswood of the castle after the dreams, silently, nobody had seen her. She prayed to the old gods to give her a new chance, had promised that if they would tell him how sorry she was that she had left him and he should come back to rescue her out of this hell. She would be good this time, his perfect wife, but as always they hadn't listened.
And in the sky cells, where she was alone in the dark cold night a dream came she wished nothing more than to come true: Her husband sitting in her father's chair, wearing a grey cloak, with wolfs appliquéd on it, she standing beside him, dressed in deep crimson and gold. He was holding her hand tracing her knuckles gently when guards dropped a beaten creature in front of their feet. Petyr Baelish, his smirk froze to ice and whimpering when her husband spoke the death sentence above him.
She had often thought about what happened in King's Landing during her week in the sky cell, after all her hopes her time would just be just an evil prank had been shatter. She remembered how the Kingsguard had beaten her and how he stopped them, how he had threatened to take Joffrey's manhood to spare her the bedding, but also about their marriage life and his tries to talk to her, but she hadn't wanted to listen, he had been a Lannister an she a Stark.
But Sansa was desperate, now more than ever Sansa hoped for rescue, as unimaginable as it was she hoped he would come rescue her just for one last time.
She had started to pray for help, negotiating with the gods to send her saviour. To send her her husband later even the Hound or anybody, just help.
´If you send me my husband I will honour my vows, will talk to him, forgive him for his family, stay with him, I will try´ her prayers had grown more and more desperate every day even if there was more than an offer behind them, a desire.
Snow felt from the sky and Sansa couldn't do more than staying in the corner by her oven letting her mind wander back in her dreams, hoping for rescue. If she would have moved she most likely would slip on the ice on the floor and fall in the sky, but she wasn't ready for that, yet.
After a while in the warmth of her dreams she felt asleep shaking from the cold when the sun vanished in the narrow sea, she was able to see from her cell at the horizon. If she had been awake a little bit longer she would have seen the red fiery glow at the coast, the glow of a burning city.
I increased the angst part