The name was a whisper. Hoarse and unpractised. It had been a long time since she'd dared to say it aloud, though Petyr had promised it to her in gentle whispers. He'd promised, too, that the Arya marrying in the north was not really her Arya. Come now, little dove. Is our Arya ever the sort to marry? Could she ever be made to marry? They had been gentle platitudes, then. On this matter, Sansa had never known which to believe -- the rumours or Petyr's whispers. So she had pushed it from her mind.
"I have to go; my Lord Father will be waiting on me." Her words came in a stammering rush. Sansa backed away from the bars, unwilling to risk him seeing the sudden tears in her eyes.
no subject
The name was a whisper. Hoarse and unpractised. It had been a long time since she'd dared to say it aloud, though Petyr had promised it to her in gentle whispers. He'd promised, too, that the Arya marrying in the north was not really her Arya. Come now, little dove. Is our Arya ever the sort to marry? Could she ever be made to marry? They had been gentle platitudes, then. On this matter, Sansa had never known which to believe -- the rumours or Petyr's whispers. So she had pushed it from her mind.
"I have to go; my Lord Father will be waiting on me." Her words came in a stammering rush. Sansa backed away from the bars, unwilling to risk him seeing the sudden tears in her eyes.