Chapter 12

“Lord Baelish, have you seen Arya?” Sansa Stark asked Littlefinger, unaware of the fact it was Arya wearing his face.

“No, I haven’t, my dove. Tell me, my lady, what are your thoughts on your brother marrying Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen?” Arya asked her sister, curious as to just what sort of things Sansa and Littlefinger discussed when alone.

Of course, Arya could have asked Bran about this matter, but her brother, now known as the Three-Eyed Raven, tended to be loathe to reveal anything until he felt it necessary. Otherwise, it was like speaking to a stone or brick wall or getting blood from a turnip, or whatever metaphor suited best in this case. He was very reticent about unveiling secrets except on his terms, whenever he thought it absolutely essential. Arya would just have to stick to something that her skills allowed her to control: using the faces to pretend to be Littlefinger, since none knew that he was dead yet.

“Oh, I am pleased that he didn’t bend the knee to her any more than to Cersei. He held his ground, protected the North, gained the dragonglass, and apparently got himself a royal bride worthy of his station. What else am I to think, my Lord Baelish? Yes, I am naturally still concerned that we’re not taking Cersei as a threat seriously enough, but at least this union will strengthen our common cause against all of our enemies, North and South alike. With this, Cersei will be far less of a threat. My brother did what no other person has been able to do: hold his own with the Mother of Dragons and make her respect him as an equal. That is no small feat, my lord,” Sansa expressed her growing pride in her brother in spite of their past quarrels, doubts, and frustrations.

“Well, legend has it that he stood up to Stannis Baratheon, which few others have done and lived to tell the tale, either, so that fits with what I have heard of Jon Snow. Admittedly, the name of House Stark is nothing to sneeze at in Westeros, but Jon Snow doesn’t have the benefit of that name, only of the bloodline. But do you think that this could mean something else for you, maybe a marriage to a suitable lord now, since there is no promise that this union will produce an heir and the North could be sundered from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in time?” Arya kept up her pretense of being Littlefinger to test her sister’s mettle.

“Jon Snow is our King. Daenerys Targaryen is our Queen by marriage to him, they are both rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, I do not like your tone and your insinuations, Lord Baelish, and I will thank you kindly to cease and desist in suggesting treasonous notions to me. I seek wise counsel from you, not intrigues and machinations. As to the matter of my body and what happens to it, I am afraid that I do not yet know who I can trust with it, but it’s probably not you. I have been ravished and forced by Ramsay Snow, before he was a Bolton, I was kindly neglected by Tyrion Lannister, and now I must prepare for the prospect of a real marriage without any clear idea of what that might entail except for Father’s and Mother’s examples,” Sansa wiped her temples, feeling a headache come on with the stress and tension of her authority and duties as Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North.

“Well, now, perhaps I can assist you with that,” Arya found herself getting more into the role of Littlefinger than she expected, gently rubbing Sansa’s head before her sister shocked her by planting a kiss on her lips.

“My lady... , “ Arya started to protest, but the lonely Sansa was now adamant.

Sansa’s mouth pressed against Arya’s, her tongue sliding in to tangle together with the younger sister. Arya fought the initial disgust and urge to spew, not so much at the thought of another girl’s kiss as at the idea of incest, permitting herself to keep in character as needed. Oh, well, Arya told herself, I will have to maintain the charade now and vomit later. How, though, am I to avoid the obvious problem of no cock? If Sansa tries to take me inside her ... I will not be able to hide it anymore. Then the secret will spill out and she’ll want an explanation, to put it mildly.

Thinking quickly, Arya fought her gorge a bit more and lifted Sansa’s dress just enough to remove her undergarments and free her cunt. Rising underneath the dress, Arya set to work, much to Sansa’s shock, unable to imagine or predict what came next. Several licks into the act, Arya was able to put the owner’s identity from her mind, due to not being able to see Sansa’s face. She focused on her elder sister’s pleasure, telling herself that this would never happen again, as it would become public knowledge that Littlefinger was dead.

For Sansa, though, her breasts heaving, her breaths now quite shallow, she began moaning in earnest in a surprised response to the tongue work down there. She had never contemplated such things before, but now she felt more alive and more excited than she ever thought possible in her young life. As Arya continued licking away at her twat, Sansa held onto her shoulders for dear life, unwilling to let go of who she thought was Littlefinger and his magical mouth. She began to feel a tightness in her belly as she experienced more sensation by the minute.

Sansa’s juices were rather sweet, Arya admitted to herself, trying not to resume thinking of the fact that this was her elder sister whose slit she licked and sucked. She also tried not to think of the ginger hairs stuck in her mouth now and then. The more that Sansa bucked her hips and pushed her mound forward, the more Arya’s tongue darted in and out of her auburn bush like a knife, stabbing her with a crescendo of ecstasy. When Arya’s mouth descended upon the crack of Sansa’s bum and she started to rim the ginger, the Lady of Winterfell pressed down with her fingernails on Arya’s shoulders and forced out a noise that clearly didn’t belong to Lord Petyr Baelish.

Sansa was too far gone to notice at first, as she had yet to climax, but the moment that she did, she recalled that yelp from the back of her mind and she pulled Arya up to confront her. Arya tried to recover quickly, but Sansa reached behind her head and pulled off her face just like that. Staring face to face with her own sister, knowing what she did, Arya was trapped in a panic of terror. Then the elder sister half-smiled, smirked even, before patting Arya on the head and pulling her into an embrace.

“Did you forget that you told me about the Faceless Men, little sister? Now, tell me, honestly, what happened to the real Littlefinger and how far were you prepared to take this charade? What would have you done if I needed a cock inside me? I’m not angry. I can’t be. I enjoyed it as much as you did. It’s sick, disgusting, wrong, and yet very pleasurable, I must confess. I only hope that the gods, old and new, understand that at least this form of incest doesn’t make deformed children. We can’t do it again, though, so let me at least return the favor, and then, my dear little sister, you can tell me the truth about Lord Baelish,” Sansa told Arya, unbuckling the belt and removing her sister’s trousers.

“You ... you don’t have to return the favor, Sansa. Honestly, you don’t,” Arya told Sansa, now in a state of shock and panic at the thought of her elder sister munching on her cunt.

“Sweet sister, that wouldn’t be fair, would it? I insist. You brought me the most pleasure that anyone has in that part of my body yet. I owe you at least that much in return,” Sansa now parted Arya’s thighs to begin licking her much fuzzier snatch.

“Oh ... Seven Hells, Sansa!” Arya began moaning herself now, unable to stop herself from simply accepting Sansa’s mouth down there.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Brienne of Tarth announced herself, walking in on both of them.

“Brienne ... you ... you’re not going to say anything, are you?” Sansa asked her, making the lady knight laugh a bit.

“No, my lady, I am sworn to your service. I would never betray you or dishonor myself by spilling secrets of that kind. That would be an act of treachery contrary to all of my knightly vows. I am not, properly speaking, a knight, but I have resolved to follow the code of knighthood, as you know. You might want to lock the door, anyway, if you’re going to show favor to your own sex. You know, King Renly was fond of men, and I didn’t betray him, either. I only mention it now because it’s relevant here and he’s long dead by now,” Brienne assured the sisters, even as Sansa continued pleasuring Arya with her tongue.

Arya just about jumped out of her skin as she felt Sansa turn her over and part the cheeks of her arse to lick her bottom, too. Sansa admitted quietly to herself that a female bum was actually very delicious, much to her surprise. Brienne simply closed the door behind them and stood guard outside, not judging either of them from the sound of it. After all, they were both young, Brienne reasoned to herself, and they would grow up out of it. If she didn’t condemn King Renly, why judge the Stark girls for satisfying a little curiosity, unlikely to be more than that, anyway?

As Arya finally creamed herself on Sansa’s face, the Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North pulled her younger sister up and kissed her sweetly on the lips. They adjusted their clothing and opened the door to let Brienne back inside. The message was pretty clear, namely that the act of sisterly incest was over and they were ready to engage in the business of governing and politics again. The action made them both very uncomfortable, and as much as they both enjoyed it as a fluke, they both silently made a pact never to repeat it for the rest of their days. It was a freak occurrence and there were far too many reasons never to let it happen again.

“So, just to be clear, Brienne, that was a once and only activity, do you see? Arya and I are both in firm agreement that it can never happen again, since we are sisters. If we were just two women, that might be another thing, but kith and kin are not supposed to do ... things like that. Now, that being said, you need to know something else important. Littlefinger is dead. Do not repeat that. We need it believed by all that he’s still very much alive, do you understand? This secret does not leave the room. Arya, where is Littlefinger’s body? We might well have to enlist Brienne here in disposing of it quietly, so that the secret of his demise never leaves Winterfell,” Sansa announced to Brienne, who nodded in assent.

“Of course, milady, I fully understand what you say. I am not one to keep secrets such as this, but in his case, and at your command, I will hold my tongue and assist you in removing said body carefully. After all, whatever his virtues, he was a man of duplicity and guile, of intrigue and low cunning. He never could be fully trusted and I shall not mourn his passing. Might I ask why he needs be concealed?” Brienne inquired now, very concerned as to what might follow.

“It’s best that you do not know too much, Brienne, but let’s just say that you shouldn’t be shocked to see Littlefinger appear among us as if resurrected. You should not behave as if surprised by this. The details are best kept hidden, but it’s an imposter. We trust you, of course, with our lives, but this secret is so dangerous and so unbelievable that you would be conceivably tortured and worse if caught, and even if you told them, they wouldn’t accept your answer,” Sansa explained, further mystifying Brienne.

It was true that Sansa trusted Brienne in most things, Arya a little less, though she had gained no little respect for the tall, female warrior. It was also true that some sort of intuition warned Sansa not to reveal or divulge this particular secret to Brienne. Arya felt the same rough instinct and she believed it as well. Brienne was noble and would never intentionally betray her lady, but she was known to have spent company with Ser Jaime Lannister and parted on good terms with the Kingslayer. It was best not to put her in a position where she would have to struggle with a dilemma presented by Ser Jaime should they encounter each other.

“Also, do not be shocked if Lord Baelish seems to depart southward on an urgent mission of sorts. This is also an imposter posing as Littlefinger. There are reasons for this. I need for you to trust us on this matter,” Arya urged Brienne, who sensed that there was more to this, but that it had something to do with Arya.

Clearly, Arya was less trusting toward her than Sansa, Brienne realized, accepting that she would have to earn that confidence from the younger Stark. The lady knight of Tarth decided that Arya must be the main cause of this refusal to tell her everything, but as she was sworn to loyal service, she would give it to both Starks whatever they said. She owed it to Catelyn and she couldn’t really blame Arya for this. Even Sansa had to learn to trust Brienne and that took some time. She also considered that Arya might especially have doubts about someone known to have associated with Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Of course, milady. I will trust you in this and do as you command. Your sister swore never to ask anything dishonorable of me and she is a Stark of Winterfell, as are you. I trust your word. I swore to your late mother, Catelyn Stark, that I would serve you both and keep you safe. I will honor my vows to her and to your sister in all things, as I did to King Renly. I understand that I have not yet earned your trust, milady, but I hope in time to do so as well through my actions,” Brienne knelt, unhappy not to be fully trusted, but well aware that Arya was her own woman and kept her own counsel about many things.

Maybe, just maybe, if Brienne kept the secret about the tryst between the two sisters and the death of Littlefinger, Arya would realize that she could be trusted in other things. For now, though, they needed to move the body. As she aided in this, Brienne also recalled the encounter with the Hound and wondered if the man had ever survived or perished in the aftermath. She supposed that she would never know and perhaps that was another reason why Arya didn’t trust her. She certainly wouldn’t ask her now, in case it aroused suspicions. If the younger Stark chose to tell her later, that was her affair.