On a terrace suspended high above the ground at the Eyrie, mountain winds swept between the cliffs of the Giant's Lance, stirring Sansa's skirts and the ends of her hair.
She stood beside the stone balustrade, gazing past the clouds and mist into the distance.
The setting sun stained the clouds dark red, as though something were burning on the horizon.
Littlefinger stood beside her, looking in the same direction, but it was not the scenery that filled his eyes.
"It was an evening like this when your mother first took me up one of Riverrun's towers."
He spoke, deliberately softening his voice.
"She pointed toward the distant Trident and told me the river turned gold in the sunset. I saw none of it then. All I saw was her face in profile."
He paused and turned his head, his gaze settling on Sansa's face.
"You look so much like her, especially from this angle."
As he spoke, he raised his hand and reached toward Sansa's cheek.
Sansa did not move.
She neither flinched nor reacted, simply standing there like a mannequin waiting for a tailor to take its measurements.
The wind still blew, but the air on the terrace had frozen.
His hand hung in midair, about to touch her skin.
"My lord."
A maid's voice came from the terrace entrance. "Lady Lysa asks that you come to her."
Littlefinger's hand stopped.
He withdrew it and turned toward the maid.
Displeasure flickered across his face before he suppressed it. He nodded. "I understand."
The maid bowed and withdrew.
He turned back and lowered his voice to speak to Sansa. "Soon. Once Tywin arrives, those unruly Vale lords will learn who truly rules this Vale."
He offered no further explanation and did not look at Sansa again, turning to follow