The boy scowled. "I don't like the serving girls. They always scrub too hard. It hurts. My mommy never scrubbed me so hard it hurt."
"I'll tell them to be gentle."
"I want three stories," Sweetrobin said.
...
Sansa felt a flash of annoyance. Sweetrobin was a greedy, spoiled child. Whatever you gave him, he wanted more. But he'd at least been afraid enough of Petyr to not give her too much cheek. "Take a bath, eat your breakfast, and I'll read you three stories. The mules are waiting."
Sweetrobin scowled again. "No bath, it gives me a headache. And no mules, either. They stink. One tried to bite me once." He looked like he was about to cry. "Tell them I'm staying here. The Eyrie is safe. Nobody can bite me here."
He is afraid, she thought. And with good reason. "Who would want to hurt you, my lord? The lords all love you. Lord Royce will care for you well."
He shivered. "I'll have to go down... In that cage."
Sansa nodded. Ever since his mother's death, Sweetrobin had not even strayed near a ledge. She could see how the thought of descending from the Eyrie might scare him. "You eat your breakfast, get dressed, and I'll go down with you. It'll be perfectly safe, I promise."
Sweetrobin seemed to consider it. "I want a hundred lemon cakes!"
Sansa grit her teeth and forced herself calm. "All the lemon cakes you like," she promised him. "But nothing before you're washed and dressed and away."
It took a little more than that to cajole the little lord from his bed, but eventually he was up and in the hands of the serving girls and Sansa could retreat from his chambers and make her way down the steps. Ser Lothor had already packed for her, she'd found. She fished out a cloak from the collection kept in her chambers and wandered out. Up at the height of the Eyrie, the courtyard was draped in old snow, deep enough to sink someone to the ankle. The wind blustered about her knees from beneath her skirts, her legs trembling only partly from the cold.
This place is as good as a prison, she thought. Yet the notion of leaving it terrified her. High up, the Eyrie was impregnable. Impregnable against armies, she reminded herself, not against assassins and spies. She wandered the Eyrie one last time, taking in the feel of keep. The seven slender towers above her, the rattling of the Moon Door, the beautiful views. Yet there was something utterly desolate about that beauty. The Eyrie had no sept, no heart tree. Nobody here answers prayers.
Eventually Sweetrobin had finished his bath, and midday had come. She returned to her rooms and donned a scarf, some heavy leather gloves, some heavy woollen hose beneath her skirts for her legs. Within the heated walls of the Eyrie she sweltered, but when she emerged again into the cold she was grateful for the extra clothes. Lothor was in the chain room when she arrived, sending down a load of saddlebags.
"The boy ready yet?"
"Washed and dressed and on his way. Has anyone gone down yet?"
"Lord Nestor," he said. "And some guards."
"Is the wind bad?"
Lothor shrugged. "Not too strong, but bloody cold. It'll be worse if we wait much longer though."
Thankfully, they were spared by the arrival of the little lord, and without delay they were bundled up into wicker baskets. Remembering her promise, Sansa joined Robert in his wicker basket as the chains were hooked on and they were slowly lowered. They were lucky. The baskets themselves had walls that stretched up above Lord Robert's head, denying him a view of what lay below. Even still, as the bucket lurched down, slowly swaying with the wind, the boy clutched her tighter, shivering.
"My lord is brave," she said.
"Of course I'm brave," he shot back. "I'm an Arryn."
It took them an agonisingly large amount of time, but finally they were down, and Sansa helped Lord Robert from the basket to the mules. Lord Nestor stood waiting, holding the basket containing Petyr's head, twenty mules behind him, casting his gaze up as the chain was drawn up for the next load of people. "My lady," he said gruffly, gesturing behind him.
Sansa looked down. "Which one would my lord like to ride?"
Sweetrobin scrunched his nose. "They're all stinky."
"Choose anyway," she said.
"That one, then. But only if you come with me."
She nodded and helped him mount his mule, joining him side-saddle. It took another half-hour before their party had formed and the rest of the men were down. The lords and ladies had mostly already left. Now it was just them. But soon enough they were off, riding through the castle Sky and down the precariously narrow path that had once taken her to the Eyrie. The winds blew them from the side, her cloak flapping loudly. But there was no risk. Even as the path turned crooked and uneven, the mules sauntered down without a care in the world. They'd made this journey dozens of times.
And so they went, with surprisingly little fuss, strolling down in single file, Lord Robert's whimpers drowned by the wind.
She was lucky. Though at a few moments he seemed as though he might succumb to one of his shaking fits, he never did. And soon enough they were through Snow and Stone as well, leaving the waystations to the Eyrie behind and winding their way down the Giant's Lance, where the path widened and flattened and the little lord's shivering began to diminish. Exhausted from the trip, Sweetrobin promptly fell asleep in the saddle, and Sansa offered a silent thanks to the gods for that.
Nightfall was upon them by the time they'd sighted the Gates of the Moon, their rest-stop for the night. This last part of the journey was the most peaceable, the mules growing sluggish below them, the breeze far gentler. But still by the time they'd arrived Sansa was grateful for the apartments she was given and the bed she slept in. They were greeted at the gates by the men of Runestone, Lord Yohn awaiting his ward.
The next morning they ate and readied themselves for the next leg of the journey. Lord Robert naturally threw a fuss when he discovered she would be leaving him, but she managed to calm him with the promise of more lemon cake, and they were away again, into the bracing cold.
At the crossroads they finally parted. Lords Robert and Royce to Runestone, and Sansa Stark to Old Anchor.
And then, to Kings Landing.
...
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