The Boltons have fallen. They were ravaged in one day of battle by the combined forces of the Vale, and the other Northern Lords. With Stannis dead, and the Boltons defeated, Sansa was created Wardeness of the North.
The people cheered, and The Great Feast was held in Winterfell, the kind of feast that the former Sansa Stark once dreamed of. Musicians, wine, food, laughing, and dancing, all of which Lady Sansa could only solemnly observe from a quiet distance. The next morning, Roose, Ramsay, and Walda were brought out of the cells, and into view for the people to see. As Theon Greyjoy began flaying Ramsay, she thought that seeing the horror in Roose's eyes, or the tears in Walda eyes as the screams of Ramsay filled the courtyard, would make the pain go away. She thought the mercy of letting Lady Walda return to the Twins alive, would give her bruised, and broken heart a measure of mercy, but it didn't. Nothing stopped the pain. Not even the beheading of Roose offered comfort. The stink of Roose and Ramsay's burning corpses was nothing compared to the stench of Sansa's memories.
Thanks to the generous provisions provided by the good natured, but extremely fat Lord Wyman Manderly, Lady Sansa ordered that the Feast continue the rest of the day and night. The people needed this, to give them strength to face the coming Winter.
Well into the night, Lady Sansa began to tire, and wanted nothing but her bed. She said her goodnights to the lords and ladies, and gave a beautiful smile that was convincing enough to fool everyone into thinking that she was happy, and walked off to her chambers. She rubbed her shoulders absentmindedly, and the stinging pain of her abused skin brought back the awful memories of her nights with Ramsay. Tears were streaming down her face before she could get to her chambers. Once inside, she removed her gown, let down her hair, and lied on the bed in her shift.
She could still feel his clammy touch, smell his horrible breath, see the hideous expressions on his face as he had her way with her. His eyes were the worst. Bright blue, and gleaming with a mocking malcontent. Sansa thought her song of sorrow would finally end once she returned home, but little did she know that the most horrible verses were to come while being married to the sadistic Ramsay. Thank the gods he was dead!
Sansa heard footsteps stop outside her chamber door. An irrational fear took over. "Oh Gods, not again!", she said in a panic. She scooped up the dagger that she kept next to her bed, and leapt to her feet. She could see the knob turning and door opening slowly. "I'd rather die than have another night with you!", Sansa thought. As the door opened wide, the light from the outside blinded her. "I'd rather die!" I'd rather die!" With shaking hands, she desperately held the blade to her throat.
Petyr knew he had made a terrible mistake. He had seen it in her eyes... the sadness of a broken heart. Her ethereal glow was gone. She no longer walked on air. The blush had faded from her cheeks, and she looked as pale as a corpse. Petyr has seen it many times before, when one of his whores were beaten, roughly handled, and mistreated, but never did he think that Ramsay was so stupid as to do that to Sansa Stark, the key to their hold on the North. What a fool Ramsay was! "What a fool I am!", Petyr thought to himself. He cursed himself for not finding out who Ramsay was. The dark, hardened part of himself, "Littlefinger", said, "Did it matter?", but "Petyr", the part of himself that loved Catelyn, and who adored Sansa, couldn't help but say, "What have I done?"
She had not spoken to him once since he had been back. She barely even looked in his direction except by accident, then quickly turned away. Petyr knew she blamed him, and he very well may have lost her for good. She smiled when she had to smile, and dressed as beautifully as she always had, but Petyr knew a deeply rooted change had occurred. She will never be as she once was.
The Great Feast was all together a lively affair, and Petyr found himself genuinely amused, but when his eyes moved to Sansa, he saw through her mask of happiness. He watched her as the executions were carried out, and he watched her as she said goodnight to the lords, but Petyr could see the tears in her eyes before she left the hall. He decided to go after her, hoping for a moment alone with her. He followed her up the stairs, and waited to see which door she would choose. Sansa walked in, and closed the door behind her. A moment later, he could hear the sobbing, a melodious, but sorrowful sound which broke his heart. Petyr stopped in front of her closed door and listened, never feeling so helpless in his life. He turned the knob, and stood aghast at the pitiful sight before him. Her shift was filthy, and torn up the front. Her crimson hair flowed unkempt down her back. The skin of her arms and shoulders, once the color of ivory, was blotted with ugly, black bruises. Her inner thighs were irritated and discolored. She was holding a knife to her own throat, and with the look in her eyes, Petyr wasn't sure she knew who he was.
"Sansa? It's me, Petyr Baelish. Put the knife down." Petyr hurried and shut the door behind him.
Sansa jumped at the sound of the closing door. "Stay away!"
Petyr took a careful step forward. "I'm not Ramsay. He's dead. I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'd rather die than let you touch me again!"
"I never touched you at all." said Petyr in a calm voice. "Sansa please, let me help you."
"Please, just go!
Petyr took another step. "I'm not going to leave you, Sansa."I left you once, and it was the worst mistake I've made. I won't leave you again."
Petyr took one more step, and reached out to her. "Take my hand. Just take my hand."
A long moment later, her blue eyes blinked, and recognition finally came to her. She let the dagger drop from her hands and onto the floor. She took his hand and let him guide her closer to him. He enveloped her in his arms and let her weep.
"It's alright. It's alright. You're safe now."
Sansa nearly collapsed into his arms. She was totally exhausted,and nearly fell off her feet. As the tears fell, she couldn't believe what her life had become. The mind raced with images of her father's execution, The Riot of Kings Landing, Joffrey's sneering face, Lysa's accusations, Ramsay's evil grin...
"It wasn't supposed to be this way.", whimpered Sansa. "It was supposed to be better than this. We were all supposed to be better than this."
"I know.", answered Petyr.
A moment later, he let her go, and said, "Your shift is in ruins. I'm going to turn my back, take off my tunic, and hand it to you. Then, I will walk to the window. I want you then to remove your shift, and wear my tunic. Is that alright with you?"
Sansa was afraid, but she gave a subtle nod. Petyr did as he said, and gave his tunic to Sansa. She took a few steps back, and hurriedly slipped out of her tattered finery, and into Petyr's garb. It smelled of mint, and the aroma calmed her.
From the window, Petyr asked, "May I turn around now?"
Sansa watched as Petyr slowly turned around. She wasn't sure, but as Petyr gazed at her she thought he let out a small chuckle.
"Are you laughing?", she asked.
Petyr smiled fully and said, "I'm sorry, but... you look beautiful."
Sansa lowered her head and blushed.
"Would you like to sit down?"
Sansa nodded, and walked slowly to the edge of the bed. Petyr took refuge on the floor next to her feet. For a long time, neither of then spoke. Sansa played with the fabric of Petyr's tunic while Petyr sat still.
"Forgive me, my lady. I didn't know the kind of man he was. I didn't know he was so foolish." Petyr lowered his eyes in shame.
"Foolish? Why do you think he was foolish?"
"Ramsay was a fool because he couldn't see the treasure he had in you. A woman like you for his wife... he didn't know how to please you, cherish you. I don't think any man alive could give you what you truly deserve. Certainly not a wretch like him."
Sansa, not entirely sure why she did it, reached out for Petyr's hand. Gently, he kissed her knuckles, saying, "I'm so sorry."
*Sansa and Petyr*
For months, night after night, Petyr would come to Sansa chambers. Some nights, he would just sit with her let her weep, while others, they wouldn't speak at all. As the nights went on, he told her of Sweetrobin, and that despite his physical limitations, he was coming along well as swordsman. Petyr said that the boy missed her, and wants her to come and visit him soon. Once, he regaled her with news from King's Landing. He told her of Cersei's follies with the Iron Bank, and the Faith Militant. He also told her of Cersei's humiliating Walk of Atonement. Sansa laughed trying to picture Cersei, the proud lioness, crawling naked on her bloodied hands and knees as the smallfolk cheered.
One cold night, as a light snow storm fell, Sansa invited Petyr to lay with her in her bed. Sansa enjoyed having his arms around her as she slept, and a few nights after that she finally gave her consent to make love. Petyr was soft and tender, his touch, ever so gentle. He would whisper in her ear how beautiful she was, and how it was like a wonderful dream to be with her. Night after night, they discovered and rediscovered each other, their passions building to that exquisite climax. Sansa never thought, especially after her time with Ramsay, that she could be this way with man again, and love it so much.
"See, Sansa?", whispered Petyr, as he kissed the nape of her neck. "You thought it was over, but it is just beginning. Sansa sighed breathlessly, and they both sank deeper into the bed.