One Week Later
“So, Olyvar is definitely new in town,” Margaery said, her seamstress’ tape measure nearly strangling Jon as she wrapped it around his neck, “but you knew that. He’s from King’s Landing, 20 years old, and he is currently an unemployed actor taking jobs through a temp agency.” She ripped the tape measure from his neck and jotted quickly on her notepad before violently jerking Jon into position to measure his arms. “He’s a pisces, his eyes have a little green in them, and he graduated from an alternative high school the locals call Flea Bottom.”
“Um, Margy,” Sansa piped up from one of the lovely antique armchairs that were scattered around the boutique, “how do you know so much about him?”
An angry sigh burst from her mouth and a sneer contorted her usually lovely face into something more resembling a snarling bear. “I’ve met Olyvar before,” she ground out. “Moron didn’t even think to change his name.”
“Where? When?” Jon demanded while Margaery continued to forcefully push him this way and that to get her numbers for his wedding suit.
“Last year. Kings Landing. Now stay still! I will not be held responsible if you cut yourself on my two hundred dollar manicure.”
Jon and Sansa exchanged a look. “Is it him that’s got you all wound up? It can’t be the wedding, you and Loras are right on schedule,” Sansa asked soothingly.
Margaery stopped her brutal pinning and collapsed into a spare straight back chair. “It’s just… so you remember when Cersei tried to split up Renly and Loras? Well she used an agency to hire someone to do it. A fixer. The person they hired was Olyvar. I can’t say for sure, but this nagging feeling in the back of my mind tells me this is the same situation.”
“Who ran the agency,” Jon asked, wracking his brain for suspects.
“Petyr Baelish. Who else?”
Sansa jerked to her feet, eyes narrowing. “I’ll see you both later. I have to talk to someone.” Without another word or even a look in their direction, Sansa flew from the shop.
Margaery returned to her feet brandishing a new pin. “Well, lets finish up that suit.”
Sansa made a beeline for her car and admittedly drove home at a more than alarming speed. She almost didn’t turn the car off after she swung into the driveway, jerking the keys out of the ignition and slamming the door behind her. The front door proved too much of an obstacle for her to unlock quickly. She heaved a deep breath and calmed her shaking hands as she carefully dealt with the door, slipping inside the house.
“Mom?” she called out, a slight shake in her voice.
“Kitchen, darling,” her mother replied. Sansa dropped her purse and coat in the entry and started toward the kitchen, stopping briefly in the den to ruffle Bran’s hair from his place on the sofa. He didn’t respond, staring studiously at the book he was reading.
“Did you need something, Sansa?” Catelyn asked when she came into the kitchen. “I thought you were spending the day with Margaery.”
“I was.” Sansa slid onto one of the stools at the island in the center of the room and picked up an apple from the fruit bowl, turning it over in her hands. He gaze flitted across the clean white cabinets and dark marble countertops as she attempted to form her question. Catelyn had not yet looked up from the bell peppers she was slicing at the counter right in front of the window looking out into the wooded wilderness behind the Stark home. “Mom, are you still in contact with Petyr Baelish?”
Catelyn’s hands stilled. Her shoulders stiffened.
Ever so slowly she slid the knife away from the vegetables and laid it carefully on the counter. “Why would you ask that, Sansa?”
“Margaery gave me some information,” she phrased carefully, “that points to Baelish being involved in the situation with Bran. It seems petty, I know-”
“Petyr always has been petty, dear.” Catelyn turned from the window to face Sansa, her expression unreadable. “But I see no reason for him to attempt to break up two teenage boys.”
“He did it to Loras and Renly, Cersei Lannister paid him to do it. I thought maybe he’d tried to contact you about it. I’m sure the Reeds have nothing to do with it.”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
The two were silent for a long while, the air growing heavier and heavier with the accusation that Sansa hadn’t relayed. It was no secret that Jojen wasn’t Catelyn’s favorite of her children’s significant others, and that she and Petyr Baelish had once been friends. It hurt Sansa to even think of the possibility of her mother doing this to Bran, which also begged the question who else would?
“I’ll bring this up to your father. If Baelish has some sort of hand in this, he’ll want to know. Don’t worry, Sansa. No more harm will come to you.” Without offering any more information, Catelyn returned to her chopping. Sansa lifted herself off of the stool and replaced the apple, turning to exit the room. As she continued make her way toward her bedroom she caught sight of Bran through the doorway to the den.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she murmured to herself.