Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12605908.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi, F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark, Petyr_Baelish/Lysa_Tully_Arryn, Ramsay_Bolton/
      Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Petyr_Baelish, Sansa_Stark, Ramsay_Bolton, Brienne_of_Tarth, Cersei
      Lannister, Lysa_Tully_Arryn, Olyvar_(Game_of_Thrones), Ros_(Game_of
      Thrones), Various_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Role-Playing
      Game, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Past_Rape/Non-con, Rape
      Recovery, Anxiety_Disorder, Older_Man/Younger_Woman, POV_Multiple,
      Politics, Angst_and_Fluff_and_Smut, Slow_Burn, Eventual_Happy_Ending,
      Crimes_&_Criminals, the_noncon_content_is_not_between_sansa_and_petyr_in
      case_you're_all_wondering
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-02 Updated: 2018-03-25 Chapters: 10/? Words: 60225
****** Finifugal ******
by petyrbaelish
Summary
     Finifugal:“(adj.) hating endings; of someone who tries to avoid or
     prolong the final moment of a story, relationship, or some other
     journey“
     Petyr Baelish, a man well acquainted with economy and politics, works
     as a MI5 agent with dubious businesses on the side: playing with his
     pieces undercover using the name Littlefinger to get where he wants,
     has made a huge mistake. Talking Sansa Stark - the daughter of the
     late Ned Stark: previous leader of the Labour Party in England - into
     marrying Ramsay Bolton was a great idea, theoretically. To Mr.
     Baelish's dismay it didn't turn out quite as expected.
     There's an upcoming election on it's way, and Cersei Lannister is
     making sure that the Conservatives will win.
     Upon meeting again, Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark has to face their
     pasts, battling whatever is needed in order to come out of this mess
     alive.
Notes
     This fic is written as a RP by me and @baedangillen on tumblr. There
     are two tumblr blogs that go together with the fic: @mrpetyrbaelish
     (who writes as Petyr) and @mssansastark (who writes as Sansa).
     It’s mostly based on the show, but there might be references to
     details only described in the books - since it's a modern AU we will
     take the freedom to change a few things from canon.
     Sorry for any grammatical errors and mistakes. We have no betas, this
     fic is only edited by me.
***** Unharmed *****
Chapter Notes
     It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were
     ever created in the story. We will get to the “presence”, bear with
     us!
     This chapter is SFW but with references of sexual and emotional
     abuse.
Chapter 1: UNHARMED.
===============================================================================
PETYR

Petyr tapped his foot against the floor when dialling Sansa’s number. He hadn’t
called her for quite some time now, when was even the last time? After his
horrible investment in Ramsay Bolton? He should have known better. Ramsay was a
criminal, even if they hadn’t been able to pin him down as one yet. Petyr knew
better than believing the media’s talk about him, how he was brilliant at his
work at the bank he had taken over after his father’s death - which if you
believed the news, he had nothing to do with. Petyr looked at his screen again,
and put the speaker on. This could go bad, really bad. He wasn’t sure how much
Sansa thought he had known already, he wasn’t even sure what had happened
between her and Ramsay, which was something that still made him uncomfortable.
He should have known. He should definitely have known. Petyr found himself both
wanting Sansa to pick up, but also not wanting to hear her voice ever again.

===============================================================================

 SANSA

Sansa was just finishing her shower. Her whole body ached from that yoga
session. Her sister was right, that french teacher can really make you feel…
reborn. She finished drying herself with the towel, and started putting on her
body cream. She then felt it. Right in the back of her neck. The mark.
Unspeakable for her, unknown for everyone. A body mark that will always remind
her of the violence and humiliation and pain that she had to go through on that
frightful wedding night with… him. He did that to her. As if the memories
weren’t enough, she had to endure feeling it every time, everyday. The phone
ringing brought her back to reality. She hurriedly dressed - she still had
issues being naked, even when no one was around. She did not dare to think
about being naked in front of someone else.

Whoever it was on the other side surely wanted to talk to her as it kept
ringing and ringing. With one quick move she picked it up as she laid down on
the sofa.
===============================================================================
PETYR

He sighed at the tone of his phone still calling out into thin air. Petyr
leaned forward and pressed his fingers against his temples. Everything had
seemed so perfect between the two of them. He had even felt her lips on his for
a brief moment after that damned kiss he partly truly regretted giving her. He
should have been more cautious, it had almost gotten both of them killed by
that mad women he had married. There were so many decisions lately that slowly
ate at Petyr. He didn’t like it, it wasn’t like before. Once he wouldn’t have
cared about a boring girl, he wouldn’t have thought twice about giving her up
to her fate. What had become of him? Petyr let out another sigh he didn’t know
he had been holding in. He kept remembering those soft lips on his. He wasn’t
sure if it was something she had wanted, or if it was something she had felt as
a necessity. Maybe it didn’t even mean anything to her, it certainly shouldn’t
have meant anything to him. He was Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger. Littlefinger
didn’t care about no one except himself, everyone knew that.

“Pick up…”, he whispered to the phone as if someone could hear him on the other
end.

Petyr just wanted to hear her voice, and Littlefinger wanted to know that it
wasn’t all for nothing.
He hung up himself after another, what was it, only a minute, or two? He could
have sworn he’d been calling her for the last hour at the very least.
He pressed in Brienne’s number instead, the only one close to Sansa that he
knew of. Her voice was brisk in his ear.

“Brienne”, the voice said.

“It’s Baelish, don’t hang up, I need to see Sansa, I’ll be with her in two
hours…”

Brienne Tarth was quick, “Mr. Baelish, you have to understand, it’s late, miss
Stark could be sleeping…”

“- don’t get me wrong, this is not negotiable, I’ll be meeting her in two hours
straight and that’s it. I’ll come to her”, he thought for a moment, “see to
that she’s well dressed and know that I’m coming”

“Why don’t you call her yourself?”, Brienne asked after some time.

Petyr was surprised that she hadn’t hung up on him yet. He knew how much that
women hated him, she had done so since the very start.
“I did”, he replied, feeling the air going out of him. 

“I take it she didn’t pick up, so why can’t you just take a clue for once and
understand that she might not want to see you”

“As I said”, Littlefinger replied when Petyr was too tired to discuss it any
further, “it’s not negotiable, I’ll be at her place in two hours”

Petyr hung up before any of them could say ‘goodbye’ and went for a shower. He
wasn’t sure what he would receive from Sansa, but at least he could be properly
dressed.
===============================================================================
SANSA

“Hello?” and the line went dead. 'Damn… almost’, Sansa thought. Whoever it was,
would call again. Besides, who uses phones to actually call people nowadays?
She stood up so fast she forgot about her tired limbs. She could feel all of
her body cringing as she walked over to the fridge. What could she have?
Everything looked so good from her perspective. A few weeks had passed since
she started her diet. Not that she wasn’t happy with her current weight, it was
more about, how did the media call it? Healthy choices? Her sister would be so
proud. 
The phone began to ring again. “See? Wasn’t wrong about getting that call
again”, she said to herself, “Hello?” Sansa asked almost amusingly. 

“Miss Sansa”, a voice she recognised. 

A reassuring one as well, a voice belonging to Brienne Tarth, her personal
security, although Sansa always preferred the title ‘guardian angel’. This
time, there wasn’t anything reassuring about her voice.

“Brienne, is something wrong?”, dreading her reply. 

Nothing good can come from your personal security when they call you at night.
Brienne knew she had to be direct. When it was about Petyr Baelish, Miss Sansa
liked it that way.

“Baelish, Miss Sansa” she waited a moment in case Sansa wanted to say
something, but nothing came from the other side of the line. “He’s coming to
your place”

Still nothing. ‘What?! What do you mean?! What happened?!’. That’s the answer
she expected to hear, but it never came. 
‘After all this time. He wants to see me. Petyr Baelish wants to see me again.
After everything that has happened’. After what happened with his wife, her
aunt. A woman blinded by jealousy and no self esteem. After what happened with…
Him. She dared not speak his name. After all, it was Petyr’s fault. Wasn’t it?
It was his idea, introduced them, told them it would benefit both of them,
publicly and personally. Did he know? Did he know the kind of man He would turn
out to be? After all, Petyr Baelish was Littlefinger, and Littlefinger did not
look after anyone other than himself. She learned that just too late, much to
her regret.

Wait, was it him, the one who had been calling? It would make sense, he was
after all an old fashioned man. A man who would care enough to announce he was
coming to visit.

“You want me to stop him Miss Sansa?” Brienne inquired. 

One part of Sansa didn’t want to see him, she couldn’t stand being in the same
room as him… but there was another part of Sansa that did. The brave and
courageous part of her wanted to face him again. She was full of pain and
regret for taking his advice all those years ago, that she actually wanted to
listen to whatever he had to say. The only difference between all those years
and now, is that he had no power over her. Not anymore. She wanted him to look
at her eyes. That would definitely force him to having to find the words to
speak to her. In their last years together she could feel him struggling
whenever he spoke to her.

“Miss Sansa? Are you still there?” Brienne’s voice brought Sansa back.

“I’m still here Brienne” Sansa replied calmly.

“Give the order and I’ll make sure he won’t disturb you for the rest of the
night”, Brienne sounded convincing. Sansa loved her for that.

“No”, she knew Brienne would argue with her, try to reason with her, but this
needed to happen. “Let him through”.

Brienne waited for a second, hoping for Sansa to have a change of heart but
silence reigned at both ends of the line. “Very well Miss Sansa. He had one
request”

“Only one?” Sansa mused.

“He wished for you to be ’well dressed’” Brienne replied.

“Oh” Sansa was surprised. “I see”. She was really looking forward to their
meeting now.
===============================================================================
PETYR
It rained when Petyr got out of the car. He made a nod to the black window and
they drove away as per requested. The security team that worked for
Littlefinger was one he was very proud of and had built himself. Many had tried
to make it ‘easy’ for him, wanting to advise and give him assets that were
famous for being good at their jobs, but Petyr didn’t want people who were good
at their jobs. He needed the best. People who realised that morals had to be
set aside for great things to be achieved. Those had to be clever enough to be
able to help him and want to work on his side, but stupid enough or with a lack
of ambition so that their own greed wouldn’t get the better of them (no one
could turn on Littlefinger, he always saw to that). Therefore he wasn’t afraid
to go this close by car to Miss Stark. His people were smart enough to always
look out for people following them and always taking longer ways than necessary
when he needed to so somewhere in private. 

Brienne Tarth welcomed him before he had even gotten to the same street as
Sansa lived on.

“Mr. Baelish”, she greeted him, stern.

Her piercing blue gaze tried to pin him down. He could feel her judgement
several feet away.

“Brienne”, Petyr replied, not caring about formalities.

This was typically him, the mixture of being overly formal with certain things
and extremely easy-going and informal during other occasions.

Brienne kept staring at him for a while but apparently Sansa hadn’t been as
resilient as this one. This was a good sign, wasn’t it?

She opened the door for him, as if letting him even touch the door itself might
stain it forever. He liked the look of that. Littlefinger smiled in triumph.

Petyr went inside, with a very slow pace.

“Miss Sansa”, Brienne’s voice said loud and clear from behind him. 

He heard her close to door behind them. A part of him had hoped that she would
have let them talk alone. Petyr wanted to bite his lip but Littlefinger refused
him. What kind of image would that be? Was he actually this anxious? He truly
wasn’t, it must have been the rain that made him uneasy. He was soaked and his
freshly ironed suit looked quite a few shades darker than it’s actual colour.
Why hadn’t he brought an umbrella? He couldn’t remember. Petyr could feel
Littlefinger’s rage within for being so dense. One time retaining his image was
one of his most important tasks. 'What have become of you?!’, Petyr didn’t
know. He had asked himself many times. If only he had an answer to that, he
could have driven whatever it was out of his way long ago. But could he, really
now? No matter what it was that was standing in Littlefinger’s way?
===============================================================================
SANSA

A walking closet filled with the finest and most delicate of fabrics. Dresses
other women would fight for, she had the most exquisite of them. Dresses that
could very well help sealing a business deal and at the same time pick up a few
phone numbers on her way back to the car of hopeless men who thought they had a
chance. 

She’d go for this one. The black one. Baelish liked them, she remembers just
too well. The not-too-short but not-too-long dresses. A soft satiny fabric with
half sleeves and a feminine bateau neckline that felt good against her delicate
skin.
Who knows? She might even go out after her encounter with Baelish. When she put
on this dress she felt unstoppable and sexy. It would be such a waste to use it
just for a few minutes of conversation. Little did she know Baelish would take
much longer than that. 

Sansa was just finishing putting on her dress when she glanced through the
window outside in the street and saw him, being greeted by Brienne. ‘Bless
her’,  she thought. She also had a feeling Brienne wasn’t going to leave them
both alone. Sansa watched them approaching the building. Baelish was walking
with his usual pace. Confident and calm. A man sure of himself. She always
liked that of him. 

Almost imitating Baelish’s pace, that red haired woman sat down at her dressing
table to apply her make up and decide what hairstyle suited her best. She knew
they’d be up in no time, but she had no urgency in welcoming them. After all,
‘a gentleman always waits for his lady’. Isn’t that what he said to her once? 

Sansa heard Brienne’s voice announcing them and the sound of a closing door. He
was here. On the the other side of the room, he was waiting for her. She took a
minute or so to finally stand up- ouch. Shit! She always forgot about her
aching body. 

As she opened the door she immediately felt Baelish’s eyes on her. Those
piercing blue eyes of his she often feared and longed for at the same time.
What was behind that cold stare she often wondered. She walked to where he was
in a slow and feminine style, and in every step she could feel his eyes all
over her. Like in that New Year’s Eve Party he held at his country mansion. A
party Sansa was dreading to attend to. A social gathering that would join the
most powerful men and women in the country. People Sansa knew nothing about.
Her aunt and uncle would be the only familiar faces that night. But she
remembered now - as she will always remember - the moment she began walking
down the stairs. Hundreds of people, talking, laughing, some cheering and a few
braves who wanted to give it a try at dancing.
She remembered almost too well, the smell of cigarette began increasing as she
walked down. Halfway through the staircase she felt being watched. One always
feels when one is being watched, it’s like the body? Wait, wasn’t it the soul
that puts our bodies in alert warning us of possible perils? Was that what the
sixth sense does? She often wondered.
She looked through the crowd, wanting to put an identity on whoever was making
her feel unsettled. She was supposed to be ignored tonight - or at least that’s
what she longed for would happen anyway.
Sansa saw many faces. ’They’re clearly enjoying themselves’ she thought to
herself. And then she saw it. That… face. Not just any man. That face belonged
to the man that ‘saved’ her once. He was looking directly at her. She was
walking down more slowly now and his eyes were still fixed on her. Was that a
smirk? Sansa thought she saw a quick and small one light up his face.
She remembered well, yes. Much to her surprise, she remembered not because of
being the night she met ‘him’, but because that was the first time she could
feel what it was to be desired. She just never expected it from Petyr Baelish,
her uncle after all, to be the originator of such a feeling.

She got to where she wanted, with enough space of separation between their
bodies. His eyes fixed on hers. And Brienne right behind them, her body against
the door. Sansa’s feeling about Brienne wasn’t wrong. She was going to stay
there.
Sansa turned her attention to Petyr Baelish now. His eyes still on hers. Had he
lost his words? Was she really going to be the first to start the conversation?
It looked like it.

“Hello Mr. Baelish”, Sansa said.
===============================================================================
PETYR
Sansa’s delicate voice broke the silence. She had taken several minutes until
finally gracing them with her presence. He felt proud, in a weird way, that
this girl, this girl he had first seen when she was merely 13 years old, she
had grown so much, and very much to Petyr’s liking. This was his creation,
wasn’t it? It was all his doing? Littlefinger wanted to take credit for it all,
but Petyr knew deep down, that this was the girl that had been hiding and
waiting inside of her from the very beginning. The world had been cruel to her
and she had started to learn how to fight it back.

Petyr finally broke their locked eyes to take in her entire appearance. The
woman in front of him was not 13 anymore, she was beautiful, with curves
sculpturing her silhouette to something that could only be described as art,
angelic shining dark red hair that framed her face and cheekbones in a
bewitching way. He could ravish in her beauty for hours if she would let him.
He had seen beautiful women before, hundreds and hundreds that filled the rooms
of his devious side businesses, but none could steal his breath like this
artistry that was standing right in front of him.

Petyr liked the dress she was wearing, it reminded him of the one she had
designed herself for the New Year’s Eve Party that now seemed so very long ago.
That was the first time he had felt it, some kind of admiration for the naive
little girl she had been just a few moments ago. It had stirred an interest in
him that he hadn’t even known he still had. That interest, of course, was only
due to the potential she now had. With Sansa being a politician working
alongside him rather than underneath him worked to his benefits. He could
manipulate her to move in the direction he wanted her and she could in her turn
move the pieces. Sansa would prove a lot more useful as someone who was
powerful, he would never have any use for a pathetic little girl, but for Sansa
Stark, yes, she could prove very useful indeed.

Sansa Stark kept her gaze on him and Petyr felt relieved, relieved that the one
and only important child of Catelyn Stark was standing in front of him,
unharmed.

“Sansa”, he began, he felt like he had been stumbling through a dark forest and
finally saw the light of the day in the horizon, the clear sky and the waves of
the ocean reflect the light back and into his eyes.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see that you managed to escape Ramsay’s
hands. I feared the worst when the news of your whereabouts reached my ears”,
Petyr could still remember it, the feeling within him when they had told him
that Sansa had escaped imprisonment.

First he had been overwhelmed with triumph, but not did it last long when the
news continued, the man from his security team telling him that they didn’t
know where she was, they said it was as if she’d vanished from earth - once
again, and the cold numbness that took over his body.

“…and I can’t express how glad I am to see you, standing here, unharmed”.
***** Then I will die *****
Chapter Notes
     It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were
     ever created in the story.
     This chapter is SFW but with references of sexual and emotional
     abuse.
Chapter 2: THEN I WILL DIE.

===============================================================================

SANSA

She could feel his eyes on her, resting on every curve of her body.
There were some things that never changed.

“Sansa”

There it was, the hoarse voice of a traveller, a self-made man who taught her
of the do’s and dont’s in politics. She was grateful after all. He taught her
how to outsmart others and Sansa knew she was learning from the best.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see that you managed to escape Ramsay’s
hands-“ and that’s when Sansa felt as if a cold dagger ripped her stomach
apart. She could see Petyr’s lips moving but she did not hear it’s message.
Ramsay’s hands. Those he used to grope and invade parts of her body she did not
give consent to, but then again, there was little you could do when your
husband, puts a knife in the back of your head on your wedding night. It felt
surreal back then, and it feels surreal now. She was starting to feel sick. 

“-express how glad I am to see you, standing here, unharmed", Petyr said.
And Sansa felt it again.
Did he just say ‘unharmed’?
“Unharmed?” Sansa replied back. “That’s an interest choice of a word”. 
She moved past him and towards the bar. Her hands grabbed a glass and started
pouring whiskey. From where she was standing, Brienne could see her hands were
trembling. She was prouder than her mother Catelyn; pouring whiskey just to
avoid showing off that Petyr Baelish’s words had an unwanted effect on her.
“Did you know about Ramsay?” Sansa asked calmly as she turned around to face
him. Taking a sip from her glass while she waited for his answer.
===============================================================================
 
PETYR

Petyr noticed her change in moods, it was obvious, or at least to him.
Littlefinger wanted to make a remark on it, saying something about how she had
to learn how to conceal her true feelings - not much unlike himself.

Her voice seemed distant, as if she was not fully there in the room with him
and Brienne. Petyr could tell by the way she threw his own words back at him,
that something was not right. The single word ‘unharmed’ continued to echo
within him. Petyr couldn’t see her face nor her hands but he could hear the
liquor being poured into a tumbler. He wanted to reach out to her, hold her
tight to let her know that no one was ever going to lay their hands on her
again, but he couldn’t do it. He was Littlefinger, and Littlefinger would never
ponder over irrational feelings. Petyr felt weak. He hated it, and he hated
himself for it.

“I miscalculated, made a horrible, horrible mistake to underestimate a
stranger.”
===============================================================================

SANSA

Sansa kept her eyes locked on Petyr. 

“A stranger? That’s weird, considering you know everything. Isn’t that what you
do, what you’re paid to do, Mr. Baelish?”

She took another sip of whiskey. God she hated the taste. She just had to keep
her cool, show she was in control.

“If you didn’t know, you’re an idiot” Petyr’s eyes were fixed on hers. She
wanted her words to have an effect on him. If they were, he surely knew how to
hide them. “Now, if you did know - that makes you my enemy”
===============================================================================
PETYR

Something seemed off, not to mention the fact that Sansa was drinking. Had she
ever touched alcohol in front of him before? Well, that one time he had taken
her to a pub but she had never drunk it. But it was something else too. Petyr
knew he had made a horrendous mistake - to trust Ramsay’s own words. He still
remembered standing beside Ramsay Bolton that evening when he was handing over
Sansa to them. It was not goodbye, after all, Petyr had decided to meet her
again, even though she would not ever believe any of that anymore, he really
had. Petyr had thought of a plan, something that would lead her back to
politics again, to take her father’s place. But he hadn’t known about Ramsay.
It was true, as awful as it sounded. Petyr Baelish hadn’t comprehended what a
ruthless human being Roose’s son really was. Petyr felt numb, he could still
hear Bolton’s first born son’s voice telling him; “I want to make her happy”.

Petyr had wanted to believe that, he wanted that as well. He wanted for Sansa
to finally, finally be happy again.

“I’ve grown quite fond of Miss Stark during our missions. She’s suffered
enough”, Petyr had actually said it, expressed some sort of empathy for Sansa
Stark in front of a stranger. Had he ever even reflected over himself?

“I’ll never hurt her, I promise you”

Standing in front of Sansa, Petyr felt his body almost betraying him, almost
shivering when remembering those very words. Ramsay had promised him, but who
was Petyr Baelish, if not the person who lied about everything to everyone -
maybe even to himself? Maybe he had wanted to believe that promise and chosen
not to see him for what he really was? Only to be able to reach his goal? For a
brief moment Petyr felt like leaving it all behind. All of it. Every single
lie.

“No one will ever hurt you again”, Petyr said, ” I’ll protect you, I promise.
You must believe me when I promise you that I will”, and for once Petyr felt
like he actually meant that, that this wasn’t another one of his lies, that
this was as sincere as he had ever been.
===============================================================================
SANSA

Sansa let him finish. She felt like he was being sincere this time, but she
also felt uncertain. He was the master of disguise after all. He was used to
getting his way, saying what needed to be said to achieve whatever latest
desire he had on his long list.

There was something else she felt, and she did not like it. Did her heart skip
a beat when she heard those words? “I will protect you”. Four powerful words
that could help pain, fear and shame go away. The pain she always felt whenever
she remembered any of Ramsay’s manners. The fear she had of being alone.
Sometimes she couldn’t help but feel unsafe, even in her own home. And the
shame, that feeling she will always carry with her for not having been able to
do something. She should have done something, right? Could she though? She was
not strong, but anyone else would have fought back? Why didn’t she fight back?
She just… accepted it. Like a good girl. Just what an old fashioned wife would
have done. 

Those four words… what any girl would die to hear, especially when they came
from a man they loved. A man that would protect them from harm and fear. Those
words didn’t come from a man she loved, but from a man who made it all happen.
That was her logic talking.

Logic came to her aid and helped her shut down whatever feelings were making
her heart skip.

“I don’t need your protection Mr. Baelish. I have Brienne. She’s more than
enough. Plus, unlike you, she has never let me down…” Sansa replied, coldly.
===============================================================================
PETYR

Petyr felt that last sentence like a stab, like the very one that had already
left a scar from navel to collarbone. He could feel Littlefinger fighting
within him, wanting to take over, shut it all down for him and act out whatever
was necessary to get a grip of things before he would say or do something he
might regret, but Littlefinger also knew that it wasn’t as easy as that. Sansa
had to be handled with care, by someone who might have a correlation to what
she was most probably talking about. Littlefinger wanted to use that part of
Petyr to get to her, the emotional part of him that had rarely been in use, not
even for the good of manipulation. Sansa always seemed to bring out sides of
him he didn’t even known he had. What was it with this girl? What made her so
different from anyone else? 

The side of him that was Littlefinger seemed to support his weight, if not,
Petyr might have fallen down to his knees. 'She has never let me down’, it
still seemed to roar inside his head.

“I would never hurt you”, Petyr felt as if he had lost his words, “I can’t make
it undone”, he had to come up with something better.

“I will do anything, anything that’s in my power, I’ll do it. You just have to
name it”.
===============================================================================
SANSA
What was going on? Sansa started to feel dizzy. Was it the whiskey? Petyr
Baelish was acting like she had never seen him before. Was he… begging? Of
course he’s not the kind of a man who would actually “beg”, but his insistence
on the matter, the urgency in which he wanted to see her this night was
starting to make sense to Sansa. He wanted some kind of absolution. Well, there
wasn’t absolution without crime.

“You know Mr. Baelish, sometimes we hurt people without even touching them.
Sometimes our decisions are far more powerful than weapons” Sansa said looking
directly in his eyes.

An idea suddenly crossed her mind. “You’ll do anything you say?” Sansa wanted
to know how far was Petyr Baelish, the man who called himself Littlefinger, how
far was this man capable of going down tonight.

“What if I ask Brienne, to shoot you - right in the head?” Sansa asked, almost
amusingly, “What if I told you I want you to die here and now?”
===============================================================================
PETYR
“Then I will die”, Petyr didn’t hesitate in his answer, he didn’t waste any
minutes on contemplating what the consequences might be, there was after all
only one way out of this, if this was what Sansa wanted, but he wouldn’t let
her take his pride. He would not face the humiliation of what Brandon Stark had
caused him so many years ago.

- or this, was what Littlefinger told himself; that he was only replying with
the best of answers - better make it quick, make it reliable - make it sounds
as if he truly meant what he had said just a few moments ago, because this was
a truth Petyr could bear, not; that his voice might have broken if he hadn’t
pushed the words out of him before he could think twice, or that he would
actually, willingly die for this woman.
===============================================================================
SANSA
He didn’t think about his answer, Sansa observed, and she appreciated that.

A few seconds passed. Dead silence between both of them, staring at each other,
with Brienne in the back, more than ready for any command Miss Sansa had for
her. She’d be more than happy to end Petyr Baelish. She never liked him, and
never will.

Sansa needed to say something. But she couldn’t think of anything. Nothing came
out. That answer, she never expected Petyr Baelish to show off this… was it
compassion? Regret? This is the first time ever she had seen him like this. And
she’d been with him for a long time. She’d seen him deal with other people, how
well he handled himself in meetings, saying exactly what the client wanted to
hear. She even saw how he dealt with things inside family.

Sansa heard what she needed to hear, and she felt, that there was nothing more
to discuss.

“Brienne, would you see Mr. Baelish out?”

As Brienne opened the door Sansa returned to her room without looking back. As
much as she wanted to see his face, see if he was looking at her.

She stood by the window, looking over the beautiful city of London. It was dark
now, but still beautiful.
Sansa felt strange. Somehow, there was a piece of her that felt peaceful. She
had known that this encounter was bound to happen eventually, and that things
would be said, she had even dreaded that those things would have taken a worse
turn, one where tears and insults would invade the space of the living room she
called ‘home’ for now.

But that night, after her conversation something exceptional happened.
Something that Sansa would never admit. That night Petyr Baelish stopped being
“the man who lied, the man who never protected her" and turned into “the man
who would die for her”.
***** Burn *****
Chapter Notes
     It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were
     ever created in the story.
     This chapter is NSFW, with references of sexual and emotional abuse.
     Please thread carefully, this chapter is meant to make you feel
     uncomfortable - if you’re easily triggered and want more information
     about this chapter please contact me. Some things are rather
     explicit.
Chapter 3: BURN.

===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr was sitting on the edge of his bed. It was entirely black, the headboard,
the duvets, even the sheets. One black void that was his bed in an exceedingly
white room. Petyr had ordered the colour for the walls himself, it was a few
drops of blue that made the difference. It made the room seem forever colder
than it actually was, no matter the season. 
Petyr had thought back to his meeting with Sansa quite the more times than he
would had liked.

It had still rained when he was guided out into the night of London, not sure
whether to feel lousy because he hadn’t been able to turn the events around,
manipulate himself out of the situation he had found - and to his annoyance:
gotten - himself in, or if he should really just feel relieved - frankly for
still being alive. Petyr had not felt a victorious man walking down the street
away from Sansa Stark’s safe house. He had texted his people that he wouldn’t
come home that evening.

Petyr had stayed out all night, first wandering the street of London and going
by night bus and then tube to get rid of any potential minion of God knows who
- the Lannisters? They were always to be distrusted. Petyr never travelled by
foot, or by bus or by train. He often stuck by his car, not that he felt
extremely attached to it, if at all, but rather because it was more comfortable
and it suited his image: Littlefinger, in his jet black Aston Martin. But there
he was, a man with the whole world in his pocket, out on the street with his
wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He felt like a wet cat, alone
in the street, and yet he didn’t feel like returning home - at all.

His feet had unconsciously taken him to one of his places, one of the many
illegal side businesses he kept. Maybe it was a bad habit of his, to not sell
it when he knew what was at stake if someone would find out about it, but then
again, did he do anything that wasn’t illegal at this time? And the money that
kept running into his pockets sure made it worth it, and so did the information
that came with it. Petyr opened the door to the Fingers. He had named it after
a place in Ireland close to where he was once born. He had later moved away
from Malin Head, never to return it seemed, after his parents had died. He had
become a foster child, travelled through Ireland and finally he came to Dublin,
to the Tullys, where he had remained his entire childhood.

The Fingers was located low beneath the surface of Earth, in a basement with
thick walls and many dark passages. It was complicated to get there. One
wouldn’t have suspected a thing when going down the first couple of stairs.
There were several ways to get inside, and Petyr always used the one entrance
not even the usual staff knew about. He had seen to that he would have his own
door, to be able to slip in and out as he liked without anyone noticing - it
also meant that if someone was to find out, they wouldn’t be able to find him.
He would not go down with this place.

Petyr could hear the moans faintly in the distance. This was a place that
civilians wouldn’t even imagine existed anymore. The cries got louder as he
approached the first room. Concrete walls stretched many feet ahead of him.
Petyr stood at one end of a very long empty corridor. This was the passage no
one knew about, he had hired and fired architects to see to that no one truly
knew how this was constructed. There were holes in the walls, small enough to
be able to see what was going on inside if you leaned in and only watched with
one eye, or for you to hear any words that were spoken, but also small enough
for the person inside to not be able to spot it. Petyr had designed this place
himself, even the interiors, covering the walls with thick fabrics to soften
the loud noises within and also to make a dark spot in a wall inextricable.
Petyr had often found himself coming back to this place when something didn’t
go well. A place for him to be alone and think, watch and to gather
information. A place to get his mind off things he rather not think about at
the moment. The people coming to the Fingers were no usual men or women; they
were all powerful, coming from all places around the world. The employees all
talked English, but he had people of all kinds working here, but what was
always in their contract was that they had to give him information. They had to
tell him everything if the client did not speak English, everything, in order
to cover up that he actually only looked for the stuff of real importance, so
that to them, he or the other people that worked at the Fingers to extract
information only seemed to be weird perverted guys they wouldn’t mind any more
than an ant, hiding in a corner of a room. The actual men and women who had to
see to the clients needs were not to suspect a thing, and if they did, other
people that worked for Littlefinger took care of that as well.

Petyr closed one eye and looked into the room with the other, spotting a young
girl with beautiful silky red hair and a man twice her age and size. Petyr felt
himself harden. He didn’t deny it, some things did affect his body whether he
wanted it or not. One day he might have fought it, doing everything not to feel
or react, but not anymore. Those days were over. Petyr didn’t feel ashamed. He
just listened, not touching anything of himself unlike what most other men
would have done in his place, and moved on to the other room, listening.

Petyr sighed at his own empty bedroom, where he had nothing but this King sized
bed. He fell back onto it and fell into a distressing sleep haunted by
nightmares.
===============================================================================
SANSA

It was the lack of air that woke Sansa. Her room was pitch black. The street
lamps from outside her window did not throw in any light whatsoever. A big
room, gifted with wooden furniture. The walls coloured with dark green, adorned
with pictures taken by the late Ned and Catelyn’s first born daughter. 

Sansa was trying to calm her heartbeats and gather her breath back. “Just…
breath… you’re safe… ” Her mind was reassuring her. She could feel the sweat
running down her back. “Breath… he can’t touch you… not anymore”. She was
slowly recovering her breath and her heartbeats were returning to their normal
pace. 

“Is every night going to be like this?” 

Silence. Just her mind talking to her. And then she broke, she started crying.
Sansa couldn’t take it anymore. The breath she recovered was now being used to
squeeze out all of her emotions. She preferred doing it here though, away from
someone else’s sight. 

She took the sheets resting on her legs and covered herself with them. The
woman, whose long red hair drew more than a few looks wherever she went, who
made her parents feel so proud when she had told them she wanted to follow in
her father’s footsteps and pursue a career in politics, was now a complete
mess. She was fed up and weary that her usual nightmare would never stop coming
back to her every night, and it seemed as if it always would. Because her
nightmare would never be just that, a bad dream, as much as she wanted it to
be. A bad dream could easily be forgotten when the sun came up. This nightmare,
unfortunately, was never going to go away with sunrise, because it wasn’t a
nightmare in the first place. Sansa was dealing with a flashback, a vivid
remembrance of the violence her body had been forced to feel. What Sansa didn’t
know is that a flashback like hers, a memory of a terrible trauma will never go
away. It could be quiet down, make your mind learn how not think of it and how
to live with it. Like putting it in a locked chest. It was always going to be
there, but you were the only one reaching to it and not the other way around.
Of course this took time, it wasn’t easy to put away something like that. It
takes a lot of courage to face an episode your mind was constantly reminding
you of. To understand what happened, and why it happened. Free your mind from
feeling guilty, a self blame that would start having the ‘What if’s and ‘I
should have’s as lovely companions. It took time, yes. And patience to seal off
a flashback like that. Problem is Sansa didn’t have anyone to go to. Brienne
was her personal bodyguard, but she wasn’t that close to her that she felt safe
venting out what was happening with her troubled mind. There was also the issue
of trusting others. Someone like her, with her position in politics couldn’t go
to the first person she liked to seek help. She had enemies that wanted her
gone. Not gone like- killed, or that’s what she thought. ‘Gone’ as ‘removed’
from her current stand from the Labourists Party. These enemies would be more
than interested in using whatever information they had on her to use it against
her. Thank God her flashback was a damn secret only known by another person,
the perpetrator himself, and the richest man in England according to
yesterday’s press. After an unfortunate ski accident, the youngest of the
Bolton’s took over his father’s business at the Central Bank in London. Her
husband was now a rich orphan, and she knew he was looking for her. He must
have known she’d be in tomorrow’s session. Sansa knew he would have the wits to
make his appearance to discuss her party’s finance in the upcoming elections.
She was going to try to sneak out, plus she had Brienne with her. She was
safe. 

Her mind, busy now checking her schedule, kept her awake for the rest of what
was left of the night. The first lights of sunrise were starting to discern on
her windows. Her body wanted her to stretch. Sitting up she looked out. ‘Good
morning London. Ok. Here we go’.
===============================================================================
PETYR

There were several errands to be made this day. Petyr had not slept well - but
really now, when did he ever? He would never admit it to anyone, but nightmares
haunted almost all of the few hours Petyr Baelish actually spent sleeping
during night.

He spent his morning checking his phone and computer for anything of importance
with a cup of coffee in his hand. He had caught up with one or two things at
his last visit to the Fingers. It was one of his most efficient ways of
receiving information, one of his greater ideas when working for MI5 - but also
his most dangerous. He remembered working hard to get moved to MI6; just to get
out of the country long before the death of Joffrey Lannister.

He was back at MI5 again, for now at least, working to keep the British
parliamentary democracy safe. He almost spat at that. Petyr Baelish had worked
to serve the realm for as long as he could remember, but that wasn’t what he
thrived on. Littlefinger thrived on chaos, and to his delight he had realised
that the Lannisters’ own plans could be used to his advantage. Littlefinger
didn’t work for MI5 to keep the parliamentary democracy safe. He created chaos.
===============================================================================
SANSA

The elevator was going up and Sansa was mentally going through the bullet
points of her meeting. The doors opened and she stepped out, still checking the
list of pros and cons she had to present it to the Party’s Vice Secretary. If
all went nice and smoothly, Sansa might be putting herself in a nice position
for a promotion. 

Needless to say, she was nervous, but also excited - also terrified. 

Sansa got to where her desk was. She found it just as she had left it the day
before, except for one tiny detail. There was a little white box resting on top
of her keyboard. A nice delicate bow was attached to it, along with a small
card. There was another time, a younger version of her where she would have
opened the box, without caring who it was from. But this Sansa was far more
careful than the old Sansa. Without even touching the box, she took the note
and read it.’To my lovely wife, I ho-‘ and threw the card away. It was such a
quick reaction. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. She couldn’t
breath. Sansa wanted to sit down but that would be worse, she needed to be
alert, if he came, who knew? Maybe he was still around? He must have come in
her office and left the gift. Ramsay was not the kind of man that let others do
his business. He would have enjoyed going there. Looking for her. That bastard.
That filthy bastard. 

“Sansa”, was it a voice she recognised? “Are you ok?”, not a voice she
recognised for sure. Their latest intern was on her doorway, looking at her.
Thank God for the intern.

“Yes, I just had a- small- vertigo” Sansa tried to smile while saying it. 

“Oh… are you going to be alright? They’re waiting for you”

“Sure, can you tell them I’ll be right there?”

“No problem” and just when he was about to walk away added “Oh, your husband
Mr. Bolton will also be attending the meeting”.
===============================================================================
PETYR

He left his flat with a cigarette in his right hand and his mobile in his left.
Petyr pressed in a number he knew by heart.
“Yes?”, answered a calm, slow and dreary voice at the other end.

“Have you found them?”, Petyr replied, it was not a question.

“Yes, it seems that I have”, continued the voice very matter-of-fact.

“And?”

“We’ve found the girl. She was not very happy to be found”

Petyr didn’t inhale the smoke, he just held it in his mouth, and then slowly
blew it out. Something with the calmness of the other person always seemed to
affect him, it almost made him tranquil.

“I wouldn’t expect less from a close friend”

“A close friend? Am I really?”

Petyr smirked though he knew no one was watching him.

“Has she spoken yet?”, he took another long and slow draw of his cigarette.

“She seems to be unsure of with whom our loyalty lies, she’s given quite a few
examples. Non correct it seems. Nor does it look like she’s used to people who
don’t want her dead”

“Don’t let her get away”

“Why would I, as a ‘close friend’ of yours, I’m not actually wanting you dead
either”

“Is that some kind of affection?”

“Don’t confuse my words with affection. I’m simply not wanting to end up dead
with any of you”

“Keep her well fed, see to that she gets enough sleep”

“Done already”

“I’ll call you”

“I know you will”

Petyr hang up. Everything seemed to be going his way so far. It almost always
did.

His ride seemed to have come to an end and Petyr stepped out of his Aston
Martin. BOLX it said on the front of the building. Petyr went inside and got to
the reception. A young woman smiled back at him with big blue eyes and a small
sharp face. Her brown hair was tied up with a knot at the back of her head. Her
dress was almost a size too small for her, and probably drew quite the
attention from men around her. But Petyr Baelish had seen a lot, and this
wasn’t impressive to him.

“Can I help you, Mr. Baelish?”, she asked in a girly tone.

“You know why I’m here, Myranda”
===============================================================================
SANSA
Sansa was outside the door. ‘Just ignore him. Don’t look at him and you’ll be
fine’ her mind was telling her. ‘You need to do this. Your boss is waiting and
they need to settle the transaction once and for all’.

She sighed heavily and with a trembling hand opened the door.

“Good morning!” Sansa said out loud. She entered the room without really
looking who was there. Sansa knew where her boss would be sitting and went
directly to him. “Good morning Mr. Vice Secretary”

“Good morning Ms. Stark. How are you today?”

“Very well Sir. Eager to begin”

“Good to hear!”

“Hello Sansa”. And that was a voice she recognised very well. “My love”.
Opening his arms, walking towards her. “I’ve missed you dearly” and with a
wicked smile leaned in to kiss her forehead.

Sansa tried to stay in control. Oh if only she could… spitting in his face was
the ‘nicest’ thing she thought of doing to him. But she had to remain calm,
there were big things at stake here. Sansa knew that, and somehow she felt that
Ramsay knew that as well.

She moved away from him, and had a good view of her small audience. It was that
moment when she noticed there was a spot nobody had claimed yet, as there was a
glass upside down and a leather binder waiting to be used.

“We’re still missing someone but I think we can begin?” Sansa’s boss must have
read her mind as he announced the vacancy. Everyone murmured their approval.
Sansa knew it was her turn to begin with the meeting. She started by
introducing them to a background story of voting in the past years in the UK,
and how different parties have achieved its success on election day through
different strategies during their campaign. From pamphlets to the use of social
media. It was all there. The Formula and the Result. Problem was, the
Ingredients to apply such Formula weren’t going to come cheap. That’s why
Sansa’s boss immediately thought of asking Bolx Banks to help them in their
campaign. Of course Sansa suggested otherwise, claiming it could turn into a
‘conflict of interests’ but her boss insisted, and she complied. He never
expected the actual owner of Bolx Banks to be present. These sort of meetings
were handled by middle men. But it was no surprise to Sansa. As she knew,
Ramsay Bolton wasn’t the kind of man who let other’s do his business.

She knew he was enjoying this. Watching her avoid his gaze. He knew the effect
his presence would have during what was surely the most important presentation
in her career in politics. After all, the results of the Party’s was on the
line, and whether they win or lose depended on the suggestions she had planned.
After she was done, the round of questions began. The first arm to come up was
Ramsay’s. Again, Sansa wasn’t surprised.
And just when Ramsay was going to formulate his question, an extraordinary
thing happened…
===============================================================================
 PETYR

“I thought you said you kept a leash on her?”, a voice solemnly remarked.

“I do, your Excellency”, Petyr answered smoothly, “I’ve done nothing outside of
what we’ve discussed”
“Maybe that’s the problem, I thought I could rely on you to have done a better
job at keeping her at bay”
“This is going accordingly to the plan, I assure you”, Petyr straightened his
waistcoat underneath his well tailored jacket. 
He wore a slim suit in dark blue - that kind of blue that’s as dark as the
night itself, which only reflects the blue in certain lights - accompanied by a
long sleek dark grey dress. 
“Click, clack, click, clack”, the recurring sound of high-heels clattering
against the marble floor of the corridor that walked with confident steps just
slightly to the right in front of him.
Black heels, and a dark grey dress carried in a graceful manner, formal and
dignified.
The doors opened for her and in walked Cersei Lannister, the Prime Minister of
England. Petyr followed promptly, knowing exactly who he would have the
pleasure to face, once again.
“I expect I’ve not missed anything” Cersei Lannister said with her dry, yet
exquisite voice.
She took a few steps, standing in the middle of the room, her right hand over
her left, looking disapprovingly at the people around the table, as if telling
each and every one of them just exactly how repulsive their act - of just
coming to this meeting - was.
Petyr noticed Ramsay Bolton’s perpetual stare at his wife, Sansa. He seemed to
be smiling, as if not noticing the entrance of the Prime Minister herself.
Cersei turned around, now looking at Sansa as well.
It was Ramsay who replied, lifting a finger to the air, “Actually, I was going
to ask my darling wi-”
“As I thought. Nothing of importance”, Cersei interrupted.
Petyr watched them closely, keeping his smirk on face just as unceasing as
Ramsay’s fixed eyes on Sansa - even when his words were directed at the woman
in grey.
“Ah”, Cersei continued, smiling, “Sansa, we haven’t met in a very long time,
I’ve missed you dearly. You see, I remember having three children alive and
healthy at my side the last time I saw you”.
That was new, even to Petyr. ‘So it must have happened yesterday - remember to
be more thorough next time’, Littlefinger scolded him. There seemed to be no
time for Sansa to reply, even if she had wanted to - Petyr noted, Cersei was
imperious today. This was a side Littlefinger admired about Cersei, her way of
taking authority whether or not it was granted her - she had always been like
this. But she had definitely seasoned after becoming the Prime Minister, taking
over the post after Tywin Lannister, her father, had passed away. Petyr had
digged around for more information, it had been difficult, but he had found a
string that might lead to something. He had his guesses. Sometimes Petyr still
laughed at the way the previous Prime Minister had gone: alone, in the
bathroom. It was a reminder though, that titles did not guarantee your safety -
but rather compromising it. Another reason to why Petyr appreciated his own
mask, his persona, Littlefinger. A person created to help him reach his goals,
but also a reminder of not letting greed get the better of him.
The nickname had started way back by one of the children at his foster home:
Edmure Tully. It was a name to mock him for his size and his origin. Petyr
Baelish was not born a wealthy man, he had had nothing. It was a reminder, both
of what he came from and what he had already achieved, a mockery and a praise.
Cersei continued, looking straight at Sansa, her smiled seemed to have gone
completely: “I am, truly, overjoyed by finally meeting you again - and this
won’t be the last time”, and with that, Cersei Lannister turned briskly, making
her dress whirl around her, and left the way she came without another word -
the rest of secret service following, though Petyr stayed in one corner of the
room where he had placed himself after Cersei’s entrance - almost
unconsciously, with the smirk still lingering on his face.
===============================================================================
SANSA
Sansa wasn’t sure whether to feel thankful- for the interruption Ramsay
suffered, or scared- by Cersei’s manner of greeting her. 

“Cersei Lannister. As lovely as ever” Ramsay said out loud. “Anyway, Mrs.
Bolton-“ turning his attention to Sansa. 
She looked at his smug face. Oh she’d give everything to just- punch it, step
on it, take a bat and just go at him, maybe even feeding him to a bunch of
hungry dogs… in another life maybe. 

“Yes Mr. Bolton?” Sansa replied coldly.

“I was wondering, my dear, what’s in it for us? I understand the Labourists,
your gracious Party, is looking to improve this country, and you need the ways
to explain this to the people”
“You are correct”
“But why do you think people will actually vote for you when they have someone
like Prime Minister Cersei? Your candidate has no experience whatsoever, you’re
further down in the polls this week than you were last week. Your presentation
is convincing but relies on theory not facts. I’m sorry I just don’t see where
the investment would be beneficial for Bolx” Ramsay stated. He leaned in his
chair waiting for a response.
Sansa took her time to respond. An answer she’d already started to form while
he was spilling out his provocative argument. ‘To think of a reply while
hearing what the other is saying, in order for such other to never see you in
doubt’. She learned that from the best, and the best was gracefully leaning in
the back of the room, observing her. And him. Specially him.
“I understand your concern Mr. Bolton. And trust me when I say, there are no
guarantees that you and your bank will recover the investment”. She could feel
her boss shift in his seat. He might have heard something he was not expecting.
“But in times of change, as we are about to live, either you take part of it or
not. I am aware you are a dedicated man, one that is eager to make a name for
himself now that your dear father has passed away. As I can recall, Bolx never
really picked the winning side did it?” Sansa inquired. She could feel Ramsay’s
smirk fade just a little. It’s a shame she couldn’t see another man’s smirk
grow wider. She felt proud, being able to stay this cool in front of Ramsay.
“We’re way back in the polls yes, precisely because we don’t have the tools to
change people’s point of views regarding our changes program. Tools your bank
can provide”. Sansa said firmly. 
“Of course the question rests now whether you want to help us become the next;
best Parlament this country has ever seen, and all the business we could bring
to you once we take over Cersei Lannister and her Conservative Party, or if you
want to stand back, like you’ve always done, and keep your everyday activity on
mortgages and credits”.
Ramsay could feel all eyes on him now.
There was something Ramsay hated more than remembering his defeats, and that
was being remembered in front of other people.
If there had been a chess table on that room, Sansa just called out a big and
loud Check Mate. She knew Ramsay was forced to say yes. There was no other
Party that would actually trust a Bolton to finance its campaign, but Ramsay
was right when he said the Labourists were going down, deep down the pools. And
what’s the only thing you can do when you start going down? Well, you stop and
pick yourself up. Bolx was their way up.
After that, Ramsay agreed and signed the correspondent paperwork. Sansa’s boss
trying to make small talk while signing the most important deal their Party had
ever done, but the Bolton boy only had eyes for Sansa, who on her part was
trying to keep her cool until she could leave that damn room, and stay out of
his sight.
She wanted to text Brienne, tell her she needed to get out of that place as
soon as the meeting was over, but she left her phone back in her office. ‘God,
why are they taking so long?’
As her boss collected the paperwork, and offered Ramsay his hand for a formal
and typical handshake, Sansa collected her leather binder and left the room.
‘Ok, ok, ok, just get the phone, text Brienne, leave’ She was in her office
now. ‘Phone, Brienne, leave’. Right, get the phone. She searched for it in her
purse. Yes! Got it! ‘Phone, Brienne, leave’ Contact list, Brienne.
‘Done with the meeting. Ramsay is here’. 
That’d be enough for Brienne to get the driver to start the car, maybe even
wait for her at the entrance.
‘Phone, Brienne, leave. Right, now I leave’ She picked up her things as the
others left, gave the white box with the red bow one last look, and felt her
stomach ache.
Sansa turned to door only to find Ramsay waiting underneath it.
“Going somewhere my love?”
Sansa freezed. What- what… Sansa wanted to think of something, anything to say
or do but her mind wasn’t working. Her mind took her back to that horrible
night. Somehow, not knowing how, she managed to find words.
“Please let me though”
“Please? Still so formal and ladylike… you know just how to turn me on” Ramsay
said this, smirking, as he gave himself a squeeze.
“Ramsay, let me out”
Ramsay passed from a grin to a dead serious expression. “You’re my wife. You’re
coming home with me” he started walking towards her, making Sansa walk
backwards. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you”. Sansa’s back reached
the wall, with Ramsay just a few inches away from her. “The nights have been
long and cold without - your body” Sansa was crying now. She was trapped. She
felt trapped. She couldn’t shout because he was her husband after all.
Ramsay reached out for her hair. Took that beautiful firey lock of hair with
his fingers to his nose and gave in a long deep sniff. He then put it in his
mouth, making the tip a wet mess. He leaned in, his breath caressing her ear.
Just like that night over a year ago. One hand was now coping one of her
breasts while the other slowly found its way underneath her dress. Sansa
started to struggle but Ramsay’s arm was faster, pinning her throat to the
wall.
The hand that was underneath her dress moved to the back of her neck. The mark.
He was touching it… he was - caressing it?
“You remember this, Sansa? You know why I did this? So you would never forget
that I was your first - and I will be the last- AHHHH” Brienne grabbed his hair
and pulled it up, making Ramsay squeal like a madman. “Run Miss Sansa! Driver
is waiting for you!” Sansa moved clumsily and ran towards the stairs. 
She found herself almost jumping down every few steps until she reached the
parking lot.
Indeed her car was running and waiting for her. She got in and closed the door
behind her. Sansa looked out the window, hoping for Brienne to appear.
“Miss Stark? Is everything all right” the driver asked. He knew the answer
wasn’t going to be good, looking at the state she was in. Her face full with
tears. 
Brienne’s blond hair appeared and Sansa could feel her relief. As her guardian
angel hopped in the car, Sansa felt herself disconnect from her body. ‘What was
happening to her?’. The driver was already on his way to the safe house through
route #5 after Brienne’s orders (different routes for security), that tall
woman was trying to talk to her, but Sansa was feeling further and further away
from herself. Sansa rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her
eyes. It felt it was the only thing she could do.
Several hours later, Sansa woke up. But they weren’t in her safe house. This
was some kind of hotel. A nice bright room she didn’t recognise. She stood up
and left the bedroom to find Brienne sitting down on one of the furniture
chairs.
“Miss Sansa”
“Brienne”
Sansa moved in to hug her.
Her bodyguard was moved and put her arms around her while tears invaded her
eyes. “Are you ok Miss Sansa? Did he hurt you again?”
Sansa didn’t move. Brienne understood Sansa’s lack of answer was a confirmation
to her own question.
“Why aren’t we in the Safe House, Brienne? Where are we?” they way she said it,
Brienne was reminded of her little niece, who scared easily, and always went to
her aunt whenever she was around to feel protected.
“Miss Sansa, I have terrible news”
Sansa looked up. 
“You can no longer go to the Safe House”
“Why’s that?”
“Someone burned it down”.
***** Let me play the Devil *****
Chapter Notes
     It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were
     ever created in the story.
     This chapter is SFW, with references of sexual, emotional abuse and
     anxiety disorders.
Chapter 4: LET ME PLAY THE DEVIL.
===============================================================================
PETYR
A part of Petyr had wanted to hear Sansa’s presentation, he figured she had
done wonderfully. She had, in fact, learnt from the best. Petyr had stayed in
the room for longer than needed, he could have left when Cersei had, as was the
secret service's duty, but the figure of Sansa had held him there, pinned by
the wall by nothing other than her very presence. Littlefinger found pride in
that, that he knew he could just stay without needing to give Cersei an
explanation later on. Littlefinger came and went as he liked, he never followed
anyone like a shadow like the usual secret service and everyone knew that.

“You’re like a rat”, Cersei once told him, very matter-of-fact.

Petyr hadn’t objected. He was alright with that, and he needed that image to be
clear as daylight. If he was known for working independently and still be able
to present what was asked of him, it would work to his advantage, and he would
able to achieve the reputation he needed. Littlefinger didn’t take sides.

Petyr had seen Ramsay Bolton’s name on the list of people to be present at the
meeting. Petyr wasn’t sure whether he had stayed just to see how well Sansa was
to see this proposal through or if just to make sure that she would be alright
facing her husband again. It still bothered him, not knowing for sure what had
really taken place at Bolton’s residency. Littlefinger was a man who was meant
to know everything, every little secret of every man or woman of any importance
whatsoever. He collected information, classified or confidential information
just to spill it later at the right time to the right people. He knew just how
to play the game, move the pieces to his benefits.

Petyr Baelish finally left the room with everyone else. He hadn’t stayed to
greet Sansa, that wasn’t what he was. Petyr wasn’t a kind, loving man who
looked out for other people’s concerns. Sansa would be able to handle this,
just like he himself had - facing Lysa again.

When Petyr had come to take Sansa away from England, away from the hands of the
Lannisters, he had taken her to Ireland. To his motherland. Littlefinger had
seen to that he was already well established at his ‘new’ habitat. He had went
back to Dublin, back to his foster home - back to Lysa Arryn.

Lysa was one of three children to Petyr’s new foster parents. It was Lysa,
Edmure and Cat - Catelyn. Cat had always been beautiful, much more so than her
sister - at least in Petyr Baelish’s eyes. She was cleverer, smarter, full of
social command, and the first born child of Hoster and Minisa Tully. She was,
undoubtedly, the one who stood out of the three children. Petyr had fell for
her harder than he ever thought a human being was able to do. Petyr had never
loved again, nor would he. He had felt love, utter effortless affection. But
what was it worth? In the end, it had been unrequited, and left Petyr with a
scar to remind him of the foolish act of a boy, that would never go away. It
was not just a scar that had made Petyr who he was today. It was also a
physical scar, one that stretched from navel all the way up to his collarbone.
Brandon Stark was the man who Cat was to marry, Petyr had protested.
Criticising Cat for wanting to marry a man she barely knew - instead of him,
someone who had been there for her, someone who knew her for who she truly was.
The fight had gone out of hand, it had started with Petyr just screaming at
Brandon, telling him exactly how little he knew about Cat, how their
relationship didn’t go as deep as his own. It had soon escalated to something
far more dangerous. Brandon Stark was a lot stronger than him, a lot taller and
a lot better at fighting. Petyr had only been able to throw one feeble strike
at Brandon, he hadn’t been able to fight him at all, let alone shield himself
from the Stark boy’s brutal punches. Petyr hadn’t seen it, but the knife hit
hard and cut him open a lot easier than he had expected, the flesh giving way
for the invading sharp steel. He never head Cat’s scream, but he heard her now:
“Please, Brandon, stop! He’s going to die, do you know what they’ll do to you
if he dies? They’re going to lock you up! Brandon you have to-”, Petyr didn’t
pick up the rest of it, a black somber seemed to surround him and he dozed off.
He had woken up in hospital, drowsy by painkillers, with a redhead leaning over
him. He thought it might be Cat who had come to visit him. It was not. It was
Lysa.

It seemed that Petyr had always crossed path with that woman, the sister of the
beautiful Catelyn Stark. In Ireland they had reunited for the first time since
that incident many, many years ago. Petyr Baelish had been greeted with a smile
and a hug that was too tight and went on far longer than what was considered
normal. Littlefinger had done what he knew he had to in order to get where he
wanted to be, no matter the cost of Petyr. He had taken advantage of her
feelings toward Petyr and he had married Lysa Arryn. She was not Arryn anymore,
but Baelish, carrying his name from now on, to the grave.

His phone rang in his pocket, bringing him back to reality. Lysa was dead, she
was no more.

“Mr. Baelish”, the voice said, it seemed strained, “it’s the safe house,
Alayne’s house - you ordered me to call if anything happened”

Petyr felt an alarm going off. This was not good.
“Go on”, he demanded.
“It’s on fire, someone’s set it on fire”
‘Fuck!’, Petyr’s head was spinning. Who could have known? Petyr was the only
one who knew, wasn’t he? He was one of the few who sat upon such power, the
power of knowledge that not even Cersei, the Prime Minister, could get her
hands on.
“Where is she?”, he said, trying to maintain his calm character, hoping that
Sansa hadn’t gotten back home just yet.
The conversation continued, hurried replies and a few remarks telling his
minion exactly what should’ve been done and what needed to be done - right now;
to check their security, check that their encrypted texts and emails were still
working as it should, checking their line once- twice- thrice, and again to see
that no one could listen. He got the address he was looking for and smoked a
couple of cigarettes on in his way there.
Petyr Baelish arrived at the hotel as quick as the traffic would let him. He
felt flustered when he met with Brienne once again, he was happy he hold such
control of himself, not letting any of these emotions show. He had practised
this ever since the time he was a boy, how to conceal every little thing from
everyone. Petyr talked to Brienne, keeping it formal. The Tarth woman didn’t
seem to like that he knew where Sansa was taken, but Petyr reassured her that
no one else knew. But how could he? When he wasn’t the only one who knew about
her whereabouts in the first place? Brienne seemed to believe him nevertheless,
or maybe she only wanted to, knowing that overreacting and moving places once
again might not help if someone kept track on ‘Miss Stark’ (Petyr had never
liked that name).
“May I see her?”, he asked.
Brienne gave him one look and Petyr only smirked back at her. He was not going
to let her see his true concern for Sansa now, not when he had been able to
mask it this long. She turned without another word and went inside the door
that separated Petyr from Sansa, and closed the door after her. Petyr let out a
breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. He was truly affected by this
wasn’t he? Truly concerned for Sansa’s wellbeing? Petyr swallowed, he wouldn’t
let wasted feelings get the better of him. He sat down on the sofa, in the
space that seemed to have the purpose of a living room, and tried to clear his
mind waiting for Sansa to awaken.
===============================================================================
SANSA

After Brienne’s news Sansa felt her feet suddenly couldn’t hold her weight any
more. Her body was heavier than before and the sensation of falling was
replaced by the unique sensation of floating. She let go, so did her eyelids.
Brienne’s voice was beginning to drift apart, calling for her, and then
suddenly she couldn’t hear it any longer.

Several hours passed when Sansa woke up again, in the same room as before. Only
this time she heard a voice, a man’s voice. She knew who it was. For a second,
a rush, she felt safe, as that voice brought her back to all those trips they
enjoyed in each other’s company, but she couldn’t feel like this. It was wrong.
Petyr Baelish… whom she saw earlier that day walking with Cersei Lannister, the
same woman who threaten her afterwards. Why was he with her? What was his game?
Besides, for all Sansa remembered she had been safe in her home until Petyr
Baelish paid her a visit. After all, the very next day, her home was burned
down and she still had no clue who could have done it.

As she stepped out of the room for a second time that day she found Brienne
looking over by the window and the man whose voice she would always be able to
recognise sitting on the couch.

Petyr Baelish was looking through his phone, distracted and very invested in
whatever he was reading and typing, almost to that extent that he didn’t notice
Sansa approaching.
“Sansa…” he finished typing a text he was writing and then finally searched her
face. “I’m trying to find the people responsible for this”.
His face showed no emotion and Sansa’s mind saw it as a provocation.
“What are you doing here?” Sansa needed to take her rage on somebody, and
Petyr’s face just happened to be there. “I thought I told you I don’t need your
help”
“I’m now proving to you that you do, if you had come to me from the beginning-“
“Excuse me?!” Not only his face just happened to be there, but unfortunately
Petyr’s words weren’t helping Sansa think of someone else to put the blame on
either. “From the beginning?! What beginning, there’s not even a beginning to
start with! What makes you feel so important? Can you please understand one
thing? I DON’T NEED YOU. I never have and never will”

“Sansa, if you can only-“ Petyr stopped half through the sentence. Sansa saw
something in him that almost looked as uncertainty. He took a deep breath and
apparently decided to start again. “I have assets, access to information that
you won't be able to pick up by yourself without having my position, that is
not even within Cersei's power to get a hold on. You need me. I'm your greatest
chance at getting back at the people who's done this to you. Isn't that what
you want? To get revenge?”

Sansa just couldn’t believe it. Just a few hours ago she had to face Ramsay
again, hear Cersei threaten her in front of everybody, learn how her house was
burnt down and now Petyr was being all fatherly teaching her lessons?

“Revenge?” Sansa couldn’t help but to chuckle a little bit. “On who? I should
just tell Brienne to end you”. Her troubled mind decided to throw her the idea
that every time Petyr appeared in her life it brought her more bad than good.

“Let me ask you something. Don’t you think it’s a little bit too much of a
coincidence the ONLY person outside of my personal security- that means you-
visit me, at my safe house, which no one else knows about, and the next day it
gets burned down? Remind me again why I should trust you or your “assets”
Sansa’s voice started to increase in volume more and more.

Brienne knew this wasn’t looking well for Petyr and wanted to interrupt in some
way. Petyr looked as if he wanted to calm her down. His hands were up, as a
peace offering.

“Sansa, without me you wouldn't be standing here, remember that time when you
first came to London?” Petyr took Sansa back to her arrival, so young and still
so inexperienced. “Because I do. I remember the little girl with big dreams.
When the accusations of your father started, Cersei asked for you. If you can't
remember, I'll remind you: I was in that room as well, I told Cersei that you
were innocent. I've been there from the very start.” Sansa knew he was right.
“I misjudged Ramsay's character, that I did, but if he hadn't been who he is,
it would have been, without question, the fastest way to get you back in
politics. And let me remind you, that it still is. Without marrying Ramsay you
would still be a traitor in the eye of the public. Now you can use this to your
advantage. Expose him. Let him suffer”.

“You know? If I’d known how it would be to live with him... I would rather have
stayed a traitor…” and that wasn’t her mind speaking, that was something Sansa
did really mean with every inch of her heart. “Brienne, I need to talk with Mr.
Baelish alone please?” Brienne didn’t want to leave Sansa alone, least of all
in this state, but she obliged.

As the door was closing, Sansa was unaware that she was still in the same
headspace. She wasn’t able to think straight and was still aiming on finding
someone guilty. Petyr, again, just happened to be there. “Why did you tell
Cersei where I lived?”

“I didn’t”, he shook his head ever so slightly. “I never told Cersei, you have
to believe me. This is what I've been doing these last couple of hours,
searching for whoever lies behind all of this. I would never do that to you,
Sansa, I would never betray you like that, you have to believe me.”

“I find it difficult to believe you when just hours ago I see you accompanying
her to my Party’s meeting. Now, please leave, I need to be alone, I need to
think.”

Petyr almost looked disappointed that Sansa wouldn’t give him a chance to
explain, she wasn’t open to listen to him. He knew Sansa was firing blindly,
fuelled by rage, anger and weariness. The best he could do was leave her alone.

“Then I will leave, if you insist” Petyr turned his back on her. It seemed he
had always hated to do that. Standing close to the door, he looked as though he
wanted to add something. “Though you should know, that there are things the
Conservatives are trying to hide. I do work for Cersei, it's true, but I'm not
working with her. I give her a bit of information, as little as possible but
enough to make her trust my loyalty. I never told her about your whereabouts.
I've had agents looking out for you, secret service - you would not have
noticed them. My men are good, they're the best in the country. They work for
me, but occasionally someone makes a better proposition. They turn, and they
sell their information. I've been looking into who that person might be and
it'll all be taken care of. They won't be working for me anymore - nor will
they work for anyone else ever again. You see, the Lannisters are planning
something big this time. I've been picking up clues for quite some time now.
They won't just try to win the next election, not just trying to destroy the
Labour Party; your party. They're going to destroy democracy. This is what they
do, it's what they want. It seems they are starting with you. They want you
gone from the world, if they'll have their way; there will be as little of you
left as there will be of the guy from my team. You won't have existed. And
neither will anything you've worked for. I can help you change that.”, Petyr
paused, looking at her, “let me stay, Sansa, perhaps not for me, or for you,
but for what you believe in, for what your family’s fought for. When I first
saw you, you were a girl with big dreams. I can make your dreams come true -
but if you'd rather have them shattered by the Lannisters, that's entirely up
to you”

If that man was telling the truth, Sansa knew she had acted a fool. Her mind
was eager to settle all the wrongs she suffered and blame it on the first
person available. Isn’t that what people do when they’re distressed? Blame it
on those who are near to us?

“Mr. Baelish…” Sansa asked, her voice already broken. “I’m sorry for my
reaction… I’m just tired- of running”. She truly was. Why was it so difficult
to find a place and start over, without problems, without disappointments? But
life would never be like that. It was those same problems and disappointments
Sansa wanted to run away from that were helping her in her growth. “First the
Lannisters, then Ramsay, and now someone destroys the only place I have felt
safe in for a long time”

Petyr seemed to melt just a bit, he looked more genuine these last days than
she had seen him in a very long time.
“Shush dear, it's fine” he moved back to where she was, closer to her, “I
understand”, he said.

Did he really? Sansa wanted to tell him everything. All of her experiences
after he let her go, back in Ireland. Let him be the confidant he once was. But
her mind - who was in constant battle with her feelings - wouldn’t allow her
to.

“And please, call me Petyr” he smiled, and Sansa noted that he smiled with his
eyes as well.

Petyr’s voice calmed her. And that was something her mind couldn’t prevent.
Sansa sat down on the same sofa she saw Petyr sitting on when she woke up.

“What brings you back to the UK? Last time I heard you were abroad... quite
far”

“Yes, I've been on missions, if you will. I could say I went back to UK when
first hearing the rumours of Cersei's plan but then I would be lying. That was
never the entire truth. I came back when they told me you had been taken
prisoner by Ramsay, off record, of course, but the news travelled fast. I got
back as soon as I could. Too late, I discovered, to my distress. I will not
make that mistake again. You have my word” his words were firm and fair.

“I appreciate that” Petyr’s words about his missions reminded Sansa of her own
job and obligations.

“I need to tell my boss what happened”, standing up, looking for her purse
where her she would most likely find her phone, “I won’t be going tomorrow”,
she found it on the mini bar counter, “I need to go home, see if there’s still
something that I can save-“, and her mind, that logical mind Petyr always
admired, brought her back to reality. Was there really something to save? Don’t
be stupid. Your home has been burnt down. To the ground. There’s nothing to be
saved. All her clothes, all the pictures she took herself. The family albums!
Pictures of her brothers and sister, her parents! Her books - everything! Her
mind once again played the part of a bully oh so well that her inner child
holding all the emotions couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where am I going to go now?” Sansa’s tears were coming down again. This time
hard as ever. “Everything I had is destroyed!”

Sansa could hear Petyr talking but she wasn’t actually listening to what he was
saying. She felt it again, that floating sensation and her disassociation with
the world increased.

“Sansa?”

Everything was gone.

“… we’ll figure this out?”

Everything-

“… no, not everything, not yet sweetling, listen to me, everything is not
destroyed yet. I'm here, I'll help you. We'll sort this out”

-is gone.

Petyr slowly moved closer to Sansa, maybe because he had realised that she had
trouble focusing on his voice.

“Okay, I'm going to touch your shoulder, okay?” He moved extremely slow, yet
firm, and reach out to her, putting one hand on her shoulder and moving it down
her arm to her elbow. Sansa swayed as a reflex.

“Hey, Sansa, listen to my voice, I'm here, it's alright, it will be alright,
you are safe,” Petyr took her to the sofa beside them, sitting down, “Sansa, I
think you're having a panic attack of some sort, you're alright, you're not
dying, you're here, with me,” Petyr put his arms around her, holding her
firmly, “You got this, it'll be over soon, you're here with me, you're not
alone.” 

Sansa felt those arms around her and her breath stilled a bit, not going in and
out of her in a frantic pace and she knew it was safe to close her eyes as her
body shook. After some time darkness took her and she let herself drift away.
===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr paced around the room after Sansa had fallen asleep, again. The panic
attack. It was only logical, she had been through a lot, and the last thing she
needed was having her safe house burnt down. It was a safe house after all? A
place where she had probably actually felt safe for the first time since… since
when? Petyr had wrapped his dark blue jacket loosely around her for comfort
after having let her go and sat down beside her. When Sansa finally stirred,
slowly waking up he was on alert once again. Ready if she was to go into a
panic attack once more.

“Hey... what happened? What time is it?” she said, looking around, drowsy and
unsure.

“I think you went through a panic attack”, Petyr replied calmly looking down
his lap and then up again remembering the glass of water he had prepared for
her on the table for when she woke, and handed it over to Sansa who took it
with both her hands, “I think you should drink something, it's 7pm, you've been
out for about an hour,” he continued as Sansa took a sip.

“I need to find a place to live in. I could stay here, yes, but I don’t want to
wake up everyday and remind myself I’m here because of what happened.”

He paused for a moment, an idea had sprung when hearing those words, “needless
to say, it's not safe for you to stay here, the Lannisters are going to try to
seek you out and it won't take long until they'll find you. You will have to
keep moving, constantly,” he looked back at Sansa, trying to meet her gaze,
“you could stay at my place, I have a spare room across from mine. It will only
be temporary, of course.”

Sansa looked touched for a brief moment, only to change into something that
seemed to be uncertainty though not angered as she had been earlier that
evening. Petyr could understand that. It was a bold offer, even for him. Petyr
Baelish was not the man who invited his friends over for dinner parties to his
own flat, he let them come to the mansion outside the city, but that was a
different thing. No one even knew where Littlefinger lived except for the team
working for him.
Sansa took some time until she replied, unsure: “I don’t know... I don’t want
to get you in trouble. If they're looking for me they’ll come after you…”

Petyr smiled at that, not only because he wanted to look confident in his
proposal but also because this was a spark of the Sansa he had met all those
years ago. The little girl who wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, who wouldn’t even
put someone who was responsible for so much pain in her life as he was in
danger, risking something for her. Petyr smiled and looked at her in awe,
surprised by the compassion she shared with her late mother - but Sansa was so
much more than that, so much more than Cat ever was.

“Well, didn't I just agree to tell you about the Lannisters? What would be the
purpose of trying to get you to trust me if I'm not taking your side, Sansa?
I'll help you get back what you lost and I'll help put your dreams into
reality. Right now, staying with me is your best alternative, the Lannisters
won't suspect it - yet, and that will buy us some time. You won't be in my way,
Sansa, let me worry about that instead, if I wouldn't think it a good idea, I
wouldn't have proposed it in the first place. Your stay won't be forever. In
the meantime we'll figure it out; where you can stay, what we will do.”

Petyr studied Sansa, it seemed as if he’d won. She saw his reasoning, she
couldn’t deny that, and he was her best shot. There was not much else to go
for. She could stay here or somewhere else, but that would put her in
inevitable danger. She could be safe with him, safer than she ever was at the
safe house. But also much more vulnerable.

“Thank you Mr. Baelish.”

“No need to thank me yet, wait with that until we got Cersei behind bars,” he
smirked.

At first he had been unsure, maybe this idea with Sansa had just been a (very
unlike him) spur of the moment reaction, but this was an idea that had started
to make sense to him. He had worked hard for things to play out as he liked,
maybe, just maybe he could come out from this winningly. Getting all that he
had worked so very hard for. Littlefinger could see to that, he wouldn’t lose
it, Petyr knew that.

“Before Cersei... I’d prefer to see Ramsay. He needs to pay for what he has do-
for what he is.”

That wasn’t entirely what Petyr had expected. He had thought Sansa wanted to
get back at the Lannisters, but of course, she would want to do something about
Ramsay. Petyr knew that even if Sansa couldn’t accept it to herself yet she did
want vengeance. They all did. But he had been listening, and Sansa’s unfinished
words stayed with him: ‘pay for what he has do…’. He still didn’t know what
exactly had been done to Sansa, but Petyr could imagine that it wasn’t
pleasant, but it would have been better for himself if he hadn’t even been able
to picture it. If she was to know that, Sansa would blame him even further,
thinking that maybe he did know, all along. Petyr searched Sansa’s face for
cues.

“I respect if you don't want to talk about it... though I've heard... talking
about these things are supposed to... you know... help…” Petyr looked away not
sure how to approach this.

What had he just said? This wasn’t who Petyr Baelish was. Mr. Baelish was a
cold hearted man with no time for emotions and wasted feelings. This made him
uncomfortable, if only, if only he hadn’t himself-, his track of thought’s got
cleared up before he could reach too far, it was better that way, always better
that way. Keep it away. It doesn’t exist if you don’t let it.

“He... he hurt me. But I prefer if we don’t talk about it. I don’t want to
think about him.”

“Of course... you, take your time…” Petyr swallowed, hoped that Sansa was so
mixed up with her own past that she would mistake his discomfort for some kind
of empathy - it was however, better for her to see it that way, “he should pay,
I don't need to know any details to know that for sure,” Petyr stated.

He was surprised to realise that the emotion within him was very much like
anger, anger about the fact that someone had done something to this girl. The
innocent girl that she once was. She was so much like the boy he himself one
was too. Dreaming of becoming the hero of the story, dreaming of the girl who
he would win through his heroic actions. Those dreams were dead, and that boy
was too. Littlefinger, the mask who had replaced him had filled him with a
chill that had killed that part of him, slowly but surely, it had ate at him,
and the boy had ended up dead, coming out as the ice man he now was.

“What you said... earlier, about Cersei and the Conservatives having a plan.
Wanting to destroy democracy”, Sansa paused, ”I can’t allow them to do that. I
want to stop them.”

Petyr smirked, this was going his way wasn’t it?

“Of course you do. Ever since Cersei took over Tywin Lannister's position there
has been nothing but corruption - possibly even murder. Cersei wants you dead
and gone from the world entirely. And you, are not the first one…” he looked at
Sansa, waiting for her to pick up the cues herself, putting together the pieces
in that mind of hers that he had constructed like he had constructed the
Fingers, using what he had taught her to come to the very same conclusion he
had.

Sansa exchanged a wary look with Petyr, his smirk not leaving his face. If he
had been a different man this would have been turning him on, she was a
masterpiece; clever and quick, with her intelligence reflecting in her blue
eyes that seemed to be the same shade as the ice cold heart Petyr had created
of his own, and with the contrast of that innocence of hers still lingering on
those red locks and beautiful curves of her body.

“My father?” she asked - but it wasn’t really a question.

Petyr could hear her voice almost breaking - they had to work on that, he
noted.

“Cersei’s only public oppositors were my parents... wait... did she-?”

Petyr felt proud, even though he knew that he shouldn’t. This wasn’t when he
was supposed to show Sansa how very satisfied he was with her for coming to
that conclusion all by her own. He tried to slowly drop the smirk, looking a
bit softer if possible.

“Yes... I believe Cersei has been involved with a lot more than we know of, but
definitely a lot more than the public knows of. If we play our cards well, we
might both be able to turn her precious votes; the people, against her, using
newspapers - you don't need proof for news, they're just news after all, but
what we do need proof for, is court. We could be able to get her convicted; for
murder.”

Petyr straightened his back unconsciously as Sansa took her time to process
what he had just said.
“How can we do that?”

Petyr could feel her doubt, “I have a team working for me, they'll be able to
extract some information. Cersei is still unaware of my allegiance with you,
she won't be expecting me turning against her. This will work to our advantage,
having someone on the inside is crucial. Cersei is smart, she's been very
discreet this whole time, she will have seen to that anything that can expose
her is kept very close to her and what could be destroyed will already be very
much so - I wouldn't expect any less of her.”

Even though Petyr felt like he could go on forever, setting this task into
motion he knew that Sansa was still very much the same very human girl as she
had always been, a human with human needs. He had to have patience. Instead of
going on about what they should start with Petyr said: “It's getting late, and
it's been a tough day for you. The longer we stay here the more dangerous it'll
become. I suggest we get moving rather quickly, but we can't be seen together.
Ask Brienne to use this phone”, he handed over a mobile from inside his jacket
that was still draped over Sansa’s knees, being careful not to brush her thighs
as he stretched to reach it, “It's secured and encrypted, call the first number
and ask for the address.” Petyr continued as he picked up another phone, his
own personal one, that was still laying on the coffee table from when he had
ruthlessly picked a destiny for the man responsible for the leak of Sansa’s
whereabouts. He quickly typed in a message, letting them know she was coming
and allowing them to provide Brienne and Sansa with further information,
“Someone I trust will welcome you. Your room will be to the right, they'll show
you. Do not enter any other room.” he looked up from his phone for a few
seconds to check that Sansa had gotten that and then continued on without
remorse and an unconscious smirk persistently on his face: “I'm sorry to say
that Brienne can't stay with us. She'll accompany you out so if anyone will see
you on the way everything will look as it should, no one will notice and no one
will suspect anything. She'll be staying at another place, don’t worry, no one
should be able to found out about any of it and if they do, they won't be able
to track you down at least. They'll find her, not you. Brienne will be able to
protect herself, and I'll have people ready, close by if needed be. But I’ll
let you on to something, such measures are completely unnecessary, and their
only true purpose is to make my terms more agreeable to you, I know you
wouldn’t let anyone take your guardian angel from you. Sansa, I am not an
angel, I have too much power in my hands for that to ever be true. Let me play
the Devil for you, and I shall never disappoint.”
***** Please, call me Petyr *****
Chapter Notes
     It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were
     ever created in the story.
     This chapter is NSFW, with references of sexual and emotional abuse
     and mature content.
     Please thread carefully, this chapter is meant to make you feel
     uncomfortable - if you’re easily triggered and want more information
     about this chapter please contact me.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 5:  PLEASE, CALL ME PETYR.
 
===============================================================================
 
SANSA
Brienne was watching as Mr. Baelish strolled down the hallway. He looked
satisfied with himself when he had closed the door after him, even gave her one
his looks. Brienne hated smugs, and Petyr Baelish was one of them.
The tall strong woman opened the door to Sansa’s current, although temporary,
safe house. Just thinking about how someone had destroyed everything the late
Catelyn Stark’s daughter had made her feel at unease, and somewhat guilty for
not having been able to prevent it from happening.
The daughter was now holding a phone in her hand that Brienne did not recognise
as one of Miss Sansa’s.
This one was black and stylish. The Stark girl would have prefered them with
brighter colours.
“Did everything go ok Miss Sansa?”
Sansa was staring at nothing in particular. She could hear Brienne talking,
possibly asking a question, and somehow her brain received it, but kept it on
hold until Sansa’s attention came back to where she actually was.
But right now Sansa’s thoughts were elsewhere. If anyone had asked her she’d
tell you she’d been thinking about how to proceed now that she knew Petyr
Baelish was on her side. But Sansa Stark would never admit that she was also
thinking about how very lucky she felt to have someone like him in her life.
Someone who always seemed to have a solution to everything.
“Miss Sansa?” Brienne repeated.
This time, the steady voice brought Sansa back to reality, and somehow she knew
what Brienne wanted to know.
“Yes,” Sansa turned her attention to her guardian angel, “Everything went ok.”
Brienne studied her face. She was a stern girl but this time she found a hint
of fear in that look.
“Mr. Baelish suggested we leave this place. As soon as possible. He gave me
this,” she handed over the phone to Brienne.
“Miss Sansa-“ Brienne tried to interrupt.
“You need to call the first number, they will give you an address,” Sansa
continued, as if delivering this message was something her life depended on.
But really, where was the lie in that?
“Miss Sansa, please.”
“What?” Sansa sounded exasperated now.
“Who asked you to do this? Petyr Baelish?” Brienne’s was a bit unnerved.
“Yes… what’s wrong with that?” Sansa asked.
Brienne was astounded. Miss Sansa defended him, didn’t she? Him, Petyr Baelish,
after everything. How could that be possible?
“Nothing, I just don’t think he’s the best person right now to be in charge of
your securit-“
“And you are?”
Brienne felt Sansa’s last words as a punch in her stomach. So that’s how it
feels...
And Sansa knew it too. As her own words left her mouth she felt her words as a
low blow that Brienne had never expected, least of all from her, the late
Catelyn Stark’s first born daughter.
Brienne didn’t want to think of Miss Sansa’s mother. Finding her hanging in
that dark hotel room all by herself was a memory she was never going to be able
to erase. It was an accident, wasn’t it? But accident or not, she hadn’t been
able to stop it from happening, and that was something Brienne would never be
able to forgive herself for. Maybe taking on the task of being Miss Sansa’s
personal security was her way to atone for her failings, trying to make right
what she felt she did wrong with Sansa’s mother.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sansa. I never intended to intrude. If you believe Mr. Baelish
suggestions are what’s best for you, I will support it. I am here to serve
you.”
“Don’t say that word Brienne.”
“What word?”
“Serve… you make me feel…” Sansa didn’t know how to put it, “You’re no
servant.”
Brienne was trying hard to hold it together.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” Sansa wanted to mend the pain with words, “You are
an excellent member of my personal security, and I appreciate your loyalty,”
Sansa meant it.
These were hard times, and trusting people was becoming more and more
difficult.
“I believe Mr. Baelish’s contacts might help us now,” Sansa explained, “I have
no home, my communication has been compromised, and I just found out Mr.
Baelish may help my party bring down Cersei Lannister. He has become an ally, a
powerful one that I can use at the moment.”
“I understand Miss Sansa,” she did, after all, it was Petyr Baelish, and that
sneaky bastard knew when and how to use his cards.
“So after you’re given the address, someone is going to welcome me there,”
Sansa continued.
“What do you mean, welcome ‘me’? Just you?” Brienne was confused.
“Yes. I’m afraid you can’t come.”
And there was another one of Baelish’s cards.
“Miss Sansa, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea-“
“Brienne, it’s going to be alright. One of his people is going to look after
me, as they are going to look after you. He told me himself,” Sansa truly
believed Baelish had spoken the truth.
Brienne was fighting a battle in her own mind. She was aware that leaving Sansa
alone with Baelish was something Catelyn would never have approved of. After
all, Petyr Baelish had gained a reputation for not being entirely trustworthy.
On the other hand, she knew Sansa wanted to escape, leave everything behind -
and maybe Baelish was right, maybe there was some kind of leak in their
security and she needed to find it before she could continue standing by
Sansa’s side. It was Sansa’s security that mattered most now, and if something
ever happened to her, Brienne would know where to start searching.
But she still had one more thing in mind.
“Remember one thing Miss Sansa.”
“What’s that?”
“Petyr Baelish has never helped anyone for free,” Brienne’s statement was
utterly true and left Sansa wondering the price she would have to pay for what
Baelish was doing for her.
After Brienne followed Petyr Baelish’s instructions, and was given an address
she did not recognise - but kept it mind, so that she could write it down in
her own phone’s reminders at the first opportunity she had.
She accompanied Sansa to the car. The windows were pitch black which didn’t
allow Brienne, nor Sansa, to recognise who was Petyr Baelish’s driver. They
just rolled down the window ever so slightly asking for the phone and Brienne
handed it over.
It was a long drive and the phone showed a complicated route, probably to shake
off anyone who could possibly be following. Sansa wasn’t able to recognise any
of the places they passed after leaving the outskirt of London. This made Sansa
feel unnerved but strangely calm at the same time. If someone were to look for
her, it would certainly be hard for them to reach to her. But on the other
hand, this also meant Sansa would not be able to come and go as easily as she
had hoped for.
The landscape regained the urbanist style after a few hours of nature and
forest and she wasn’t sure anymore where they were, had they returned, or gone
to a completely foreign place? They had dropped off Brienne at a certain point
and the car had pulled off leaving Brienne with that typical face of hers. She
noticed someone escorting her guardian angel away and they were off again.
Sansa could distinguish a tall building up ahead, and knew that was the place
they were heading. It was a building that someone like Petyr Baelish would live
in, very English with dark brown colours.
The car pulled up in the driveway. Sansa saw a young man, with his hands in his
pocket waiting at the front door.
She stepped out of the car and felt like introducing herself.
“Hello, I’m Sa-”
“Sansa,” the man interrupted, “I’m Olyvar, it's a pleasure to finally be able
to talk to you, face to face," Olyvar replied shaking her hand.
“Well, Littlefinger never mentioned what a true beauty you are, Sansa," he
continued while scanning her with a soft and genuine smile on his lips, "Though
I shouldn't be surprised that the first time he decides to take someone home,
he would have chosen someone like you, he is a man of excellent taste, after
all."
Sansa was starting to like this man.
“That’s very kind. But do you really want me to believe I’m the first person he
takes home? Did he ask you to tell me that? Good try.”
He just smiled at her, kind of mysteriously.
Olyvar approached a grey panel with black illuminated buttons. With a quick
move he entered several codes to get into what seemed to be Petyr’s flat. A
sound indicating the codes were correct broke the silence. The young man used a
set of keys he pulled from one of his pockets, opening up heavy security doors
with metal bars.
“Well, trust me Sansa, you can be honest around me. I know Littlefinger, I’ve
worked with him for a long time now and he’s a total creep for sure. I guess
that’s why he’s never taken someone home before, and probably why he’s… you
know, paranoid?” Olyvar nodded at the doors while showing Sansa inside.
“This is where you’ll meet me every now and then, and possibly some of the
other's as well - we'll be best friends by the end of this, I could need
someone to talk to, if you haven't noticed yet, Littlefinger does very little
talking - unless he's in the mood.”
The inside of the flat was something Sansa could have never imagined. It
changed so much from its outside appearance. Olyvar showed Sansa a corridor,
leading to a huge space, on the left there was a kitchen, and on the right
there was a living room. Almost completely empty except for one sofa and an
enormous tv screen.
"I know, he doesn't have much. You're going to thank me for that one,” he said
pointing at sofa, “Without me you'd have nothing here.”
Sansa was in awe. It’s true Petyr Baelish appearance always left her with the
impression of being someone in need, but she never imagined him being so…
minimalistic? How many men driving an Aston Martin were minimalistic?
“So you’re the fashionista here?” Sansa mused, getting Olyvar to smile in
return, “You mentioned I’ll see some of the others? What? Santa’s little
helpers?”
Olyvar gave out a huge laugh.
"Well, actually, not that far from the truth really. We help out with whatever
dirty work He Himself can't or won't do on his own. Ros might come around in
the morning. I bet she'll be pleased to see you.”
A hint of curiosity had hit Sansa now.
“Honestly, she'll love you, I promise," said Olyvar, giving her a little wink
at the end.
"You got a bathroom down here and another one upstairs where you can take a
bath, but I’ve never dared to try it. Let me show you, it's exquisite.”
As they continued on their tour more and more questions were going through
Sansa’s head. How much of what Olyvar was saying was true? Is she really the
first person Baelish brought home? What did Olyvar really mean when he talked
about helping Baelish out with ‘whatever dirty work’? Sansa wanted to get to
these answers but she also knew that keeping them in her mind and not pushing
people for real answers was the key to get to where you wanted.
Olyvar and Sansa were getting to the top of the stairs.
“He likes to keep it simple,” Sansa mentioned.
“No shit!” Olyvar laughed, "He goes all the way when it comes to minimalism,
not at all like at the mansion - and yes Sansa, I've seen you there, but I
suppose you never saw me hm?”
Sansa couldn’t recall his face, and Olyvar knew this.
“Didn't think so, you wouldn't have noticed. I was just another anonymous face
in the crowd, much how we like to keep it. We're always around, and nobody
notices,” Olyvar smiled, almost in a manner similar to Petyr’s, leading Sansa
to the bathroom.
“I wouldn't care too much about that room,” Olyvar gestured towards the room
farthest down the corridor and opened up the door for Sansa, leading to the
restroom.
“That’s the room Mr. Baelish doesn’t want me go into? Why?” no answer came from
Olyvar.
“What sort of mischievous torture device is he hiding?” Sansa asked.
"Oh, you do know him, don't you?” another bright smile illuminated the young
man’s face, “You know what? I was just joking around when saying he hadn't
taken anyone here before. He does of course, every now and then, he picks up a
girl or a boy and he keeps them in there, with all his weird kinky BDSM stuff.”
Sansa had no reply to that. She wasn’t even sure she heard Olyvar right. Sansa
was too worried the story was true that she studied Olyvar’s face to see if he
was serious.
When Olyvar couldn’t hold it back any longer, he gave out a warm smile.
”Oh my God Sansa, don't fret, I've never been to that room either! Let me show
you the glorious bathroom and your room, come here..."
Before Sansa followed Olyvar she gave one last stare at that mysterious room.
Torture device or weird kinky BDSM stuff, she was going to have to check it out
for sure.
Olyvar showed her the bathroom, with a luxurious bathtub, and after having
talked in at lenght about it he finally took her to the room to the left.
”Littlefinger said you could order anything you would like, consider this yours
entirely, you can check through these websites,” he said while handing over a
small note with delicate handwriting, “And, please, buy whatever you need, we
only had time to prepare a bed, very last minute, I know.”
Last minute? A King size in a room that could easily fit her entire burned down
flat? Wow.
“It’s quite amazing. Not what I expected to be honest,” she didn’t mind showing
her genuine surprise, “Thank you.”
She really was, thankful. And it wasn’t the house or the minimalism or the
expensive overpriced furniture she had recognised from her ‘my decoration
dream’ searches on internet. It was the time and effort Petyr Baelish had
clearly put into making her feel welcomed.
Olyvar was pleased watching Sansa check even the tiniest of details.
Littlefinger would be pleased - and eager to know everything about her first
impressions, she was sure.
He was beginning to walk out of the room when Sansa’s voice made him stop and
turn around to look at her: “Before you leave can I ask you one thing?”
"Of course, you can ask me anything, at any time, all you like.”
“Why do you call him Littlefinger?” Sansa asked, not sure if she was supposed
to know the answer.
Olyvar gave her another soft smile.
"You didn't know?”
Sansa could almost see the discomfort shining through his otherwise delighted
appearance.
“Well, about that... I better tell you, it'll be less dangerous if you know
anyway.”
Dangerous? Was he being serious?
“You see, he's nothing but Littlefinger to us, it's his codename. Littlefinger
is the man I work for. The man who could keep a girl locked up in that room
down the corridor. But I will remind you to use that name carefully,” Olyvar
paused, looking dead serious now, “Most people do not know who Littlefinger
really is. The man you think you know is simply a businessman, a very good one
perhaps, but Littlefinger is something else. Consider it, his better part. I
know you've heard the rumours before, you've lived near him, you've been to the
parties at his mansion. You've heard the name being whispered when you turn
your back. You're a smart girl, probably put the pieces together yourself.
People don't talk openly about him, it's dangerous - you might think it would
be for him, but it's more dangerous for them. Knowing who Littlefinger is will
keep you at your feet, you might think you have something to go on, something
to hand in to the police even, but if you know about Littlefinger -
Littlefinger knows about you. Don't you forget that Miss Stark.”
Sansa was scared now. She had truly only heard whispers about Littlefinger, but
she had only thought it a joke, something that perhaps explained why he acted
the way he did, but if really was everything Olyvar mentioned… well, she sure
wanted this new found identity as an ally.
“Take care, and have a good night's sleep. Don't stay up, sometimes he doesn't
come home until 5 or 6am,” Olyvar said before closing the door, “Goodnight,
Sansa, see you in the morning.”
As soon as he closed the door Sansa could feel the silence washing over her. It
was scary to think about how far away she was from the city. And somehow, how
safe she felt inside that room? They couldn’t possibly get to her. Not now.
Sansa looked around the room and discovered she had a walking closet. Much
bigger than the one she had before. It was filled with all types and colours of
clothing that Sansa could think of.
Very last minute Olyvar said. Sure buddy.
She found the night clothing drawer and picked a soft two piece. But before
putting it on she knew she needed a bath. A long, hot, bubbly bath that could
help her release all the tension she accumulated in the day.
Several hours had passed, and as she was finishing washing she could feel her
eyelids closing automatically. She dried herself as quickly as she could and
put on her two piece.
When Sansa came out of the bathroom all she could see was that long King Size
waiting for her to get inside it’s blankets and finally let go. And she did. It
was huge and Sansa was so happy for that.
There was one thought that brought her so much peace that her eyelids
automatically closed, inducing her to the world of sleep. And that thought was
“they’re not getting to me”. And she was right. No one could get to her. But,
little did she know there was always one thing that would get to her… her
nightmares.
 
===============================================================================
 
PETYR
What Petyr really wanted was just to go home with Sansa that evening, a part of
him wanted to stay by her side after having seen her going into full panic.
What was it with her that made him weak? The recurring question with an answer
Petyr never seemed to be able to find.
As he sat in his Aston Martin again he called the familiar number on his phone.
“Do you ever sleep, I’ve always wondered?” the smooth voice asked.
“You know me,” Petyr said, smirking at the road ahead of him.
“I do, and I also know that you rarely call just for a chat.”
“That would have been something.”
“Indeed.”
“Any news?”
“The girl says she won’t talk.”
Petyr could hear the uncertainty in the voice on the other end.
“I thought you were sure of your methods, I did suggest-”
“I know very well what you might have suggested, but by that I do not believe
we would have come any further. She says she won’t talk until she’s facing
whoever I am working for.”
“You know it’s crucial that we’ll wait until-”
“I do know, you’ve told me so.”
“Very well then, have you thought of a solution yet? Or are you growing old?”
“We are all growing older by each day, Littlefinger.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Petyr replied, his thoughts trailed back to Sansa with her
beautiful hair.
She reminded him so very much of Cat, yet somehow Sansa was much more beautiful
than Cat ever was. Petyr smiled.
“And yet you seem all but aware of the facts, which is unlike you. I know
you’re working on Sansa.”
Petyr almost stirred, he was happy he wasn’t facing the man right now. He, if
someone, might have been able to notice his micro reaction.
“I’ve kept an eye on her since she moved back to London,” Petyr replied
smoothly.
He couldn’t lie about this when the man clearly already knew about it. He had
to play his cards well. You have to be reliable, Littlefinger whispered.
“I know, you know, a lot more than you’re trying to let on. Don’t take me for a
fool, Littlefinger. Just a few days ago was the first time in weeks she updated
her Instagram. We all know how very fond she is of social media.”
“You don’t expect me to believe you when you are, indeed, playing the fool now,
do you?” Petyr knew that his friend thrived on similar businesses as himself.
Information. Nothing passed without him noticing. They could play a game at
that, and no one would be able to tell who would win. It was sheer luck that
Petyr had been able to keep the man on his side for so long. If he ever wanted
to outsmart Petyr, he if anyone, might have had a good shot at it. Thank God
that his friend never had any interest in power. Unlike Petyr Baelish.
“No, I hope you would never disappoint me like that,” the smooth voice replied.
“Oh, I would never disappoint.”
“I do hope you won’t.”
“And you’ll see to that you won’t either.”
“Of course.”
“Talk to her again, if your method won’t work, try mine.”
“All but - but yes, I will.”
“Good then,” Petyr ended the call.
His drive took him to the Fingers once again, but this time he entered through
another entrance.
A guard greeted him with a nod. This was the staffs entrance, unknown by the
customers but known to anyone who worked in his business.
When he got inside the lightning was dark with just a few candles lighting up
the employees’ room. It was clad with soft beautifully patterned fabrics, just
like within the actual rooms. Petyr had made a small hole into this room as
well that no one but him knew about, it was a good thing to be able to have an
eye on them when they didn't know about it, by having that, Petyr was allowed
to see if any of the people working for him acted differently when in front of
him compared to when they were with their coworkers or their clients. It was
easier to spot if someone had their doubts, he would be able to repair whatever
was damaged and knowing who needed to be dealt with next.
“Littlefinger,” Kayla greeted him.
A beautiful young girl who was the self proclaimed “boss” over the Fingers when
Petyr was too busy to keep it running by himself. She had several tasks within
the business, she was a part of his main team and security team as well, she
kept an eye on the Fingers and was also one of those who looked to his
customers needs.
“I've started training the new girl Marei, but I can't pinpoint what she's
doing wrong, but I can sense it when being with her.”
“Bring her in,” Petyr ordered.
A small shy girl with long blond curly hair walked into the room and Petyr sat
down in an armchair in one of the corners. She was very different from Kayla
who was a lot broader with dark brown hair with matching eyes.
“Marei,” Petyr scanned her.
“Yes… Sir,” the girl replied.
She couldn’t be much older than Sansa, Petyr noted.
“I suppose you've worked in a similar business before, or else Kayla here
wouldn't have hired you in the first place,” Petyr gave Kayla a look, and she
lifted an eyebrow as reply.
The people who started working at the Fingers were all professionals, they had
worked in the business often many years prior to having gotten here. The
Fingers was no usual entertainment business, but one with class, one with the
most exquisite range of services. The men and women working all came with
something unique and often people would fall for a specific one with a specific
quirk. Kayla had worked as an acrobat at a circus as a youngster. She could do
things with her body no one else - that Petyr knew of - could, and Petyr had
the world in his pockets.
“I started out after my father-”
“I'm not interested in your past, I suppose Kayla’s taken care of that,” Petyr
interrupted, waving his hand in a disregarding gesture.
He was not interested in another tragic story, he had heard way too many. Petyr
was only interested in whether his investment would be a good one or not. He
really didn't like bad investments, at all.
“Well, you're not here to be paid for nothing. Kayla says there's a problem but
I'm hoping she's wrong. Now, show me, go on.”
Marei stepped out of her silky dress which had barely covered her body in the
first place. She was thin and even though she wasn't exactly short she gave an
impression of being very young, looking barely a minor.
“Come here darling,” Kayla said with a sweet voice, yet with a hint of lust -
acted, probably.
The girl moved towards her, and shyly looked at her.
“Well, do as we’ve practiced, no rush okay?”
Marei seemed rather a good actor as well. Petyr noticed how she took advantage
of her shyness and using it to give the impression of a virgin, something that
would turn on far too many men - and women. That could definitely sell. Petyr
was proud that Kayla had come to that conclusion without Petyr’s help. She had
learnt through the years hadn't she?
The two girls approached each other. One definitely playing the dominant one
while the other gave away small soft moans as the first one started kissing her
down her neck. They moved from standing in the middle of the room to the bed
that was placed in the opposite corner from Petyr. The bed was placed in the
far end from the hole in the wall so that it would be easy to see everything,
not miss a single thing.
Petyr noted a few mistakes in Marei’s act instantly. She played along
accordingly, just like any of them would, but if she would want to stay the
“virgin”, she would have to be more clumsy. Not enough to make the costumer
unsure of themselves but enough to make it seem believable, that it really
wasn't an act and the people who would be paying to have her would believe they
had the pleasure to take her to her peak for the very first time.
“Don't you… don't you want to join us?” the new girl asked.
“He never does, I think he likes to just sit there with his cock hard as rock.
I think he comes without even having to touch himself,” Kayla said not leaving
room for Petyr to reply.
“I'm saving-”
“Yourself for another, yes, you've told me before,” Kayla continued with her
mouth on Marei’s neck as her hands roamed over her body.
“She must be very beautiful,” Marei said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Oh, not really, impeccable bloodlines though.”
“What she doesn't know won't hurt her,” Kayla licked her way up the other
woman’s body.
Petyr gave out a short laugh, it matched the smirk on his face.
“She won't know, she's dead."

*** 
The time was closing in on 4 in the morning when Petyr was finally home. He
could hear people chatting with low voices. He almost regretted having asked
them to stay over to look over Sansa. He just wanted to be alone.
“Who would have known? Littlefinger has finally fallen for someone?” Daisy put
her hand on her forehead and pretended to faint, sprawled out on the enormous
sofa when Petyr entered the living room.
He just gave them a look that didn't give anything away. He noticed the look on
Ros’ face, she looked doubtful.
“I always knew you would find someone,” Mhaegen stated.
Petyr just looked at them, always surprised at himself for not having grown
tired of them long ago. If he could he would fire them all. But he couldn’t
manage this business without them, too many threads to keep track on, too much
work that might get him arrested.
“But did you see her? She's at the very least 20 years younger than him!” Daisy
continued.
“Closer to 30,” Petyr corrected her as he hanged his jacket in the hallway
before taking his place beside the sofa, leaning against the wall behind him
with a confident smirk on his face.
“No way!” Daisy looked at Petyr and then at Olyvar.
“You should be flattered,” Olyvar laughed, he had been studying Petyr since he
arrived, much like Ros that evening, “that Daisy thought you younger than you
actually are, you know.”
Petyr laughed at that. He wasn't that old yet? Or was he? He would soon turn
49. He wasn't young anymore - but old? He had never considered himself old. Age
was only a number after all, nothing more and nothing less, unless you let it,
and Petyr would not let a number compromise him.
“Oh you're even grosser than I first thought!”
Daisy was always full of energy, always teasing, never afraid of stating her
thoughts.
“I bet it won't be long until he's fucking her,” Daisy crossed her arms looking
sure of herself.
The others exchanged some looks and laughed, all except Armeca. She never made
a sound. Petyr preferred having her around, if possible he would have let her
taken Olyvar’s place in his business, but then, that would never be possible.
He needed someone with an actual voice to be able to lead and keep the team
together.
Not everyone was present from his security team this evening, as he liked to
call them, only the ones he had explicitly asked for.
“Won't you sit down with us?” Mhaegen asked with a sweet voice.
“No dear, I like my walls,” he mused.
“Always so boring! You'll miss out on the cuddles!” Daisy exclaimed giving
Mhaegen a hug.
Petyr rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
“Okay guys, go to your positions, you know what to do,” Olyvar said still
looking at Petyr while giving orders.
They left without another word, Ros giving Petyr one last glance before
leaving; judging him.
When they were alone in the living room Petyr finally sat down beside Olyvar.
“She really is beautiful,” Olyvar said.
Petyr looked up the ceiling as he laid down on the sofa. He could feel Olyvar’s
hesitation even though he didn't look directly at him, he didn't have to. Petyr
could read people like open books and Olyvar was no exception even after his
training with Petyr. Olyvar had not referred to any of the three girls that
just until recently accompanied them, he talked about Sansa.
“You know, once I thought I actually had a shot with you.”
At that Petyr finally looked back at Olyvar. He looked him in the eyes and put
his hand on Olyvar’s knee and slowly but steadily stroked up his thigh and
pressed his hand flat between his legs. Petyr could feel Olyvar grow in his
trousers and calmly took his hand away without breaking their locked eyes.
Olyvar stretched from where he sat and touched Petyr without further warning,
just like he had done, giving him a squeeze before pulling away, breaking their
eye contact. Disappointed.
“I don't sleep with my employees.”
“Shame, I'm good, and rather expensive.”
“I'm the one who pays you anyway, without me you wouldn't be expensive.”
“I know the rest buys it, but I don't. I don't think you sleep around half as
much as you like to brag about it.”
“If telling yourself that makes you feel any better, then go ahead.”
Olyvar knew the conversation had come to an end.
“Would you have wanted to, if I wasn't your employee?” he asked upon leaving.
“If you weren't my employee there wouldn't be an interest to begin with.”
Petyr let Olyvar leave, he stayed in the flat opposite to Petyr, someone had to
stay close, just in case.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
It was a dark alley. The floor was wet as if rain had heavily poured down just
hours before. There wasn’t a single light that would allow Sansa to know where
she was.
A long dark alley that seem to have no end. The design stayed the same even
after walking through it for a while.
Sansa looked forward, and then back, it looked the same both sides.
‘Move forward’, that was the best thing Sansa could think of.
Her legs starting moving, stepping into the puddles on the ground. She could
feel her body shifting without making any effort, as if her legs did not belong
to her. She wasn’t in control. All she could do was look around her as she
advanced forward.
It seemed like a never ending alley. It went on and on and on and nothing
really changed as she was advancing.
Then she heard a familiar laugh.
Shit. Not him.
Sansa tried to move faster but she continued to move at the same pace.
The laugh was getting closer and she couldn’t run faster. Sansa could hear the
footsteps that accompanied that horrible laughter.
Sansa looked behind her and she saw Ramsay Bolton walking towards her, eyes
wide open, looking directly at her. And laughing. That horrible laughter.
She wanted to move faster but her legs were still unresponsive. Ramsay was
close now. He wasn’t trying to reach her, he was just running towards her, his
arms down and his eyed locked on Sansa.
She knew he was near. So near she could almost feel his breathing on the back
of her neck. That part of her neck where he had carved a mark the night he
brutalised her body.
She didn’t want to feel his hands on her. She couldn’t bear feeling his hands
on her body again. He wasn’t allowed to… he never was anyway.
He was right… there.
She could feel him, his growth pressed on her behind.
Sansa started screaming. She didn’t want to go through that again.
Her screams woke her up. Panting heavily, she sat on the bed looking at the
shadows and figures of a room she was yet to become familiar to. She grabbed
the blankets as she had many times before and covered herself.
She felt as if there wasn’t enough air in the bedroom. She stood up, searched
for a robe and left the room.
Sansa didn’t know where to go. She barely knew the flat and she hadn’t really
payed attention during Olyvar’s tour, just felt astonished, and now she was
drained.
She decided to go look for the kitchen. A glass of water was all she really
wanted. Sansa remembered something about a large room and… maybe it was turning
over… here, no, there… Several minutes later of poking around and going through
rooms she was convinced Olyvar missed, she found the revolving gray doors.
‘Just go in there. Find wherever the glasses are, pour yourself some water,
drink, refill and leave. And try to do this silently’, Sansa told herself. The
plan sounded perfect. But it was going to fail drastically, since she was going
to have a conversation that was going to change her relationship with Petyr
Baelish.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr stirred when he heard faint footsteps approaching. Panic took him for a
few seconds until he remembered having taken the young woman into his home. He
had fallen asleep on the couch - probably sometime after Olyvar had left - for
the first time in forever. Had he ever done that? Fallen asleep on the couch?
He rarely used it at all.
Petyr got up and supported his weight on his elbows, still feelings slightly
confused and not fully himself after waking. He closed his eyes, trying to
collect himself and opened them again.
“Sansa,” he said softly, when he could see her silhouette moving towards the
kitchen, auburn hair moving alongside her body, “you alright, sweetling?”
Sweetling? That was the second time he had called her that. Petyr swallowed,
raised his eyebrows at himself as he slowly moved away from the sofa.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
The water was filling up the steady glass that was being held by a trembling
hand.
“Sansa,” a soft voice that made her turn around. It was Petyr Baelish, “You
alright, sweetling?”
She could tell by his messed up hair that he woke up just recently.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Sansa muttered softly still holding the glass of
water, “I just had-,“ what was she going to say? A nightmare? A flashback? A
mix of both?
“I just needed a glass of water and it took me some time to find the kitchen.
You’d assume being a big open loft would do the trick but I’m not used to it
still…”
Petyr approached her, and shrugging slightly.
“That’s fine… I shouldn’t have fallen asleep anyway. Do you know what time it
is?”
“Uhm no, I’m sorry. But I’m assuming it’s very late. Olyvar told me you’d come
home late.”
“He did, didn’t he…” Petyr replied scratching the back of his head.
“What else did he tell you?” he questioned Sansa as he searched her face.
“Ohhh many things…” Sansa replied, almost teasingly, “You know, about what you
liked doing in your free time. But I can’t really picture my uncle doing those
things to girls, or boys to be honest,” Sansa let out a tiny smile.
“Really now?” Petyr quirked his eyebrow, “Why so? I’m too cold and proper for
such things?” now he smirked playfully.
Sansa smiled back at him. She was feeling good, more relaxed. Ever since she
stepped into the Baelish household, she felt protected. As if she was a little
girl to be looked after. Sansa always enjoyed her independence but in these
times where her intimacy had been attacked several times, first with Ramsay’s
meeting and then with her safe house being burnt down, being taken care of was
something she appreciated.
But she wanted to know more. More about Petyr Baelish, the people who worked
for him. She was going to live with them after all, it’d be better, even
advisable as some would say, to learn more about her current situation and
those who surrounded it.
She took a sip of the glass she filled with water just moments ago.
“Olyvar... the people here... what is it exactly that they do?” Sansa asked,
“I’m assuming they must have other roles, other than babysitting me and
watching over the house?"
"Babysitting?" Petyr replied apparently amused.
"Well…” he began as he put on the kettle, "You are right about that, they do a
little of everything. Whatever's needed."
That was an ambiguous answer. Sansa wasn’t satisfied.
“You know that word, 'whatever' leaves many things to the imagination…”
“You're very clever,” Petyr said, looking directly at her, “Well, we can play a
game, if you want to. You make an assumption about me or the people who work
for me, and I'll tell you if you're right or wrong?”
Petyr’s little game got Sansa’s attention now.
“Sounds fair,” Sansa replied.
Is this time to be direct? Was Petyr going to like it?
Baelish waited for Sansa to come up with the first assumption, as he started to
pour water into two big rather fancy but simple cups and put what seemed to be
overly expensive tea bags into them, handing one over to Sansa.
“Your business,” Sansa began, “Sometimes it's not all that... legal."
Petyr Baelish smirked at that red headed girl. She was smart. And direct. He
seemed to like it, Sansa felt a bit better.
"True"
"Drugs?" Sansa’s second assumption came out a bit more hurried than what she
had hoped for.
"Yes..." Petyr replied while sipping his tea.
Sansa was nervous now. Baelish had just confirmed that his business was
dangerous and sometimes dealt with drug trafficking. She knew she was on
delicate territory and even though Petyr Baelish was her uncle and had promised
not to hurt her, she didn’t want to make him angry, make him feel as if this
was some sort of game. It wasn’t a game for Sansa anymore and she had just some
hours ago heard what happened to people that offended him from the man himself.
"Prostitution?"
It was Sansa’s first intuition when she saw Olyvar. A delicate handsome man
like him would serve perfectly as a very expensive companion, like a doll to a
child. Only that grown ups would do naughtier things to a doll.
"You really want to know?"
"I... I'm guessing that's a yes..."
Petyr hesitated for a moment. Studying Sansa’s every expressions. She had to
learn how to control them better.
"Yes," he replied carefully.
"I don’t... wow,” was all Sansa could think of.
"You didn't want to hear that..."
"I just never thought you'd be involved in something like that..."
But she did think of it. There were rumors. She just never wanted to accept
them?
“Has your perception of me changed?” Petyr asked but received no reply from
Sansa.
“What are you thinking of me after knowing this?" Petyr questioned her,
scanning that beautiful face of hers.
"That maybe I'm not as safe as I thought I was... you being involved in those
type of businesses... nothing good can come from that."
Petyr Baelish put down his teacup.
"I may be involved with things I know you don't like or support, but I will
never, ever, let anyone hurt you, Sansa. You are safe with me. I promise you.
That's why I have people like Olyvar around, to make sure of that. I promised
you, you would be safe, and I intend to keep that promise."
Was that a feeling of gratefulness going through Sansa’s heart?
"I'm sorry... it's just. It's hard to trust people. And somehow I idealized
you? I should have assumed what kind of life you had."
"Idealised me? In what way? If it helps, I find it hard to trust people as
well."
"You always seemed fair. And you always had a way with words. If you wanted
something you knew your way around it. I just always thought you were a fair
player. And now, finding out that you're not... Your power and money come from
a business I'd be ashamed of dealing with to be honest," she was being honest.
She liked his connections and his effectiveness and the way he got things done,
but now she found out that he not always played by the rules. It was like
finding out your favorite author got it’s book written by someone else.
"I'm sorry I'm not what you wished for. I am not an angel, Sansa. I meant what
I said, I can play the Devil for you. I'll do whatever is necessary, for you."
Sansa’s heart skipped for a second. Was that the second time that happened with
Petyr?
“Oooops sorry.”
And their moment got interrupted by a woman with red hair, not as dark and
vibrant as her own. She must be another of Baelish’s workers.
“Didn’t know you were here,” the woman continued, clearly indicating she had
been aware, probably even heard their entire conversation, “Mr. Baelish, Miss
Stark... sorry for interrupting, I’m Ros.”
"You were actually, indeed, interrupting something, Ros," Petyr replied, not
even trying to conceal his irritation at this.
Sansa found Petyr’s way with words unfortunate. The girl apologized. It wasn’t
as if they were slowly gaining trust on each other.
“It’s ok. We were actually finished,” Sansa looked at Petyr, not even trying to
conceal her own irritation at him, “I’m going back to my room. Have a good
night.”
Taking the glass of water, she moved passed them.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
“I’m sorry Mr. Baelish. I think she needs a break. It’s not always easy finding
out the truth,” Ros looked smug and it lit a fire within Petyr that he rarely
felt.
People were just background noise, he didn’t care what people thought, he
didn’t care about their words or their pathetic attempts at getting him upset.
But something about what Ros said got to him. She always knew ways, didn’t she?
Petyr turner towards Ros, fighting to keep his cold expression in place.
"You're such a spoilsport, did you know?" he tilted his head slightly giving
her a smile with nothing but bitterness.
"Well... you just broke the girl's heart. Telling her all about your business.
She won't be looking at you the same way from now on. Will it be worth it?"
She was definitely mocking him. Had he always been this transparent? Did she
truly know? Could she see how he slipped between Sansa’s fingers? How he felt
like he lost control with her? Struggling to keep everything in place, in
order? She could be the end of him - and somehow Ros knew it too. Knew that
this young ordinary girl could turn the tables with him like no one else.
"You know, eavesdropping is not really a polite thing to do," Petyr lifted an
eyebrow at her, trying to keep his perfect mask intact, "What should I have
told her? She needed to know eventually anyway, there was never a right time to
tell her.... The plans are changed however, we need to take down Cersei, and
whether Sansa likes it or not she'll realise she needs someone with contacts
and businesses like mine in order to make that reality. She's not a stupid girl
anymore, she knows there's no nice way to bring down Cersei. It's not as simple
as that. She'll be upset for the night maybe, but she'll get over it."
Ros shook her head at him, walking away from him back to the door with her
hands crossed.
“She may not be stupid, but she’s disappointed. You’re gonna have to earn her
respect again... and good luck with that,” she said not even giving him a last
look as she left through the front.
Petyr sighed, and started for the stairs. He hesitated as he walked past
Sansa’s bedroom door.
"Sansa... you still awake?" he said, barely a whisper in case she had really
gone back to bed.
“What do you want?”
"I... I guess I wanted to say... I'm sorry, for earlier. I hope you'll be able
to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing, eventually,” he could feel
Littlefinger judging him for his weakness.
Because this was weak? Wasn't it? Giving in way too easily. He should feel
satisfied with himself, for being able to give the impression of someone
powerful, someone who could do anything. But this was Sansa, and somewhere a
part of him cared what she thought of him. Why would he? Why would he care what
a stupid girl thought?
Petyr started walking away from her door, upset with himself, but something
made him stop for a moment. He grimaced and went back shivering slightly when
he heard the words leaving his own mouth. What would become of him?
"Uhm... you looked upset when you came down there... you, okay?"
“I... Never mind... good night.”
What game had he gotten himself into? Petyr found himself fumbling after the
right way to express himself. It was as if he had dropped a glass from his
hands, and it had shattered beneath him. You’re wasting your time, Littlefinger
said to him, you're wasting your time on this girl. You dropped the bomb way
too early. If Petyr wanted to continue this fragile dance with Sansa he had to
be more careful.
"If there's something bothering you, I want to know. Anything that can help
that's in my power, I will do."
Sansa’s reply was unsure, as if she too was at loss with her words.
“I had a- nightmare. I always have nightmares... I haven't been able to have a
good night sleep since forever.”
Petyr could hear her voice breaking at the last sentence. Suddenly he realised:
Sansa was crying.
"Uh, Sansa, may I come in?"
“Yeah,” her voice seemed weak, but she tried to keep her voice steady.
Petyr felt the door lever under his hand, the metal cold at touch, and he
turned it slowly. Sansa was indeed in her bed, her hands quickly wiping away
her tears, hiding them.
"Is there anything I can do?" he said as he sat down at the edge of her bed.
“I want to be able to sleep for just one night. Not worry about nightmares or
flashbacks...”
Petyr thought for a moment, taking his gaze away from Sansa.
"Did you know that your mother had nightmares too, when she was younger?"
“Did she really?”
Could he hear the slightest hint of happiness? Or was it his own mood that
lightened at the thought of Cat once again? Was he truly that naive, still,
after all this time? Cat brought all kinds of memories, even today. He wasn’t
much better, even after all these years.
“Yeah... she was very strong and brave, even as a little girl, but she had
them, it didn't make her any weaker. She often asked for her sister but she
asked for me, once. I stayed in her room and slept on the carpet on the floor
to keep her company,” Petyr gave her a half-hearted smile, trying to make her
more comfortable but not truly feeling it himself, "Do you miss them very
much?"
“I do. I never truly realised how very important they were in my life, until
now. When I was younger I didn’t spend much time with them. I wish I had, when
there was still time to do so, but I wanted space, privacy. As I got older, the
need for my family became more present; to have them by my side. If I had known
that we would all be separated by now, with my parents gone and my siblings God
knows where… I would have showed them how much I cared for them much more than
I ever did.”
"You needn't worry, they did know that you loved them, and cared for them. What
you're doing now, trying to fight for what your parents fought for, they would
be very proud of you. I'm very proud of you.”
Petyr could feel Littlefinger’s presence, but the angry comment never came.
He looked at Sansa and was met with a soft and kind smile. One that he didn’t
deserve, not after everything he had put her through.
“How do you do it? Hide your secrets and wear a mask for everyone else?”
Petyr almost twitched at her comment, but he caught himself before his body
reacted on it’s own. This was the second time this night he had felt like this,
completely and utterly transparent. What had become of his perfect mask? He
felt naked, but Petyr didn't move, he acted calmly. He was still in control. He
could handle this.
"It's my work, it's what I do."
Sansa looked down at her hands, seemingly unsure. For a moment he almost
expected her to ask for forgiveness, but it never came.
“I understand. But aren’t you tired though? Don’t you want to just be yourself?
Sometimes I want to be open about my problems, even find help...”
"Yes…” he replied carefully, “I've done what's necessary for as long as I can
remember. I'm not even sure who I am without all this," he continued gesturing
vaguely at himself, “I don't know if I can ever be anything else,” Petyr looked
at Sansa, “I, for one, know that it's hard opening up to people. Knowing who to
trust. But you can put your trust in me, if you ever... need it.”
Sansa took her eyes off her hands, meeting his.
“Thank you. That means a lot... specially coming from someone who seems to be a
drug lord and a pimp,” she laughed when she said the last words and Petyr
couldn't tell if she was actively trying to lighten up the mood of their
conversation, or if she was still thinking of what he had said earlier, but he
gave her a smile and laughed with her. When did he last share a genuine laugh
with someone?
"A drug lord and a pimp? I should have that on a t-shirt.”
“You should,” she said her laugh fading.
Petyr noticed her hands, almost fidgeting. She was still nervous. About his
confessions? Most probably. Petyr found himself wanting her to feel safe, to
actually keep her safe.
"Hey,” he said giving her another smile as he hesitantly put one of his hands
over Sansa's, “I may be a lot of things but being me has it's advantages, and
we'll get your party back on it's feet... I'll help you get yourself back on
your feet."
“Mr. Baelish... Thank you.”
“Please, call me Petyr,” he put his other hand over both of hers, holding them
gently.
“Petyr…” she said, unsure, almost as if trying to pronounce a foreign word in a
strange language, “Is it ok if you could stay with me? Like you did with my
mother?”
He smiled.
"Of course."
Petyr got up for a moment and tucked her in, soothingly touching one of her
auburn locks very lightly as he straightened his back and went back to the end
of her bed and placed himself on top of the duvets, leaning back on the wall
behind him as he stretched out his legs in front of him to make it more
comfortable.
"I'll be just here,” Petyr said, “Goodnight, sweetling.”
Chapter End Notes
     If you're wondering: yes, we do RP all of this, the two writers of
     this fic only writes as Petyr/Sansa, not both of them - through all
     of the dialogues as well. Regarding the other character's it's mostly
     written by the person writing the character's POV but sometimes we
     help each other with those parts, so far Petyr is writing Olyvar and
     Sansa have written as Ros.
     We're so exited to share this chapter with you, any comments, kudos,
     bookmarks are highly appreciated and we're forever grateful to you.
     Thank you for reading this RP fic!
     I'm just as excited as you, to those who doesn't know what a RP is,
     you write as just one character and you might not fully know what the
     other character is going to do, we're kept as much in the dark as you
     are who're reading this (except for the ongoing plot behind the
     Petyr/Sansa relationship, that we've planned, it's not just
     improvisation).
     Thank you all, hope you liked this chapter!
***** Introduce yourself *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is SFW but with references of sexual and emotional
     abuse.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 6: INTRODUCE YOURSELF.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
Sansa closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Even with her eyes closed she could
feel the light from her night table invading the room, but she made an effort
not to open them. She moved her feet slightly and felt Petyr there. His
presence calmed her.
And that unsettled her greatly. Why did her body react like that whenever he
was around? Every time he spoke to her she felt… what was the word? Reassured?
It was as if his voice always offered a solution to whatever kind of trouble
she had, big or small. Sansa wasn’t used to that. She wasn’t comfortable being
dependent on others, least of all when it was about her personal problems.
She was different when she was young. Always dreaming and fantasising about
getting married to a perfect prince, her life would turn out just like one of
those fairy tales one often read about in the books. A young handsome prince,
brave and strong, would come to rescue her from her tower, guarded by a big and
dangerous dragon. And then she would marry him and they would have kids and
live happily ever after. He would guide her, give her everything she asked
for. That’s the way life worked - or rather, that’s the way Sansa thought life
worked (except for the dragon of course, everyone knew dragons didn’t exist.
Not in this life, anyway). She had been blind, young and innocent.
What really bothered her now that she was all grown up, was that nobody had
told her that the ideal she truly believed to be true was all based on a lie.
Her family often smiled and shook their heads. They knew her dreams were never
going to happen. It’s fine to allow a child to dream, but you will have to tell
them the truth eventually. Otherwise you’ll help feed that dream, and the
bigger the dream, the bigger the disappointment upon finding out the harshness
of the world. The actual truth, not the lie.
Sansa would have preferred to have her dreams shattered back then if she could
have chosen, rather that than only realising the grim reality upon that cold,
dark, starless night that was her wedding night. The night she found out the
real truth about princes and happily ever afters.
That night… how could she even begin to explain? Anyone would tell her to try
forget whatever happened in that bedroom, to “try and move on”, to make it
“easier”.
But it wasn’t that easy. It’s hard to explain it. The more she tried to think
about it, she realised she couldn’t remember. Her mind was protecting her of
course. A trauma like that? The mind often decided to shut it down. As if
making you a favor and saying: “you know that horrible thing that happened to
you? Yeah, let’s not think about that. Oh hey! Look over there while-I-just-
take-this-memory-away-and-put-it-in-a-chest-and-lock-the-chest-and-hide-the-
key-from-you - you’ll thank me later!”, but she wanted to remember. Because she
needed to move on. It was like a bad dream. ‘If it had happened so fast’, the
little she remembered, ‘why do I remember it lasting a lifetime while it was
happening?’ And the worse thing about it was that back then, she had never
moved, nor did she ran. She had done nothing. She would never forgive herself
for that. Ever.
In her dreams, the young prince would carry her to their bedroom, where he
would slowly and almost timidly undress her as she undressed him. For the first
time they would look at each other’s bodies. He would admire her beauty and she
his poise. She would wait for him to make the next move. A kiss perhaps? On her
forehead. Then, on her mouth. He would hug her and she’d be able to feel him
directly on her, touching her skin. The heat between her legs would be there,
present. Then, he would take her hand, caressing it and kissing it. A formal
invitation to go to bed, where he’d wait for her to lay down comfortably so
that he could join her, next to her. He would lay his hand on her waist, to
which Sansa would respond with a smile. From this point on, he would make sure
to go slow. There was no need to rush things. This night was all theirs.
Of course, that was what her prince would have done. Her wedding night was
nothing like that. Sansa’s idea of a perfect wedding night didn't involve
alcohol, humiliation, abuse or rape. She never thought a man - least of all,
the man that was now her husband - would be capable of doing the things she had
been forced to endure that night.
Sansa opened her eyes. Petyr wasn’t there anymore. He must have waited for her
to fall asleep before leaving. Apparently he cared enough to do that. Sansa
found that endearing. Was she starting to feel real affection for Petyr
Baelish? She never thought that’d be possible. The man who introduced her to
her worst nightmare - her husband - and induced her to marry him. He said he
hadn’t known about him but Sansa had witnessed Baelish lying too many times
before to naively trust that. He was a liar, an exquisite one. A man who wore
his mask almost naturally, as if he actually enjoyed wearing it. But at the
same time, behind that mask she also saw a shy man, a gentle one who sometimes
looked away when their eyes met. A man who offered her his home, a place he
hadn’t shared with anyone except the people who worked for him. A man who
promised her to help her get her party back strong to face Cersei.
Finding out part of his business was based on drugs and prostitution was no
surprise, but there was a part of her that felt a slight hint of
disappointment. But why? Feeling disappointed only inclined that she was
starting to care.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr had found he couldn’t take his eyes off Sansa. Seeing her chest heave in
shallow breaths and later in a slower, steady rhythm, made him feel unusually
calm. Her hair almost flowing around her, auburn locks that looked so very much
like the ones he had grown up to adore. They were familiar, so very familiar.
When Sansa was sound asleep and Petyr started wondering how long he had stayed
there on her bed, just observing her like a hawk. Sansa was no prey. Petyr
truly wanted to believe that, and in a moment of weakness he did. Where were
the ever so present Littlefinger? What had he done to make him go away?
Finally, reluctantly, Petyr got up. He went up to her, looking down at her
sleeping face; she was a true beauty.
“What’s so special about you,” he whispered as he took another lock between his
fingers, curled her hair around them, feeling the softness before letting go.
He went to the door, opened it carefully not to wake her and gave Sansa one
last look before he went out.
Petyr walked towards the door at the far end, he picked up his key and unlocked
the door and closed it after him. He then closed his eyes and let out a breath
he hadn’t known he had been holding in. He sat himself in the armchair, taking
out a box in the drawer underneath the desk and opened it. He carefully picked
up a picture, a picture of a woman and a man smiling, looking straight into the
camera and right into the camera, into his watching eyes. Petyr placed the
picture on the desk in front of him, leaning his head on his left hand to
inspect it. The women had long red hair with blue, kind yet sharp eyes and high
cheekbones. What was it with familiarity?
Petyr put back the photograph into the box, careful not to ruin it. I can’t
make the same mistakes, he told himself closing his eyes, I just can’t.
The boy had cried all night. He felt ashamed feeling the tears burning on his
cheeks. He felt stupid, so very stupid. Only girls cried, no boy he had ever
known would ever shed a single tear. Boys were to become strong and fearless.
But Petyr Baelish was no ordinary boy, and he had just lost both his parents.
They were dead to him. Both of them. This was no news to him. So why was he
still crying? He hadn’t even noticed people storming in, he hadn’t noticed the
voices, the hands that carried him away, “you’ll be safe now,” they told him,
“it’ll end from now on,” but so they always seemed to say, and nothing had
stopped this from happening before.
Petyr wiped away the tears, upset with himself. Would he always be this weak?
Petyr woke, he immediately lifted his hand to his own cheek, to his relief: it
was dry. He took a deep breath. It was just a dream, it’s over. Petyr Baelish
closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. When he opened them again he
was back, in order, in control.
He checked his phone for updates, a new email. Him. Again.
“It better be good, I’m not in the mood for bad news,” he said coldly into the
phone that was pressed against his ear.
“As if you’re ever,” the voice replied, calm, but Petyr could almost see the
other man rolling his eyes at him.
“Well, go on, it’s 5 a.m and I still have a few things to finish.”
Petyr noticed the slight pause he received before getting a reply.
“She’s agreed to cooperate.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes,” the voice replied.
“But there’s something else…”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“She understands that it’s not safe for her to go outside yet, but she demands
more… as she likes to call it: freedom.”
“I suppose she’s made suggestions?” Petyr brushed his eyebrow with his index
finger.
“She wants us to prove that she’s safe with us, by letting her have a phone.
It’s bad enough to have someone staring at you while you sleep, can make anyone
feel rather… imprisoned, you do realise that?”
His mind seemed to be echoing the word “sleep” after hearing it, barely
noticing the rest. Petyr’s thoughts travelled back to Sansa, and her long
eyelashes in the colour of autumn, her peaceful face as slumber had taken her,
and those soft, soft lips of hers.
“Littlefinger?”
“Yes…” Petyr replied, still caught in his mental image of Sansa from about an
hour ago, “Ask if she’s fine with using a phone under, say, a shorter period,
to start with, so we can control who she’s in contact with, by that she can
prove her loyalty to us as well - and you’ll be able to stop her if she tries
to reach anyone we don’t want her contacting. It’s vital that this stays within
our coalition. or else-,”
“Your plan won’t work. I do know.”
“Good,” Petyr stated.
“The Tyrells are determined to meet her. They’ve caught up on a trail that
could possibly lead us to the boy as well. They’re good. You wouldn’t want to
oppose them.”
“You, talking to me about the Tyrells as if they’re not manageable is
ridiculous, truly laughable - but I don’t think I can spare that energy on you,
my friend.”
“My friend, you underestimating them is preposterous. They’re almost as good as
you when it comes to dealing with businesses and getting their ways, don’t let
your large ego get the better of you.”
“Oh I am aware, their help with tracking down the girl did indeed make it go
incredibly smooth and fast, but don’t get me wrong, they’re just a pawn in the
game. As you do point out, no one is better than me.”
Petyr ended the call, not waiting for the other man to respond. There was no
need to do so, and Petyr rather cherished those times when he got to have the
last word with this particular old nemesis.
A - close to perfect - stack of papers was placed on his desk, with a sigh he
started with the first bunch, looking through them as he logged into his
desktop with a 20 digits password.
When the time finally showed 07:00 he got up from his armchair, a Le Corbusier;
Grand Confort with black leather, and went out - locking the door behind him as
he headed for the stairs.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
The water was indeed hot. Sansa always had trouble getting the water hot when
showering in her safe house. It was an old building and the heater never worked
appropriately. A problem that Petyr Baelish’s flat didn’t seem to have. Here it
worked just fine.
She stood underneath the shower nozzle, the water running down her entire body.
Surprisingly for her, Sansa had had a good night’s sleep. It had been months
since she last slept for 7 hours straight. Did Petyr’s presence had anything to
do with that? It was the only thing different now. Well that, plus she was in a
place where she felt as if nothing bad could ever happen to her. The flat was
in a remote place surrounded by security 24/7, divided into two floors, the
lower one that held the kitchen, living room and the offices of Baelish’s team
and the upper floor, composed by bedrooms and where only Petyr and Sansa were
allowed.
Sansa was just beginning to dry herself with the towel, when she heard voices
from the lower floor. She could recognise Olyvar’s and Ros’, but not the
others. She also noticed how Petyr’s voice was currently missing.
She was almost dry now and applied her body cream, and she reached out for her
underwear. Wait. Where was the underwear? Shit! Sansa had forgotten to pick out
her clothes before going to bathroom, and now she had to cross the hallway to
where her bedroom was wearing nothing but a towel, which was by the way; super
short! What kind of towels were even this short? Well, better do it now that
Baelish wasn’t upstairs!
She gathered her things, tucked her towel tightly and peaked out of the
bathroom. No one. She headed out of the bathroom, turned around to close the
door and just when she was planning to tiptoe as fast as she possibly could,
Petyr was approaching the top of the stairs.
“Mr. Baelish!”
Petyr carried a tray in dark wood in his hands, with a glass of orange juice,
freshly made toasts, several strips of bacon and two fried eggs. He stopped
abruptly when stumbling upon Sansa.
“Sansa, you look… like, you’ve been reborn,” he gave her a scan which seemed to
be going on forever, starting from her feet and going up to her knees which
were basically in the same height as his gaze and finally after an anguished
moment reaching her neckline and then he met her eyes, “delightful as ever…”,
he finished with a smirk playing on his face, ever so present, "I made you
breakfast, my Lady," Petyr continued giving the tray he was holding a quick
glance and then raised it to meet Sansa's eyes again, “Not entirely sure if
this attire of yours is considered appropriate in the presence of a gentleman.”
Sansa lowered her eyes as fast as she could, fixating it on the tray in his
hands. Was that really bacon?
“Oh my God, you made me breakfast?” she saw how Petyr in his turn fixed his
sight on her apparel.
Sansa then tried to cover what she could with what little she had.
“And no, this view isn’t for you”, she continued her way down the hallway,
covering the back of her towel in case it revealed something she wasn’t
planning.
As she entered the room she heard Petyr’s footsteps following her. She went
directly to her walking closet where she closed the door shut.
“Can you put the tray on the bed while I get dressed?” she shouted from inside.
“Not for me, you say? Who's it for then, someone special?" Petyr replied.
Sansa was looking through the wardrobe full of clothes that weren’t familiar to
her when she heard Petyr’s words. She smiled at them. Sansa enjoyed Petyr’s
sense of humour. It was hard to explain it but his teasing seemed to know
exactly where the appropriate limit was so that it never reached the point
where she would start feeling uncomfortable.
Sansa reflected on the situation that she had found herself in. Coming out of
the bathroom and having to face any man with no clothes and no underwear would
have caused Sansa some serious stress and panic. She would have felt completely
vulnerable even if the other person would have had the best of intentions. But
Sansa never felt anything close to that earlier in that very moment. Petyr was
beginning to grow on her, she couldn’t deny it, and she was starting to get so
accustomed to his presence that her body felt at ease whenever he was around.
“Someone special? Maybe?” She was just finishing to put on her jeans and shirt;
a basic outfit, but her favorite, “Maybe I really should go out in search for a
special someone, after all you failed on keeping your promise,” Sansa opened
the door and found Petyr standing next to the door, “You left me alone last
night when you said you were going to stay”, she made clear and crossed her
arms, giving him her best shot at her angry stares.
Petyr’s expression changed slightly, for a moment he seemed more unreadable
than ever.
"I did, then I had things to do..." He paused for a moment, “I am sorry Sansa,
if I had known it was that important to you, I would have stayed longer than I
did. I don't sleep very well, if I'm honest…”
Sansa continued to stare at him.
“I’m back now and I made you breakfast," Petyr said as if changing his mind to
not tell her more, lifting his eyebrows, a hesitant smile playing on his lips -
was it a smirk, or was it more genuine than usual?
“Yes you did,” Sansa approached the tray, “Bacon, huh?”
She grabbed one of the strips and began to eat it.
“This is really good!” She offered him a big smile while crunching her bacon .
"I'm glad,” Petyr said, almost hesitantly, but looking perhaps slightly
relieved, “You see, I have an unrecognised skill for cooking."
Sansa grabbed the glass of juice and swept it down, almost in one go. Then she
sat down on her bed, beside the tray, making sure the plates weren’t going to
tip over, Petyr’s eyes steadily on her.
"You like the clothes we bought? I got help ordering the basics, nothing really
outstanding in your wardrobe so far, we'll have to see to that. For certain
occasions."
Sansa then looked at her shirt and jeans and gave him a thumbs up as she
swallowed a bite of her eggs.
“They’re great. Better than what I had back in the safe house. Whoever helped
you has great taste in style,” she continued to munch the bacon.
Sansa suddenly noted the silence between them and the amount of noise she alone
was making with the bacon. She smiled at Petyr almost shamefully and offered
him some.
"No, thank you," Petyr smiled, almost gently, but shook his head, “I vaguely
recall it being Olyvar who looked through the clothing. You'll meet some of the
others soon as well, they're waiting downstairs, but please, do take your time
with that breakfast of yours. You'll see them enough for a lifetime anyway."
“You’re planning to have me for a long time Mr. Baelish?” It was her time to
tease him, “Are you willing to take the risk of having me coming out of the
bathroom close to naked every time I have a bath?” She asked him with her mouth
full of bacon.
"Oh please, it's a pleasure having someone beautiful, witty - and someone
that's actually tolerable around…” Petyr replied, even though he had given her
a compliment he looked as though he was only thinking about the other people he
had been referring to, “You're more than tolerable, Sansa, but some of the
people working for me, well, though they might be of importance they do drain
me of energy most of the times."
“I can only imagine. Being a pimp mustn’t be easy?”
Petyr gave out a laugh, unusual for him - he never laughed during the whole
time they had spent together with her aunt in Ireland.
“What do you like doing when you’re not... you know, working?” Sansa asked.
"I attend other work related things? Parties, meetings, public appearances.
It's what I do."
“You’re telling me that having meetings and attending to parties is your
brilliant idea of relaxing? That can’t be right!”
"You really want to know?" Petyr leaned against the wall behind him, his hands
in the pockets of his trousers, “Well, tell me what you find "relaxing", and I
might give you a second answer to your question, not many people get more than
one reply from me, Sansa."
Sansa stared at him, secretly accepting the challenge.
“Well I like reading. And taking pictures. Designing dresses,” she replied
confidently, “You should try hobbies like these! You might just discover
another side of you, you thought you never had… specially with the latter one.”
"Me, in a dress? I'd prefer to keep to my suits, but I like your dresses,
they're very... exquisite."
“Your suits are exquisite as well. Elegant in the cut. And fashionable for any
occasion. I like them,” Sansa couldn’t believe she had said that out loud.
Petyr gave her a long look before answering.
“Thank you, they're tailored, and most are custom made. Price is not an issue."
"You're taking forever, they're getting inpatient down here!" Olyvar's voice
suddenly came screaming from downstairs.
“You might be surprised. They’re not interested in me this time, it’s you
they’re so eager to meet,” Petyr said to Sansa, he was smirking, obviously not
caring to reply to Olyvar’s voice in the background.
“Really?” Sansa was surprised to hear that.
That could only mean one thing.
“There hasn’t been a lady in the house for a while I assume?”
“The one’s here today are those who’ve worked closely on your case the last
couple of years even, but they’ve all kept in the dark, at my request.” Petyr
paused for a moment contemplating whatever he was thinking about, “Who told you
that? Oh don’t tell me. Olyvar?” He quirked his eyebrow in a question.
“Maybe?” Sansa replied amused, “Should I go downstairs and say hello to
everyone then?”
“Better get it over with.”
Petyr was obviously not amused at this but he was still smiling slightly at
Sansa.
Sansa waited for Petyr to go first. He held up the door to Sansa’s bedroom and
followed her outside and down the stairs.
In the short distance that separated both floors, Sansa tried to compose
herself. Social gatherings still created a certain feeling of unease in the
eldest Stark’s daughter. And the fact that these people were going to be living
with her from now on - more or less but still - made her want to create the
best impression possible.
Once they reached the bottom, they found Petyr’s team all gathered in a
semicircle. No one said anything and for a few seconds they all looked at
Sansa, some looking as if inspecting her, others as if seeing her for the very
first time - even though that was probably not true, she remembered Olyvar
having said that they had been around for quite some time. Sansa looked at
Petyr for a second, and then back to at the small gathering of people.
“Hi, I’m Sansa Stark. Pleased to meet you all.”
"You've already met Olyvar and Ros, that's Daisy," Petyr began in an almost
monotone voice.
Daisy stepped forward offering Sansa her hand.
"Mhaegen and Ameca," he continued.
But it was the first one who was mentioned that stepped forward.
"Hi, I'm Daisy. Ameca doesn't say much, but then she never talks to anyone,”
the woman called Daisy turned her head to one of the others, a tall one with
short blond hair, platinum like, “Actually... I'm not sure if I've ever been
informed: do you have a voice at all, or are you born dumb?"
"Nicely put, Daisy,” Mhaegen replied, “Ameca might be born mute or she might
not, but however is the case, she won't be wasting her beautiful voice on the
likes of you when you act like that? Show some respect."
Ameca didn’t show a single emotion in return, a beautiful face turned to stone.
Mhaegen then turned to Sansa: “I’m pleased to finally meet you in person as
well!"
“Thank you. I never thought you’d be this many!”
Sansa was indeed surprised Petyr’s team were so many. She always thought a
smaller group meant more control.
“Oh we’re way more”, Ros mentioned naturally, “The others are-,“ she suddenly
realised Petyr staring at her, in his not-so-friendly-face, ”...are doing what
they know best.”
“I see.”
"You like this flat?” Daisy asked changing topics.
“Yes! It’s huge. I never imagined they built these type of flats. Olyvar
mentioned how the decoration was a group effort?”
"Definitely! Honestly, I hate this place, not to my taste at all. There's
little to nothing here, and it is huge so why not fill it up, make it cosy, you
know? God, talk him into buying some stuff!" Daisy didn't even look at Petyr,
she was smiling at Sansa.
"Me and Olyvar talked about what we could do together to start getting to know
you better, and we thought we could help you order furniture for your room?"
Mhaegen enquired.
“Oh, but I thought it was already decorated? No?” Sansa asked.
"Decorated? Hardly! You only have a bed so far!" Daisy replied.
“When it comes to Olyvar and Mhaegen there can always be something more, and
better! Trust me, you don't want to say no to those two,” Ros approached Sansa
and whispered to her, “They’ll never let you be.”
“Oh ok. Sure. What did you have in mind?”
"We could sit in the sofa, I'll bring a computer," Olyvar suggested although
Sansa felt that it wasn’t a suggestion.
Daisy grabbed Sansa’s hand and sat her down on the sofa. Now she felt unsure.
Was accepting this invitation too much? He gave her a home, he promised he
would take care of her and her job, and now his team were offering her to have
a shopping spree with what she assumed was Petyr’s money? Sansa couldn’t help
but to look at Petyr, as if asking him if this was all okay.
“Go on, choose whatever you like. As I said, money is not a problem,” Petyr
replied smoothly.
Olyvar at the same time placing himself on the sofa opening up a Mac Pro.
He sat down next to Sansa and she looked at him, smiling.
“What did you have a mind?”
“Oh, I looked through a few sites, not that much really, and we could see what
you like? Going for a theme maybe? Colours, or style?”
The computer in front of them showed at least 20 tabs or so, just a few sites,
huh?
For an hour or so Sansa went through different pages with certain enthusiasm.
There were several things she really liked, and knew she wouldn’t be able to
afford if it had depended on a her own salary. She never was a girl with a
stack of things. Money was never an issue in the Stark’s household either but
Ned had taught his children how to save money and how to use it well, only when
it was “absolutely necessary”. This austerity never allowed Sansa to increase
her creativity in the way she was now offered to do. If there was a dress she
wanted but could not be labelled as “absolutely necessary”, she would then
inspire herself to design a recreation with a personal touch attached to it.
The Stark had always been supportive of their children’s creativity, but not
when it came to famous brands or already made things. The life Petyr was
offering, this life, the “all the goods and riches”, it was something new.
Daisy moved closer to Sansa, finally taking her eyes away from her phone.
"Hey Sansa, why don't you update your Instagram again? You haven't posted
anything in several months! Isn't it time to do so? I'm sure Littlefinger won't
complain."
Mhaegen gave Daisy a look.
"What? Olyvar already told her about it, it's what we call him all the time
anyway?"
“He might have mentioned something,” Sansa said smiling, “I completely forgot
about Instagram... I have been busy you know. Preparing for the election day
and all,” She flicked her eyes for a second at Petyr and saw him staring back
at her, as if he knew that was a lie.
"Right, well, you can't really post any pictures, they carry all sorts of
information with them, you know, where they were taken and all…”
"You'll be exposed within a couple of minutes, let's not," Olyvar intervened.
"I could help out though, secure your computer and all, and we could set up
some sort of account if you want to be online again!” Daisy continued with an
never ending enthusiasm, “Can't have people wondering whether you're alive or
not!"
Sansa wondered if that was a joke but said nothing.
“You mean it can’t be a personal account?”
"Oh sure it can, I'll just, you know, make sure your computer won't be giving
out any information on where you posted your things or when. Helps keep you
safe. Then you can post all you like, oh it'll be tremendous! People won't be
able to get their heads around where the fuck you are, oh God it'll make them
so angry! You show them girl; even though they've attempted to take everything
from you, you're still going strong," Daisy put a hand on Sansa’s shoulders,
"Well then, I for one know that you have Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, you've
used Pinterest and... sorry, you know all of this," she said smiling
apologetically, "Anyway, they're all apps. Are youths these days only on their
phones or do you have some sites in mind, like actual websites, where you can
create an account?"
Sansa didn’t believe for a second that Daisy didn’t have something in mind
herself.
“Well I heard about this new website called Tumblr. I’ve seen a couple of blogs
I really like. Would that be okay?” Sansa heard someone on the office talking
about it being the ‘new Facebook Groups with gifs’.
"Sure! Actually, I had a computer looked at earlier this morning, we were all
in a hurry after getting the news of you staying with us yesterday," she said
looking at Petyr, definitely judging him, “But I'm happy to have you around,
you don't seem as grumpy as that one over there anyway, which is a start!"
Daisy pointed at Petyr while talking and opened her bag, placing a brand new
Mac in Sansa's lap.
"All yours, and ready to go! You should talk Littlefinger into getting a blog
as well, he's not officially on anything,” she said rolling her eyes.
“You know?” Sansa said looking at her new Mac in wonder, “I might as well try!
Mr. Baelish! Do you mind if we talk in private?”
Sansa stood up and went over to where Petyr was standing, leant back on the
wall, looking more bored than ever.
“No, not at all," he replied giving her a hint of a smirk, “They got a lot to
work with anyway, we can move back upstairs if you like?”
Sansa noted the way he had started talking with a more Irish accent again, for
the first time since their travels back in Ireland about a year ago.
They started to walk away when Olyvar came in their path.
"Oh, and what will you two do in private, hm? You sure you can't find a place
for me as well?" He said lifting his eyebrows at Sansa, either joking or
flirting, or possibly both?
“We’re going to have a conversation,” Sansa teased him, “I’m afraid it’s adults
only.”
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr followed Sansa back into her bedroom. It was probably the first time he
had ever made anyone breakfast and Daisy had not been subtle when reminding him
of the fact when he had started cooking. He almost never used the kitchen at
all, in the end it was almost always Ros who brought takeaways over and Petyr
ate the leftovers in the fridge if she didn’t come straight to him with a box,
a stern look in her eyes but not making any remarks or giving any comments.
They had grown used to each other, she was after all one of the first to have
been employed to the inner circle, working closely with him at times long ago
when it was just the three of them: him, Ros and Olyvar, working together on
all sorts of illegal tasks. Petyr didn’t care if it wasn’t morally the right
thing to do, if he got what he wanted in the end, it would be worth it. It
didn’t matter what road he had to take to get there.
Now, they were six, and even more working at the Fingers. Although they were
all just pawns, and nothing more, his team had expanded a lot through the
years. He wish he could be working alone, it was how he had imagined climbing
the ladder all that time ago, but time and experience had made him realise that
things were never that simple. It would have been impossible for him to get to
the point where he was today without the people working for him. There had to
be people doing the dirty work for him, people who could take the blame if
needed, people who could keep track of the things he didn’t find time to check
himself.
Sansa turned around after closing the door behind them, facing him.
“First of all, what is it with all this ‘buy whatever you want thing’ going
on?“
Petyr gave out a short laugh, of all things she could possibly have asked or
discussed with him after having met and spent time with some of the people
closest to him she wanted to talk about money? And not just money, which was a
topic Petyr had grown rather fond of during the years - no, Sansa wanted to
discuss him, spending money onher?
"Can't you let a man spoil you if he wants?" he said, replacing the unusual
laugh with one of his more familiar smirks that fitted his face like a glove on
his hand.
“I will only allow this spoiling under one condition.”
Oh, this could get rather interesting indeed.
"Go on."
“That you’ll introduce yourself to the world of... social media.”
Petyr felt something that could only be described as stunned, he felt as if the
words had all left him. It was something with this Stark girl that could make
him feel… thing. Emotions. The range of feelings he never experienced
otherwise. Surprise, joy, even fear as it had been proven to him these last
couple of days. He cared for her, Petyr suddenly realised to his dismay.
This is not the time, Littlefinger reminded him, bringing him back to reality,
better take time off to think about this later. But when was later? If this
would continue, he could waste into the open space. He couldn’t let her affect
him like this. It had to stop - but at the same time Petyr couldn’t find
himself wanting to.
"This is your condition?” he replied, collecting himself, “Of all things you
could have chosen?"
Sansa took a step forward, making the space between them somewhat smaller.
“Of all things that matter to me, yes. Because from all these things, this is
the only one where it’s me who can actually help you and not the other way
around,” she smiled, one of those genuine smiles that made her whole appearance
brighten up.
Petyr liked watching her seem confident with herself.
"Deal.”
If possible, her smile grew bigger.
Petyr looked at her while she opened up her new computer and started typing.
She, wanted to help… him? No, she could never help him, he was the only one who
could help himself and the only who was capable of helping her in her
situation, this was something he had learnt through experience, this was
something he knew by simple logic. Petyr was the one in control, this wouldn’t
change.
He could almost feel Littlefinger’s presence, as if standing behind him,
breathing in his neck. The so very familiar smirk that belonged to him,
himself. ‘Don’t go ahead of yourself, you’re worrying too much,’ Littlefinger
told Petyr. It was true, they were only talking about social media after all.
Something Petyr was very much indulged with but never with his own name. In
this virtual world they were now living one just simply couldn’t stay updated
without the help of social media, it was one of the great sources of
information, the place where words travelled almost at the speed of light,
where news were believed even without facts. The perfect place of utter chaos,
of manipulation, control, ownership. A place where Petyr felt at home.
“Here sit down,” Sansa said, tapping beside her on the bed as she had now
opened up the site called Tumblr, “How do you want to call your blog?”
"Now, really?" Petyr sighed, half teasing her half bored with the idea.
Better get it over with. He cleared his throat before continuing: "What about
Mr. Petyr Baelish?"
It seemed reasonable enough? It was his name, after all, and this would indeed
be his personal blog.
“I’m checking the availability hold on...” Sansa said while typing, “Look at
that! It’s available! There you go! You are soon a proud owner of a tumblr
blog!” she continued while handing over the Mac to Petyr.
"Can't say I'm very happy about it..." Petyr replied although a smile
threatened to show on his face, he wasn’t happy about this, was he?
He leant in to fill in his email and password, typing
“mrpetyrbaelish@protonmail.com” which was just one of his many email addresses
and “2285969455238435278” as the password, his usual when it wasn’t concerning
classified information.
He pressed the “sign in” button after filling in his age and then looked at the
text showing: "no posts found", on his empty blog and then pressed "log out",
looked back at Sansa and handed over the laptop back to her.
"Now it's your turn," he said.
“Oh no!!! The deal was you! Not me.”
Petyr felt surprised at this. No, he could not believe that to be true, she was
trying to play him.
"Daisy said it would be good for you to get on there as well. This whole
"tumblr thing" was for you. That's one of the reasons why you got a computer in
the first place."
Sansa had a smile on her face, she could definitely be mocking him.
“Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest... versus one account on tumblr. You still think
you’ve got the winning hand here?”
"Come on, Sansa, I'm 49 years old, I can't have a tumblr alone. You have to
have one with me. It's non negotiable."
“Or else?”
Definitely teasing him.
"Do I have to beg you?"
“Nah... some other time”
The smiled on her face turned to a smirk somewhat similar to one of his, but
hers was warm, as it always seemed to be, Petyr had noted.
After one last stare at him she finally gave in.
“I’ll make one,” she gave a shrug and reloaded the “sign in” page typing
quickly.
“There! Done! Now we have to come up with our first post!” Sansa continued,
trying to hand the computer back to Petyr once again.
She was enjoying this, definitely enjoying this.
"Oh no, I'm not doing that. Have you seen what kind of people are on this site?
It's just porn, food and shitposts?"
“And photography, dogs and design. Come on! I can write it down for you if you
want,” she smiled, teasing him again.
"No, let me..." Petyr took up his phone, downloading the tumblr app and showed
the screen to Sansa, "See, I'm doing it."
She laughed at this, he liked hearing her laugh.
“Okay, I trust you. I’m gonna do mine then.”
"Be aware who you're challenging though, I'm good at shitposting.”
“Oh I’m sure you’ve got a hidden side of yours that was born to be ‘tumblr
famous’”
Petyr gave out another short foreign sound that was probably usually referred
to as a laugh. He could laugh at himself for this, for being so… so open, with
this girl. It was bizarre. He had been more comfortable around Sansa than with
anyone, she seemed to have that effect on him. If he didn’t pay attention he
almost feared she would be able to make him spill all kinds of information.
"Anyway”, he said after a moment, “I have a few things I need to take care of.
I'll be leaving the city for two weeks.”
Petyr had wondered what her reaction would be, it had been planned just this
night, he didn’t really fancy leaving her but it was a necessity, he had to do
it. Or so he told himself.
“Those five you've met so far are the ones you can trust. You may ask them
anything, and they'll help you out as much as possible. Don't trust anyone
else, even if they work for me, don't trust them, whatever they say. I'll be
back soon enough. Olyvar lives in the flat opposite to mine and he'll be here
from 7am to 7pm, Ros is the next person you can count on being around, she'll
be here most of the time. Olyvar will give you numbers to each of them, if you
need anything, just call. And also, it'll be better if you don't leave the flat
until I get back, we got you covered, regarding your party, you got nothing to
worry about."
Sansa’s smiled faded slightly, she was surprised, he could tell.
“Two weeks? That seems long…”
"We need to get started, if we want to get Cersei,” Petyr said trying to
explain it to her, “I need to get in contact with some important players in the
game, people who might sit on the information we need. But getting things takes
time, and effort. I'll come back as soon as I've got what I came for," he gave
her one last smile and turned, putting his hand on the door lever.
“Just stay out of trouble... Please.”
Petyr stopped for a moment. Had he just heard her say “please”? About him not
getting in trouble? He swallowed, feeling relieved about the fact that he
didn’t have to face her while hearing these words. She cared for him, he
suddenly realised, after everything, Sansa cared about his wellbeing. Petyr
dreaded over the fact that he too, cared about her. Maybe he needed this time
away, to collect himself, get back on track. This wasn’t Mr. Petyr Baelish,
this was the Littlefinger that everything originated from what seemed like a
lifetime ago. He needed get back in control. Familiarity made him calm,
reminded him of old memories, it made him vulnerable, weak. He couldn’t let
this ruin him. Even if it was concerning the daughter of Catelyn Stark who
reminded him so very much of her. Cat was dead, she was no more, and this girl
would not be the end of him. He had to go, he had to set his plans in action.
"That's your mission, not mine”, Petyr said in an effort to say Sansa’s own
words back to her without having to articulate them himself.
Littlefinger opened the door, smirking although Sansa wouldn't be able to tell,
and Petyr: only half aware of it, “I'm always in trouble, sweetling, that’s
what I do."
Chapter End Notes
     Finally we've gotten to the part in the story where Petyr and Sansa
     has created their tumblr blogs! You can now ask questions and we'll
     reply as they would in the "presence", meaning we'll reply with how
     they would write depending on what they've been through and are
     feeling so far in story - everything makes more sense from now on (on
     the blogs)! If you haven't checked out our blogs please do so, you
     may find them on @mrpetyrbaelish & @mssansastark on Tumblr!
     I personally felt that this was a difficult chapter to write, with a
     lot of everyday drama. I hope you're enjoying Baelish's team, we're
     currently calling them Team Baelish TM as a joke (but they are) and
     this part is the Team Baelish Sweet Life Drama part. If you're
     enjoying action there will be more of that in next chapter, if you
     enjoy the everyday life of Petyr and Sansa I hope you liked this one!
     The writer portraying Petyr Baelish is also the one who writes
     Olyvar, and Daisy.
     The one writing as Sansa Stark is writing Ros as well.
     The other characters we do as we please with, this might change over
     time.
     I really hope you liked chapter 6, hopefully as much as the other
     chapters and that you'll stay and continue reading as we write the
     rest of it - the plot has only just began!
     Take care and hope to see you around for next chapter! Any kudos,
     bookmarks and especially comments are so greatly appreciated, we love
     to hear what you think about the characters and story so far, it's
     truly motivating us to continue writing this! Thank you!
***** Face her demons *****
Chapter Notes
     From now on we won't be giving specifics on trigger warnings, I hope
     this is alright. A big part of the fic is about sexual/emotional
     abuse and there will always be references regarding these topics (the
     ones already tagged). If a certain chapter will contain explicit
     content I will write that out in the notes - in the beginning, but
     know that we will be explicit, there will be parts written for the
     full purpose of making the reader uncomfortable. Some actions, events
     or characters are written to be disliked and disgusted, and they
     could potentially trigger someone. So be careful when reading. If
     anything triggers you and you want to talk you can message me on
     tumblr and we can talk about it if you want to, any way I can help
     and I'll try. Thank you for understanding.
     This chapter does not contain anything explicit but as any chapter
     all the tags above on this fic are applicable.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 7: FACE HER DEMONS.
 
===============================================================================
 
SANSA
Petyr had only been gone for four days and Sansa was already wishing for his
return.
On the same night that Petyr left, Sansa had trouble sleeping again. Her
nightmares came back to haunt the in the lonely yet somewhat peaceful place she
was starting to call home.
Her day by day was dull and monotonous. She had no company even though the flat
was always occupied with people, Petyr’s people. His rule of not allowing
anyone to the upper floor except Sansa and himself was starting to take an
effect on her. That’s why by the end of the third day, Sansa decided that she’d
spend most of her time downstairs, where Petyr’s team worked. Moments of small
talk eased an uncomfortable silence that was characteristic when people didn’t
know each other well or had just met. This uncomfortable silence would be
followed by Sansa staring at one member of Petyr’s team, and them staring back.
Then they would smile at each other. And then they’d leave Sansa to continue
doing whatever she chose to do at that very moment, while they continued doing
whatever their duty was.
Sansa missed her job. There was something inspiring about reading newspapers,
study the latest poll results and come up with new strategies to convince the
public to vote for her party. It had been long ago since she was in her office
she recalled, the day she encountered Ramsay since her escape. Ramsay, and
Cersei. That dreadful woman. A devilish one that had the Starks at the end of
her aiming point since she could remember. Back when her father was still alive
and working for the good people of England. But enough of her.
Sansa needed to go back. See her boss, explain her absence - they must have
realised she’d gone missing? After lunch she’d ask one of the girls to take her
to office. They wouldn’t say no, would they?
 
===============================================================================
OLYVAR
The dark had settled above them but this wasn’t the dark of the night, this was
the dark and the cold of a tunnel down below a building people were still
currently passing up on the street in broad daylight.
With a flash it was possible to make out the surroundings, concrete crawling
what seemed to be miles and miles in either direction, it looked almost
peaceful for a moment, until the faint anguished whisper broke the silence and
it was no longer possible to pretend.
“Please,” begging words with no reason, trying hard to keep his head away from
the light that enveloped him with spotlights in all directions pointing at him.
It was a big contrast, even for Olyvar, the dark turning blindly white without
warning of it’s entry. It was a beautiful illusion in a way, the walls
stretching around them, but then, Olyvar was standing behind the light. He was
not affected by the light. He was safe. Safe? It was something he never even
contemplated anymore. Safe, danger. It all seemed to melt together to an
undistinguished puddle in a world like his. It didn’t matter. Get rid of your
feelings, it was the words he had been taught several years ago. Olyvar had
wanted someone to define feelings to him, but it didn’t have to be as
complicated as that. He wanted to believe that Littlefinger cared for him,
cared for all of them - the team they in no doubt were - but he wasn’t sure. He
would never be sure. Maybe he truly was just another pawn in the bigger
picture. “It doesn’t matter,” Littlefinger once told him, “You’re good at what
you’re doing and that’s what I need from you, if you can give me that, you
don’t have to worry about a thing”, yeah, maybe that was all, maybe that was
all he would ever be to him. Just another employee. Possibly it was as simple
as that. But nothing was simple when it came to Littlefinger.
Olyvar bit his lower lip as he made the lamps shine even brighter, bright like
a star . That was something Daisy once had commented. For a moment they might
have felt forgotten, maybe they felt relieve in that, that they could die
peacefully without having to face the light again. But they were not kind, they
were ruthless, and if they wanted to them to face stars they would. Olyvar
would make the light so bright that it would eventually burn into their
eyelids, so that the marks would never leave them. So that they would see stars
for all the years to come.
“Please,” the voice continued faintly.
Olyvar picked up the grey sticky tape trapped underneath one of the lamps. He
ripped off a stripe with his teeth and stepped forward, putting the tape
harshly over the mouth in front of him, making sure that there would be no more
begging.
He turned around with a smooth move, lifting his hand in the air before
leaving.
“I heard you were a believer,” he said, his voice ever as cheerful, “see this
as... being faced with the face of God! Sleep well!”
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
Sansa went downstairs and found the whole group there. Olyvar was on his phone,
talking to somebody, Mhaegen and Armeca on the sofa with their laptops in front
of them. The television was on, showing the news channel.
Sansa went to the kitchen’s zone to find Ros there. She was sitting down
reading a document.
“Hey Ros, do you have a minute?” Sansa’s hands were sweating.
The very thought of asking was making her nervous, probably because she dreaded
the answer.
"Yes, of course," Ros replied putting the documents down.
“I was wondering, if it would be possible, for you...” Sansa stared at her,
measuring every word, looking into her eyes to see if she could find any
reactions, “...to take me to see Brienne?”
Ros looked at Sansa without saying anything. A reaction that affected the
person asking to actually wonder if this really was a good idea.
After several seconds had passed without a single word being spoken, Sansa
smiled and continued.
“It’s just, it’s been a couple of days since I last talked to her? And I want
to let her know I’m okay?” Sansa repeated the phrase she had been practising
all day long in front of her mirror.
When silence reigned between them and the small hope Sansa had held inside
vanished completely. She knew what the answer was going to be before Ros began
to speak.
"Sansa dear, I'm not sure you've quite understood your situation,” Ros began.
A phrase that made Sansa feel like a complete fool.
“I hate to break it to you, but your house got burnt down for a reason. People
are after you, they're threatening you and by showing up they'll have a lead,
on where you are and what you're doing. We can't protect you if you go back.”
Ros was saying exactly what Sansa knew she was going to hear, and she hated her
for that. Sansa even noticed how Ros’ spoke, the way she was connecting the
words altogether were being done in a much slower way than her usual way of
speaking. She was talking at her as if she was a little girl. Sansa didn’t
notice how Olyvar approached them, leaning on the counter, right behind where
Sansa stood, interested in the conversation. Ros saw him, shifted her eyes on
him for a second and continued talking to Sansa.
“Not to forget, Littlefinger mentioned your plan, if it's to be successful you
better stay inside girl, showing your hand is not the way to go.”
Sansa still didn’t understand it. If Petyr was telling the truth when he
assured her that Brienne was going to be safe and looked after - not like she
needed to but oh well - why couldn’t she see her? If she was so secure and away
from any harm, why couldn’t she visit her?
“He specifically asks for us to keep an eye on you so that you wouldn't give
anyone any hints about your whereabouts.”
Sansa wanted to interrupt her by telling her she wouldn’t be going alone, she
would be going with one of them! Weren’t they the best of the best? But
unfortunately Ros’ hand stopped her from sharing her idea out loud.
“You missing is beneficial when trying to beat the Lannisters, they have no
clue where you are. If I were them, knowing you're alive and well but not
knowing where to find you, I would be furious, and furious people make
mistakes,” Ros smiled, “we're waiting for a mistake.”
Sansa was getting the idea now. This wasn’t really about keeping her safe more
than getting ahead of the Lannisters. An idea that attracted Sansa but bothered
her greatly, since she was the one being used as bait.
“Plus, you and Littlefinger have miraculously found more time to make
calculated plans in a world with too little time to do anything."
Plans that involved stopping Cersei Lannister.
A few seconds passed where Ros and Sansa just stared at each other. Sansa was
prepared to make a case. Try to convince her, tell her they’d be extra careful,
that she was ready to not tell Petyr about it, but the television beat her to
it, when all three of them, Sansa, Ros and Olyvar turned towards it. Silence
dominated when the news anchor announced how Cersei Lannister and the the
Conservatives were ahead in the polls in next year’s election. Ahead by a
considerable margin. No one in the flat dared to speak, knowing how difficult
it must have been for Sansa to hear the news. She was away and nowhere to be
found when her Party most needed her. She knew strategies, how to get to the
public, she had studied England’s past elections in order to come up with a
solution to her Party’s problems. But that was way before they were this behind
in the polls. When turning back her attention to Ros, she saw her eyes were
still on the television and then moved back to Sansa. These news made her
reasoning even more powerful than before, there was no denying it.
“I guess you’re right,” Sansa replied, feeling helpless, “I’m sorry for
interrupting you.”
Knowing that she lost her only opportunity to take her to see Brienne, Sansa
turned around and headed for the stairs. Olyvar and Ros looked at her figure
disappear.
As Sansa reached the top, she felt her fists clench. She was angry,
disappointed, ashamed. Mostly with herself, for letting all of this happen. It
was clear she was the target. The girl who dreamed of leading her Party, and
one day, hopefully, help and serve her country. But it all stopped, all of a
sudden. It was like she was taken from this earth and no one ever cared to ask
what the hell had happened to her. She had been hoping to hear her name on the
news right after she was brought to Petyr’s flat. A news that would announce
the mysterious disappearance of the known to be last living daughter of Ned and
Catelyn Stark. But that news never came. And the fact that it never came made
Sansa realise she was no ordinary target, but a special one, an important one.
The people who knew her didn’t want others to know she was missing, and there
were others who must have known she was being searched for, possibly at this
very moment. Just like Ros had said.
She was angry at her for not accepting her proposal to see Brienne but she knew
she was right. Deep inside she knew it was the safest and most logical thing to
do, but that couldn’t prevent her from feeling hopeless, and alone, after all.
Petyr and his team were all there, for anything she might need but - was that
going to be it? She was locked away, with no contact with the outside world
other than a television and a computer. Back in the days, before it all had
started spiraling down, whenever things weren’t going the way she liked she’d
usually go for a walk. The fresh air and the realisation that there were other
people out there, on the streets, everyone of them following their routines and
minding their own business was - reassuring to her? No matter how ugly it got
that picture always reminded her that what seemed to her to be the worst day of
all, was at the end, just that, a bad day. But then came sunrise, giving way
for a new day. It meant many good things could happen. The bad day was in the
past, the new day has yet to begin.
But she couldn’t do that anymore as well. She was in a cage, surrounded by
familiar yet unfamiliar, smiling faces that weren’t going to hurt her, but she
was still locked in a cage, after all. And it wasn’t so long ago when she
promised herself to never end up in a situation where she’d be forced to do
something she wasn’t up to. Her experience with Ramsay had taken a serious toll
on her, as a woman and as a person.
“Sansa?” someone calling her brought her back to reality, her new bedroom, in
her new home.
“Ros sounded a bit harsh there, you okay?"
It was Olyvar. Right at the end of the staircase, with his hands leaning on the
handles, not shouting, but making sure only Sansa could hear him.
For a moment Sansa was going to ignore him. What was the point in answering
when she knew what he was going to say?
But then, her new self, the new Sansa that stood up straight when she saw
something she didn’t like answered.
"No, I'm not,” her first words came out sounding angry, “I understand people
want me, and most want me dead. I get that. So what? I'm never to go out? Ever
again? I need to go to my Party. I need to go see Brienne. I lost most of my
family already and I'm not going to lose the few people I actually care about
just because something might happen. The ‘What if’s don’t have a place in my
life anymore,” Sansa breathed in, “I'm not going to go through this again. No
one is going to tell me what I can or can’t do nor where to go."
Olyvar was quiet for a moment, looking as knowing that Sansa wanted to let out
the feelings she had held back when talking to Ros.
"I understand that you're upset, Sansa. You want back and you have the right
to, it's just that there are some complications involving your wellbeing, and
that comes first. If you want your plan to work, you better listen to
Littlefinger. He's always right when it comes to these things,” Olyvar paused,
giving Sansa time to process his words without sounding as though he thought
her stupid, “if he wants you to wait, it’s for a reason, it'll work out for the
better."
“So I’m supposed to what? Stay here? Wait for him to come back so he can tell
me what to do?” Sansa made a pause, “you know, this is no different than my
time with Ramsay.”
Olyvar probably heard the pain hidden behind those words.
“The only difference is that this time, the man who’s keeping me away from the
world is a man who hasn’t broken me....” Sansa continued.
"Broken you... what do you mean?"
Sansa felt as though she had said too much. Her time with Ramsay… well, she had
never really told anyone what happened to her during that time. Not even
Brienne even though they had became very close. She barely knew Olyvar and
Sansa was in no mood to have someone pry over the past.
"Broken, Olyvar,” Sansa replied, wanting to find words that would explain what
she meant and felt without revealing too much, “broken by someone who knew
exactly what to do, how to do it and where to do it. To hurt me, to humiliate
me and make me feel like I was nothing!" Sansa lost control of what she was
saying and felt the tears coming.
"Sansa... whatever you've been through, there are ways to heal your wounds,"
Olyvar said.
"With patience and love and understanding? Yeah, I dont think I'm going to find
that staying locked away from the world," her tears falling down.
"Things do take time Sansa. Won't you try? I don't fully know what happened
between you and Ramsay. But if you need to talk to someone, you can come down
and talk to Ros”
Phhh Ros, Sansa thought. Right now, Ros would be the last person she’d go to.
“I can leave you two alone if you want,” Olyvar offered, “talking helps Sansa,
even for the smallest of things and Ros has studied psychology. She can help
you."
Sansa knew talking helped, she also knew that a trauma like hers was absolutely
required she’d open up to somebody. Seeking counseling was necessary if she
wanted to move on. And Sansa wanted to move past all the pain, all her
insecurities when it came to men, and of course, all her nightmares.
"I'll think about it," Sansa replied and silence fell when she closed her
bedroom door.
***
A few hours had past. Sansa heard the door to Petyr’s flat open and close
several times, meaning the team was beginning to leave. They didn’t care to
approach the set of stairs and say goodbye, they must have known she was upset
and is they were allowed to check, Sansa’s closed door was an indication she
still wanted to be left alone.
Her computer rested on her lap as she laid on her bed when she heard the door
close for the last time. And then she felt it. The absolute silence. Petyr’s
whole flat just for herself, but Sansa was quite comfortable inside the four
wall bedroom and wasn’t planning on getting out anytime soon.
A little vibration sound caught her attention, indicating there was a new
notification on her phone. Sansa stood up, leaving her computer on the bed and
went to her desk, where she left her phone charging earlier on.
In the brief - but considerable - distance between her bed and the desk, she
wished for a new message. And although she’d never admit it to anyone, she
wished it was Petyr Baelish who sent it. She missed him. There was something
about him that soothed her, made her feel protected. It had been five days
since he left, went away on some business trip which he had never cared to
share the details on. The little time they spent together before he left
reminded her of her time with him in Ireland, where she got to know the other
side of Petyr Baelish. The private one, a side of him she’d never pictured. She
had grown to love their conversations, about any topic really, politics, life…
love. He spoke very fondly of her mother Catelyn, often shared stories with her
of when they were young.
She got to where the phone was and looked at the screen. “VOGUE.com just posted
a picture!” one of her social media accounts kindly informed her. Damn it! Why
didn’t he send her a message? ‘He’s busy. He’s on a business trip. Business. He
doesn’t have time to send you messages…’ yeah but, what if something had
happened to him?
“Hi, how are you?”she started typing, and deleted it almost immediately after
finishing writing it.
Hello, was thinking about you... Absolutely not. How could she ask him how was
he doing without sounding… needy? Or clingy? After staring at the phone’s
screen for a while she gave up and decided not to send anything. He was busy.
He would let her know how was it going when he thought it was best. End of
story.
 
Sansa could hear the wind blow outside. She peeked out the window for a moment,
the sky was dark, the trees that surrounded the land that conformed Petyr’s
flat moved violently. That was the only sound she could hear, no traffic jams,
no loud pedestrians, just the wind. ‘There is a storm coming’, she thought to
herself. She grabbed the window handles and shut them tight, making sure the
wind wouldn’t slip through and wake her up at night. She then opened the covers
of her bed and laid down to stare at the ceiling. Letting out a deep breath,
she turned over and saw the phone resting on her night table. She grabbed it
and looked at the screen. Still no messages. Are you okay? she typed. Sansa
needed to know he was okay. There hadn’t been any news about him and his team
didn’t share information with her; however his they didn’t look worried, so he
must be okay… right? Sansa dropped her phone to her chest and sighed heavily.
Knock, knock, knock.
Sansa sat up rapidly, covering herself with the sheets. She was all alone, at
least that’s what she thought. She tried not to move, scared that she would
make a sound. The wind continue to blow - knock, knock, knock. She stared at
her door, breathing fast now. She saw the handle being turned slowly. Whoever
was outside was trying to open the door.
In a bold move - that surprised even herself - Sansa left the bed and opened
the door.
There was nothing there. The hallway was dark, she stepped out into it as if it
was an unknown territory to her. She turned her head towards the staircase and
saw a light being cast on the lower floor. Sansa could have sworn she had
turned off all the lights right after she grabbed her glass of water, and had
headed upstairs.
And now there was a light that was turned on.
She gathered the little courage she had left - she wasted it all when she had
opened the door - and went downstairs. She was still coming down the stairs
when she saw which light was left on. The kitchen’s. She sighed in relief, it
made sense, maybe she hadn’t payed attention to the lights when she left after
all.
Sansa continued her way down but stopped abruptly. There was someone sitting in
front of the counter. She could see a pair of trousers and a leg bouncing up
and down, in a fast rhythm, the kind one does when nervous. A movement she
recognised all too well, which made her not wanting to get to the end of the
staircase.
“Sansa! I’m so glad you came.”
A voice spoke and confirmed Sansa’s suspicions.
“Here, come down, take a seat, I made dinner for you,” Ramsay was smiling,
inviting her to join him at his right.
There was indeed a plate, with cutlery and a glass next to it, waiting to be
used.
This couldn’t be happening. How could he be here? This flat was supposed to be
safe, patrolled and protected by Petyr’s team. And yet here he was.
After a moment’s hesitation he approached her and pushed her gently to the
counter’s direction. She sat down and waited for him to speak.
“Sansa, my dear, I’ve been thinking about what happened between us and-,” he
looked down, at the floor, as if the words he was looking for were written
right there.
He seemed to have found them as he continued speaking: “I’m sorry. For
everything. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”
Ramsay was looking directly in her eyes. Sansa was terrified this was
happening; in real life. It wasn’t the first time he apologised like that. She
remembered what had happened the last time he made her believe he was actually
sorry for the treatment he had given her. Sansa hadn’t been able to walk for
three days.
“It’s ok,” was all had been able to articulate, “can I leave?”
Ramsay cocked his head.
“But I made you dinner. Don’t you wish to try it at least?”
This was too much for Sansa to handle. This had to be a nightmare. Everything
was off.
Sansa wanted to scream, hoping the sound of it would wake her up. Her hands had
started to tremble, in fear of what was coming.
“Please, Ramsay,” Sansa cried, “don’t hurt me anymore.”
“Sansa,” he replied softly, his hand caressing her cheek, “I’m not going to
hurt you… sweetling.”
She felt his words as a punch, that left her out of breath, her head vibrated.
Or something else did.
Sansa opened her eyes and found herself still in her bed. Her phone vibrated
again, and while letting out a deep breath, she sat up.
First message read,“Hope you're alright”.
Second message read,“I am”.
Sansa knew who the sender was, and her desire for his return increased.
***
‘Talking helps Sansa, even for the smallest of things, and Ros has studied
psychology. She can help you ’. Olyvar’s words kept repeating over and over in
Sansa’s head. ‘She can help you’. Last night’s experience made Sansa make up
her mind up about seeking help. All this time she had avoided it. Sansa had
never been the kind of person who talked about her problems. She liked to deal
with them privately.
But this was beginning to take a real toll on her. Her nightmares were
beginning to come more frequently, and the nature of them, creepier. She
remembered her first nightmares had begun right after she’d been able to escape
Ramsay’s hands. They were mainly flashbacks back then, of moments when they
were together. But as time went by, they started to change. The scenery
changed, the actions changed as well. Sometimes he was his usual sadistic self,
sometimes he wasn’t. He’d be polite and considerate, everything he never showed
her in real life.
There had been one night where she didn’t suffer from bad dreams. That was the
night Petyr had stayed with her. But Petyr wasn’t going to be around all the
time, was he?
So that morning, Sansa took the first step into trying to get rid of them once
and for all.
Ros sat in the living room’s only sofa, typing on her phone with her computer
in her lap. If Sansa had to explain to an alien what ‘the era of technology’
meant, she would show him someone like Ros right now.
“Ros, can I ask you something?” Sansa asked, in a low voice, not really wanting
to interrupt.
“Sure, go on,” her finger continuing typing on her phone, she just glanced at
Sansa for half a second, not moving her posture away from the computer in her
lap.
“Olyvar…” Sansa resumed, lowering her voice even further, “Olyvar mentioned you
studied psychology?”
“I did, it’s fortunate, since none of these people around seem to know how the
human psyche works.”
“I… I was wondering if you- could help me, with some problems I have?” Sansa
said, unsure whether this was a good idea or not, “I don’t know, I’m sorry,
you’re probably busy.”
Ros’ sighed, first putting away her computer, then her phone, almost instantly,
as if not caring that she hadn’t finished whatever sentence she had been worked
on.
“Go on,” she said, but her voice seemed softer, and the usual edge wasn’t
present, “Petyr didn’t order me to stay in his flat for no reason. What’s on
your mind, Sansa?”
“Well I…” better get to the point, “I’ve been having these nightmares, for some
time now. And I don’t know what to do...” she looked at Ros, “I don’t want to
have them anymore.”
“I’m glad you want to talk about it, Sansa. All people have nightmares
sometimes, but that doesn’t make them any more pleasant,” Ros replied, “it has
been proven that talking helps, if you want, we can try to understand what they
mean together?” her focus was all on Sansa, it was a side she’d never really
shown before.
“Well… it’s always about-,” Sansa paused.
She still found it troubling to mention his name.
“My ex-husband. He’s always there, always present. Either coming after me or
just standing there,”
Ros’ was quiet for a moment, as if inspecting Sansa, but her expression was
kind and not judging.
“Sansa, I can’t pretend as if I don’t know that something happened. You don’t
have to talk to me about it, but I think you should talk to someone? Did he
ever do something that made you uncomfortable, do you think that is why your
nightmares are surrounding him?”
For a brief moment Sansa wanted to end this conversation, tell Ros this was
just a misunderstanding, turn around and leave as soon as she could. But no,
she had to do it. She had to start face her demons.
“He… well… he hurt me… several times,” Sansa paused again, searching for words.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to share that much with Ros this first time. But
then again, who better than her?
“He forced me...”
Ros was quiet, waiting for Sansa to decide whether or not to tell her more.
“He forced me, to be with him. It started on our wedding night. And continued
for the remaining of our time together.”
 
===============================================================================
OLYVAR
Olyvar was working when he saw Sansa walking into the open space of the lower
floor, reaching out for a glass, letting the water stream until it was cold,
checking the temperature with her finger. She looked gloomy these days, he
wasn’t sure if it was due to everything she had been through, everything he
didn’t know about, or just the simple fact of her being forced to be inside all
day, not being able to do what she loved doing.
Olyvar slowly moved up from the sofa, leaving the papers behind as he moved as
quietly as he possibly could. Using all the advice he had gotten from
Littlefinger on not getting noticed.
When he was right behind her he lightly stroked his hands against her neck,
touching her hair and making it fly around her as she jumped in response.
“Oh my God!”
Sansa dropped her glass, the water spilling all over the floor as it went down.
Olyvar leant down just in time, grabbing the glass when it was only a few
inches from the floor.
“Olyvar!!! Why on earth did you do that!?”
“Shit, Sansa, I didn’t mean to…”, he stopped, catching himself before finishing
the sentence as he realised how very stupid it would sound, “-scare you? God,
that was obviously what I was trying to do. I’m sorry,” he laughed
apologetically, feeling stupid for a moment, “you okay?”
Olyvar scratched himself behind his ear, he gave her a smile and then placed
the glass on the counter, taking some paper towels and crouched, mopping up the
water with his hand.
“Well you did!” Sansa said, letting out a nervous laugh.
“Hey, I… I don’t want to pry or anything, but, did you ever talk to Ros? I
don’t want to push it but it really can be helpful?”
“Yes. I did. She’s helping me… understand. Thank you for the tip.”
“Oh? I’m glad to hear that. She’s great, kinder than what she might seem,” he
winked at her, getting up from the floor and threw the papers in the bin beside
him.
He was actually happy to hear it. Olyvar had followed Littlefinger’s slow but
steadily growing obsession with the girl. There was no other way to describe
it. He had even been jealous of her once, for always seeming to catch
Littlefinger’s attention wherever she went. It had all started with a 14 year
old, childish smiles and laughter seemed to surround her like a mist. Olyvar
hadn’t really cared much about her back then, but he had learned that his boss’
interest only seemed to increase as the time went by. It was much later that he
had started to get missions regarding miss Sansa Stark. It was a long time ago
now, and when spending time with her he felt as though he had known her since
forever. But where was the lie? He almost had. He had almost known about her
existence as long as he had known Littlefinger.
“She really is… So, you’re here? It’s Friday, I’m guessing you’d wish to be out
there with your friends and not looking after me?”
Oh she really was a kind hearted woman.
“Don’t worry about it, this is my life, Sansa. We don’t have many friends - as
you may call them - other than our team. I mean, we attend parties and have
loads of contacts but most of us are all just working undercover. We learn a
lot about others, but there’s no time or place for them to learn anything about
us,” he let out a short laugh.
It wasn’t like they could either, even if they would have wanted to. They came
and went depending on what was necessary or wanted from them at the moment.
It was funny, wasn’t it? It was all true. The life Sansa’s words had portrayed
to him for a split second was one he had never had, and probably one he would
never live to know.
“I should be thanking you, Sansa. Honestly I would just be spending this night
doing…” he stopped mid sentence, realising he had almost said too much.
Either way the Stark girl was a woman of morals, of kindness and justice. The
words he might have let slip out of his mouth were not ones she would approve
of.
He laughed again, as was his way of handling things.
“Come, join me in the sofa, will you?” he gestured towards it, smiling as he
walked backwards, still facing her.
“I can imagine what you’d be doing,” Sansa replied, laughing back at him.
Olyvar turned, climbing graciously back where he had been seated before Sansa
entered the room; thinking about what she had in mind. He wondered if she knew
about the man beneath the building about an hour away, the one he went to
during the nights. But no, Littlefinger would never let her know. She was too
pure for his world, for their world. Once it had almost been like that. Just
the two of them. But that was a reconstruction, a memory he had modified to his
own liking.
Sansa followed him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa.
“How did you meet Littlefinger? How did you get into this world?”
She was interesting, this girl, her thoughts seemed to travel in the same
direction as his.
“Uh…” he started, unsure how honest his reply should be, “I worked for a man,
he was not much unlike Littlefinger regarding his high status, I was um… I met
Littlefinger through my boss at the time, after certain events Littlefinger
took an interest in me. He said he had a job offer, gave me several tasks. I
thought that was it, and I would have been satisfied with that but I later
learned that was all just a test,” he laughed again, “just to check if I would
be up for the real work that would come. I was then introduced to Ros who was
the only one working this closely with him back then, we all got along, I past
the test, got hired, and here I am.”
Olyvar smiled, gesturing at himself.
“Wow! Littlefinger has been very picky with his team, hasn’t he?” Sansa looked
genuinely amused and Olyvar liked that, seeing her smile, a contrast to these
past couple of days.
“Say, why are you the only man? Is there a reason for that?” she asked.
“I want to say that I’ve always served a special place for Littlefinger but,
sadly no, I’m not so sure why…” he thought back for a moment, back to a time
when he thought he and Littlefinger could have been something.
They would have been great together, storming the world, creating chaos
wherever they went, fucking in every corner of every darn cubicle in every
stupid skyscraper owned by people with too much money in their hands.
That had never happened.
Olyvar was found by Littlefinger, as had they all been. Sometimes put up to a
task, a test of sorts, without even realising it until they got in touch with
him. Most of them started out at the Fingers. As if the man was checking if
they were able to use every part of themselves in order to get where was
needed, as if wanting to see how far their limit could go before breaking,
looking for the hints of enjoying the thrill of it, if they could make
sacrifices. Sacrifices for money.
“Maybe the man has actually realised that women are capable of just as much as
men when it comes to our line of work,” he said instead, thinking it almost
true as he said the words out loud.
They were good, they were the best, the ones working close to Littlefinger. He
had seen to that, choosing them all for a certain reason, adding what was
missing to make the perfect team. A team that could demolish the world.
“Well big change begins with smaller ones right?” Sansa continued, showing her
political views in every word, and then she went quiet for a moment.
Olyvar found himself wanting to know what she was thinking of, and then she
started again: “you remember when we met, you showed me the house… you said
something, about Littlefinger? About how he liked to be with-, well, with
boys…” she sighed and Olyvar wondered if it was due to the question being
difficult for her to ask, or because of the answer she feared coming, “please
tell me that’s not true?” Sansa laughed when finishing the sentence, but the
laughter showed nervousness and not amusement.
He looked at her, unsure for a moment.
Sansa was indeed a woman of morality, she wouldn’t ask because she feared the
man’s sexuality was not in the vast majority, she would ask because it mattered
to her personally.
With a feeling growing inside him a realisation made itself clear. She was
interested in him, in Littlefinger. What was it with the man that made people
fall for him? Olyvar felt like hitting something very hard. Littlefinger would
ruin the lives around him, and his own, without even realising.
“If you’re interested in him, I wouldn’t be too nervous about it. I’ve seen him
with both men and women,” he answered, carefully.
“Oh my God, no, I’m not interested in him! I was just… curious. I’ve seen him
with my aunt so when you mentioned men I was like… He never gave me that vibe I
guess?”
Olyvar laughed, he smiled at her. Oh, if she only knew.
To Littlefinger it didn’t matter, he had always done what was necessary to get
where he wanted. Olyvar had been with him for a long time, and the years when
he started was also about the time when Littlefinger had wanted to determine
his status. He had worked hard to get where he was today, there were no doubt
in that.
“He likes them all,” he said, “but I’ll let you in on a secret, he’s just as
picky with them as he has been with us working for him.”
So much was true, Littlefinger never used sex for pure and simple pleasure like
the men who came to the Fingers. He used it to assure his wealth and power, to
get where he wanted, achieve whatever plan he currently worked on. Olyvar had
often been witness to Littlefinger’s seductions. He had wanted Olyvar to pay
attention, to learn.
Olyvar found the people, the people that were important, and Littlefinger
seeked them out, with Olyvar’s eyes watching them, as the shadow he had
continued being all this time. Some things never changed. Just as the fact that
they would never end up in each other’s arms. He would never taste the mint on
Littlefinger’s tongue, the scent he seemed to carry wherever he went. Olyvar
wanted to believe it was all an act, that it was because Littlefinger knew the
dangers of initiating a relationship with one of his employees that held them
back, away from him. He was a businessman, a professional. Littlefinger would
never let Olyvar into his private life - and yet, the hope that he one day
would change his mind never seemed to disappear.
“Really… and what’s the longest he’s been with-, a man?”
Olyvar laughed again.
Sansa’s presence brought out the best of him, but her words forced out the
bitterness hidden inside. The thoughts he buried deep down. Littlefinger had
never had a relationship with anyone until he married Lysa Arryn, Lysa Baelish.
The notion of her being able to use Littlefinger’s last name made him feel
anger. If it was jealousy, Littlefinger would not be pleased with him. How many
times had they not talked about feelings, which ones were necessary, which
would always be in the way, making life more difficult than it could be, than
it should be.
Olyvar lifted his eyebrows at Sansa.
“I never said he’s been with a man, I said he’s been with boys”, he teased her,
remembering the words he had used to scare her when they first officially met.
He touched her leg with his foot gently, smiling
Sansa opened her eyes wide, for a moment she seemed to truly believe him and
Olyvar felt triumph, but then she broke into laughter, her eyes crinkling at
the corners.
When she realised Olyvar hadn’t followed, that he wasn’t laughing at this odd
choice of words, she stopped. A worried expression on her face.
“Oh my god, has he?!”
Olyvar was quiet for a moment, teasing her even further, until he couldn’t take
it any longer, and started giggling as well.
“No!” he chuckled, “I would never imagine him…” his laughter died out slowly,
“no, not with a boy.”
He fixed his eyes at the space between them in the sofa, thinking about
himself, his 17 year old self who had met Littlefinger, someone who had seen
something more in him than anyone else had ever done before. Seen something
that could be worked on, something that could be perfected. No, Littlefinger
would never be with a boy.
“I bet you are interested though, aren’t you? In him, I mean?”
Olyvar smiled, changing the topic back again as he looked up, back at Sansa.
“What!!!” her voice sounding high pitched and Olyvar smiled in return.
It was obvious: they had both fallen for the same man. and if she hadn’t fallen
yet, she had started to.
“He’s... family. He’s my uncle,” Sansa’s voice sounded normal again, calm, as
if reflecting upon the matter.
“Only by marriage though, not by blood,” he said, not sure if he was trying to
make her feel better or if he was just continuing to taunt her.
He winked, making sure she wouldn’t be uncertain of his intentions anyway.
Sansa gave out a short laugh in reply, and Olyvar felt relieved with his
capability of hiding his emotions, imagining Littlefinger proud.
“I don’t think he’d be interested anyway.”
Olyvar smiled gently at her words. Oh, how she tried, he thought.
“Anyway , you say? Sounds as if you are interested in him! But I’m not blaming
you, he’s very hot - for being so old.”
Sansa broke into laughter with him. He enjoyed that, seeing her laugh.
“You should be happy he wasn’t here to hear that! I remember Robin called him
old once… Next day his favorite toy disappeared. Never to be found again…
Coincidence?”
“How very Littlefinger of him!”
They laughed again and Olyvar felt real genuine happiness, a feeling he had
almost forgotten. He liked spending time with his team, with Littlefinger, but
it was all work related. Feelings wasn’t something Littlefinger valued, and
they were always in the way. They all made sure to stay professionals, only
portraying emotions to play others.
“So… what about you? Are you seeing someone?”
Olyvar smiled. He would never be able to be with someone. It was not possibly
to include anyone in the life he was living. His only hope was Littlefinger,
and with him, there were almost no hope at all. At least, not anymore.
“No, I’m not,” he replied calmly, choosing not to give the question back to
her.
Sansa was still married to Ramsay, and the feelings she might have towards
Littlefinger were new to her, and Olyvar knew she would never admit them, even
if he tried to prove his case.
“Are you… sorry to ask. Do you mind me asking? I really don't know how to ask
this-“
“Don’t worry,” he interrupted, “go ahead, I’ll tell you if it’s all ‘classified
information’,” he smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“Are you gay?”
The question everyone always wanted to know. Once, he had truly believed that
to be true, that he was a homosexual. That nothing could make him feel
attraction towards women. But Littlefinger had known how to teach him, how sex
wasn’t all feelings. One had to learn how to control it, see sex for what it
really was when having the profession most of them had had. Being able to give
your body to anyone who payed, to give, to anyone who wanted.
“I don’t see any reason to define myself,” he replied, remembering
Littlefinger’s own words spoken to him many years ago.
There was no need to define a person who occupied themselves with giving their
bodies to others. Their choice of label would never matter, only the customers
did, it was them who’s definition would define a person like himself.
“Have you ever been with a girl then?”
Olyvar let out a short laugh, oh he had, many times.
“You really want to know? But yeah, yeah I have.”
Sansa paused for a moment, seemingly unsure how to continue the conversation,
or, she was just not certain how to phrase whatever was on her mind.
“Am I good looking enough?”
“Enough for what exactly?”
“To-, you know… find someone? Some day?”
Olyvar smiled then, leaning over so he got closer to Sansa, reaching out so his
fingers brushed hers.
“Oh, you worry too much, you look beautiful,” he gave her another smile,
reassuring her, “find someone who’ll want to be with you for who you are and
not just for your looks. Someone who’ll appreciate and respect you for just
being you. Looks aren't everything.”
“I guess you’re right…” she looked down her lap for a moment, and when she
raised her head again, her eyes seemed to sparkle.
“Hey,” she smiled, “would you date me?” she laughed when finishing the
sentence.
It was probably meant as a joke, but Olyvar felt as though there was
seriousness concealed underneath.
He laughed in reply, then added: “what did I just say, Sansa? You better get to
know me first!” he smiled softly, “although theoretically, yes, I would.”
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
Talking to Olyvar was making Sansa feel much better. She hadn’t had a
conversation like this in days, although Sansa felt it more like years.
They were sitting in the sofa, Olyvar telling her about that time he’d almost
ended up in a Peruvian jail, and Sansa telling him about how her designs almost
made it to the finals in a New Designers Contest she took part of back when she
was still in Secondary Education. It was during their sharing of experiences
that Sansa’s phone vibrated, a new message from no other than Mr. Petyr
Baelish, but neither of them realised until it was too late.
A few hours later their conversation adopted a much more serious atmosphere.
They talked about family, about the people that meant something to them and
their losses.
“... and then I honestly don’t know what happened to Arya” said Sansa,
finishing a story that still hurt to think about.
“The public seem to be considering her dead-,” Olyvar stopped when their
conversation got cut off by his phone.
He looked at the screen to identify the caller that had just interrupted them.
“Sorry, I better take this,” he smiled apologetically and took the call, “yes?”
“Sure,” Sansa smiled back, trying to let him know it was okay. When he started
talking she picked up her own phone to check social media.
“Oh, about that… No, yes, I most certainly will,” the moment she heard Olyvar’s
reply, she saw she had a new message on her phone, and without opening it, knew
exactly who it was from. ‘Shit, how come I didn’t hear the notification?’ When
she was about to open it, Olyvar concluded his conversation.
“Yes, right now,” after hanging up he stared at his phone for a few seconds,
“shit... “ he said giving out a nervous laugh, “have you seen how long we’ve
been here talking?” he then gave Sansa one of his brightest smiles.
“Oh my God you’re right… Is everything okay?” Sansa overheard most of his
conversation, not wanting to ask who it was. She knew Olyvar was better than
that and wouldn’t give her any details.
“Littlefinger would not be pleased,” he said almost to himself, smiling as he
shook his head slightly, moving up from the sofa and headed towards the door.
When passing Sansa he leant down, just a bit: “it’ll be our little secret.”
“I think I can do that,” she replied, “under one condition?”
Olyvar stopped for a moment, watching her, waiting for her to continue.
“That this won’t be the last time?”
He smirked back at her in a way that reminded her of Petyr.
“Then we better keep to that,” he winked as he left her alone.
When Olyvar closed the door, Sansa opened the message Petyr had sent, the one.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀You doing OK? Things are going as planned. 8 days until I’ll be back.
Sansa’s first initial reaction was to smile. The nature of the message was
overall… sweet? He wanted to know how was she doing, as if he had sensed she
had been trouble sleeping since he went away. He also wanted to let her know
everything was all right. His way of saying ‘Don’t worry’, but in a way that
didn’t make her look like she actually worried.
But that wasn’t what really made her smile. It was the fact that Petyr Baelish,
part businessman, part mystery, knew how many days were left until he’d come
home. Sansa pictured him opening his calendar and actually counting the days,
with the help of his fingers
She made a mental note to tell him how cute it sounded. Hearing whatever excuse
he came up with to justify that part of the message was going to be a lot of
fun.
He sent the message at 19:01. And that wasn’t good, considering it was now way
past midnight.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hi! Sorry for not seeing this until now? I’m good. The team is taking
care of me.
She felt something was missing in that message.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I hope to see you soon!
Sansa was going to close the messaging app when she saw Petyr going online, her
heart skipped a beat, and skipped a second time when she saw he began typing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀If possibly reply as soon as you get my messages.
Well that wasn’t what she expected. Not after telling him she hoped to see him
soon. Sansa didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀If inconvenient, try anyway.
Nor that either.
She took her time to come up with something. She could tell him the truth? Tell
him she had been with Olyvar talking and that they had lost track of time? But
that wouldn’t be right. After all, Olyvar was working for him, and he had a
schedule, and the fact that he stayed over late just to talk to her made it
look as if he… nevermind she told herself. ‘Tell him you fell asleep and only
saw his message just now?’ her mind told her.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m sorry. I was with Olyvar
‘Or not’.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀We got carried away
‘Good job. If that call Olyvar got wasn’t Petyr, he just found out Olyvar spent
more hours with you than he was allowed to’. Oh shut up. Sansa found it
difficult to lie, and admired those who seemed to do it so easily. She must be
the only politician who felt this way.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀For how long exactly?
Well… They started talking around 6pm? And now it was almost 1am? Which meant
they had talked for 7 hours… Shit. It was a good time to practice her lying.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Mmmmmm idk, 3 hours?
Please God make him believe me.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There’s a reason to why he can’t stay longer than scheduled. I’ve
arranged so that you’re not alone during the days. He has work he must attend
as well, and he needs sleep. As well as you.
Sansa felt horrible now; for Olyvar. He had stayed with her knowing he had work
to finish. She would ask him not to stay over next time. 
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m sorry. I was feeling down a bit and he wanted to keep me company.
It won’t happen again. Sorry
She didn’t know what else to say to be honest. 
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It’s fine. I’m glad if he can be of any help.
Was that all Petyr had to say about it?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀You should sleep.
She really should - but at the same time she was afraid: she had such a great
time with Olyvar, just talking, interacting with another human being, who was
at the same time sweet, funny and interesting, all around?
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’ll try. Good night.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Night.
And with that, she went to bed hoping nightmares wouldn’t ruin the wonderful
day she’d had.
Chapter End Notes
     The first chapter of introducing Olyvar POV; old and new feelings
     arise?
     I hope you enjoyed reading about him (and there's almost no Petyr
     this time?).
     (We fucking hate Ramsay, join us in the club).
     We’re very grateful for each and every comment, please let ut know
     what you think!
     The one usually writing as Petyr writes as Olyvar this time as well.
***** Not worthy of a star *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter 8:  NOT WORTHY OF A STAR.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
A few days had passed, and Sansa’s day-to-day continued as usual, only this
time her relationship with Olyvar seemed different somehow. They talked more,
and it seemed as though he seeked her out whenever he had free time just as
much as she appreciated his company.
Olyvar was sitting on the sofa, writing on the computer in from of him. From
time to time he would look at Sansa, who was laying down just a few inches away
from him reading a book. It was a rainy day, as it had been the day before, and
the day before that. He must have noticed how Sansa’s mood was very perceptive
of the weather, she could tell he tried his best to cheer her up whenever he
was finished with whatever report or work he had on his agenda.
“Are you going to read all day?” he teased, poking her leg with his foot.
“What else can I do?” Sansa replied rather dully.
Olyvar closed the laptop and put all his attention on Sansa.
“What makes you say that? There are lots of things we could do.”
Sansa put her book down and looked at him.
“Like what?” she said feeling pretty uninterested but tried giving him a small
smile.
“Well, for a start, if you wrote as much as you’re taking time off to read you
could become a famous author?” Olyvar winked at her.
Sansa let out a genuine laugh this time.
“Uhmm… no?”
“Oh okay… Well, then we can start a band? You could be the singer and I can
play the guitar? Or, we can discover a new star and name it, let’s say,
Littlefinger? No? Maybe he’s not worthy of a star, hm… We can build a fortress?
Become astronauts or invent a way to travel as fast as the speed of light and
go into the future? Start a new computer company that can be called pine…
apple?”
As soon as he started pointing out all the fun possibilities they could
undertake Sansa’s mood slowly began to change. Olyvar was witty and he knew it.
He knew how to use it to his advantage. And Sansa was ready to give it to him.
“Pineapple?” Sansa gave a roaring laughter, “that all sounds very tempting, but
I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh…” Olyvar lowered his gaze, obviously pretending to look disappointed, “we
can cook something though, might get bored soon of all the takeaways from fancy
restaurants?” he smiled, trying not to laugh.
Apparently it was all they ate in that flat, takeaways.
“Cook? In the short time I’ve been here I know for a fact that that fridge over
there,” Sansa made a pause and pointed at it, almost accusingly, “...is kept
empty. What are we going to cook with?”
“You talk as if it’s not possible to fill empty spaces, Sansa, they’re empty so
that we can fill them with things”, he exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at her,
“go on, tell me, what do you crave?”
“Wow… that easy huh?” she looked at Olyvar with a teasing smile.
She wanted to test him, see how easy it was to fill empty spaces in the middle
of a Sunday when all the markets were closed.
“Ok… let’s see…”, Sansa locked her eyes on him, studying him.
Olyvar stared back with the same intensity, as if trying to read her mind.
“I want to make…”, think of hard recipes, think of the hardest one. What did
her mom say once? “You haven’t proved yourself in the kitchen, until the recipe
of Beef Wellington is completed”. Sansa’s face lit up with excitement and
mischief.
“I want to make Beef Wellington.”
“Beef Well… yeah, yeah sure! We’ll do that. It sounds great!” Olyvar took out
his phone, “let me just, you know, order things,” he raised his eyebrows and
started typing.
Meanwhile the ingredients were on their way Sansa and Olyvar prepared the
kitchen, deciding which oven tray was ready, sharpening the cooking knives -
not like they needed that much of a sharpening, they all seemed new to her -
and then Olyvar’s phone started ringing. After picking it up, he nodded to
Sansa, pointed at the phone, and mouthed: “I’ll go down and get it.”
Several bags about to burst and a pair of legs was all Sansa saw when Olyvar
came back up.
“Here, finally,” he said setting the bags down on the floor.
“How did you…”, she began.
Ten minutes had passed since he typed away at his phone until now. What kind of
market was this and where could she find it?
“Oh my god, do we really need all of this?”
“That fridge needs to get filled once and for all,” he stated, giving her a
smile.
“Good thinking,” Sansa laughed.
After separating what ingredients they needed and putting away all those they
didn’t need, Sansa was ready to start. Her Mac was open with the recipe on the
screen, her hands had been washed, her right one now holding a knife and an
onion in front of her.
Right before she delivered the first cut Olyvar interrupted her.
“No, hang on!” he exclaimed, walking fast to one of the bags still in the
hallway that they seemed to have forgotten about, “Sansa, we can’t cook without
wearing… these!” he came back, showing Sansa two aprons, one of them; elegant,
black, and the other one in pastel pink, with fringes and broideries all over
the chest displaying cute small flowers.
Sansa startled.
“What… is that?” she pointed out the pink one, “I’m not wearing that.”
“What? Oh, this?” Olyvar held the pink one up to make it clear which one they
were talking about, smiling when seeing Sansa’s face, “No! This one’s for me!”
he said, looking oddly proud.
It seemed genuine and Sansa found herself staring at the apron and then at
Olyvar and then at the apron again.
“Oh my god, you really are special.”
“You’re only getting that now ? I’m like, an original or something, you won’t
meet anyone like me,” he laughed as he handed the black apron over to Sansa and
put his on - it was almost too small for him.
Not letting go of the knife Sansa allowed Olyvar to help her put the apron on.
He took his time, measuring the amount of pressure of the straps that
surrounded her waist and finished making a nice bow.
From cutting, to chopping, to peeling, they divided each other’s duties,
working as a team. Sansa found herself really enjoying cooking with Olyvar. He
was a tease, pretending he knew the techniques and recipe by heart when he so
clearly didn’t. When they put the beef in the oven they sat at the sofa with a
glass of wine in their hands.
“10 to 1 it’s going to give us food poisoning,” Sansa said.
“What are you talking about? It’s going to be great. It’s just because you’re
jealous of my cooking skills,” Olyvar replied, winking at her.
“I’m not jealous of your cooking skills, but I must confess, I am getting a bit
annoyed about you ending up with the prettiest apron?” right after saying that
she let out a yawn, too fast for her to cover her mouth, “oh God, I’m sorry.”
Olyvar replied with a warm smile.
They were sitting closer to each other than usual.
“You tired, already? It’s not as if it’s that late anyway?” he said while
reaching out with his hand, his fingers brushing her cheek as he spoke.
Sansa stared at Olyvar, feeling his touch, a caress that she had not felt in
years. His hands were incredibly smooth and warm and she surprised herself
welcoming his touch as she closed her eyes.
The timer went off, breaking the moment, leaving Sansa startled. Olyvar stood
up and went for the oven to check their magnificent piece of art.
Sansa grabbed her phone, no messages at 7:17 pm.
It was getting late and Sansa recalled her conversation with Petyr. ‘There’s a
reason to why he can’t stay longer than scheduled’.
Olyvar came back to the sofa to tell her about the state of the beef.
“I’ve got good news and bad news… good news is, it looks edible, bad news is…
it looks edible, what else can I say?”
Sansa laughed, but with a heavy heart.
“Olyvar, it’s getting late. I don’t want to get you in trouble like last time…”
“You didn’t get me in trouble, Sansa, I’m the one who did,” Olyvar’s voice was
reassuring, calm and steady, “but anyway... it was worth it.”
“Are you sure? We can always eat it tomorrow? You made this afternoon memorable
and I wouldn’t like it to be ruined just because we skip a rule, again?”
“Honestly, I’d really like to stay… look, I know you’re very honest and just
for being a politician, but if you would allow one little lie we could just,
not tell him, you know?” he looked a bit unsure, his gaze lowered but his mouth
still smiling.
Sansa replied back with a kind and warm smile, it was her way of thanking him.
“I kind of want you to stay as well…? And not just because I’d be alone, but
like… I really like being with you?” she didn’t want to make it sound weird but
unfortunately it did.
She sighed and looked at her feet, a bit ashamed of what it might have looked
like.
“So… beef you said?” Sansa asked, not really sure how to continue the
conversation.
“Yeah, definitely!” Olyvar was smiling, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“8 to 1 we’re going to end up dead or taking turns in the bathroom.”
“Please, don’t exaggerate it, we’re going to be fine!” Olyvar countered.
They got to the kitchen and looked at their masterpiece. Sansa’s face turned
into a sea of uncertainty.
“Not really sure to be honest. You sure about this?”
“Yeah, yeah I am. You don’t want to try?” Olyvar asked.
“I do… you go first.”
Olyvar smiled at her as he set the glass of wine, picking up a knife, cutting a
piece and put it in his mouth.
“Mm, it’s good,” he said, chewing once, twice, “definitely very good.”
“No way… really? Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Let me try.”
“Yeah, yeah you should,” Olyvar chewed slowly, “actually…” he continued,
disappearing behind the kitchen island, spitting into the bin.
When showing up again he made a face, conveying his disgust in his usual
humoristic style.
“On second thoughts, no, don’t bother trying it.”
“I knew it!” Sansa laughed and pointed at him, “I knew it!” she paused looking
at him, she was cheered up now, completely forgotten about the weather.
“Now what? We have to eat something!”
“Yeah… I guess we’ll have to order super overpriced food anyway,” Olyvar let
out a sigh, and smiled at her.
“Ugh, I guess we’ll make the effort?”
Olyvar ended up ordering food. He somehow managed to get a Beef Wellington out
of nowhere, coming up with the boxes and surprising Sansa with the real thing.
The beef looked delicious and the taste was even better. They continued to
share more stories, little traits that surprised each other.
After lunch, they cleaned the evidence of their disastrous adventure and
decided to watch a movie.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
The room he had been given was quiet, this was his evening off. The day had
been hectic, people talking in each other’s mouths, not giving place for air or
consideration. Petyr had been standing beside it all, listening to their stupid
arguments with their stupid voices until he couldn’t stand it any longer. His
replies always seemed to shut people up, it amused him greatly, seeing their
faces twist in fury, trying to get their little heads around his sentences,
wanting to outsmart him, but all in vain. It never worked. They knew why his
plans was the better, there was no denying his reason, they just couldn’t make
themselves admit it, staring at him with empty expressions on their faces.
There was a lot to do and he had to be efficient in his work, or else there
were not time enough to finish it all before going back to Sansa.
Sansa.
Petyr was laying in bed, his computer beside him, ever ready to continue his
work. He glanced at it, tempted he reached out with his hand and logged in.
He pressed the gadget he had almost forgotten about since just a few days ago.
He had gotten it installed many years ago but had never really found a reason
to use it, until now; he had started to grow rather fond of it. It was not much
different from the way he’d always done things, the way he made sure that no
one would be able to betray him without him noticing.
On the screen a small window popped up, showing what at first looked like a
white empty space - but it wasn’t. A grey sofa was visible in the left lower
corner, a hallway was in the middle and a kitchen space to the right. Two
figures was detectable, making themselves comfortable on the sofa. One was
taller than the other, featuring blond short hair, and the other, a young woman
with beautiful auburn hair.
Petyr witnessed the scene play out. The two of them talked, as they often did,
but he couldn’t hear what they were saying, and possibly for the 20th time that
week he cursed himself for not thinking of that, for not having any sound
installed. He hadn’t thought it necessary back then, it was after all only to
make sure that he would be able to see what everyone was doing. If someone went
in he would be able to tell, if someone tried to go upstairs, he would know.
He stared at their mouths, trying to see if he could make out any words but it
was useless. Why hadn’t he learned lip reading, after all these years in a
business like his? Where was Armeca when you needed her? But he would never be
able to ask her, revealing that he had cameras in his own house? The news would
spread, and they would definitely be more cautious after that. Although, they
were stupid if the idea had never crossed their minds before knowing what kind
of man he was.
Petyr placed the window in a corner of his screen as he continued looking
through the files on the other side.
But the scenes playing out caught his attention again, and he was not able to
keep reading, searching for the hidden messages between the lines as the two
figures got closer together, the TV in front of them playing out another
performance, and even though that one was filled with action and drama, it was
in no interest to Petyr, not compared to what his eyes were fixed at: the
people watching it.
The time was long past 7pm, and Petyr was just about to call Olyvar, reminding
him of all work that had to be done, the people he needed to get in contact
with, the man hidden away somewhere just like the words in the document Petyr
himself had been reading this evening. But when he saw Sansa’s smile, a smile
that grew and she laughed, Petyr felt himself turning to stone, he couldn’t
move. There was nothing to do. Stupidly he held his phone in mid air, his eyes
fixed on the screen and his index finger so close to the green button that
would make the call. Petyr couldn’t call. He couldn’t make himself. Sansa’s
smile kept him in place, unable to do what had to be done. Petyr liked seeing
Sansa happy, he had liked their time in Ireland a lot. Seeing her laugh made
him feel a better person. As if there was hope in the world for him. After all
the misery and devastation he had put people through, and everything he still
planned on setting in motion.
He couldn’t call, if he did, he would be the reason that smile was wiped away
from her dazzling face. He couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t.
Feeling at loss he scanned through the documents again, still not able to
concentrate, and he checked the window again. This time, there was no choice
but to step in.
Sansa had fallen asleep, her head resting close to Olyvar’s, and his hand was
stretched out behind her, his fingers stroking her auburn locks. Those fiery
locks that Petyr had held in his own two hands, the locks of Cat and Lysa and
Edmure. The Tully’s hair.
Petyr got to his phone, quickly typing a short but clear message to Olyvar. He
was to leave, now.
He swallowed as he saw it being sent , then delivered , and finally read, and
the man in the sofa gently patted Sansa on her shoulder, waking her. Petyr
watched as they exchanged a few words, unreadable to him, and then Olyvar left
and Petyr let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding in.
Sansa left just a few minutes later, disappearing from the window on Petyr’s
screen that now only showed an almost empty space, with just one enormous sofa,
a kitchen space on the other side, and Petyr closed his laptop with a soft
thud.
 
===============================================================================
OLYVAR
Olyvar smiled to himself as he entered the flat with a white box in his hand,
sat it aside on the kitchen island and walked to the end of the stairs.
“Sansa, you busy? Can you come down?” he shouted.
Sansa’s voice came not very long after: “be there in a minute!”
She came down the stairs as was promised.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a present for you,” he said, gesturing at the box with a thin black
ribbon on top.
“Oh really?” she replied, but her eyes were already on the box, searching for
something until she found it, a small card.
Olyvar snuck up beside her, looking down at the beautiful scribbles that read:
“Something I know you’ll like. // Petyr.”
“Well, go on then?” Olyvar said, smiling encouraging although something in him
hurt.
He couldn’t put his finger on it.
Sansa opened the box wearing an expression of excitement.
“Aw, he remembers,” she said almost to herself, looking inside.
Of course he bloody did, Olyvar wanted to add but he didn’t.
He already knew what was inside, he had helped ordered it, and somehow this
bothered him. Why did it bother him? He was the extended arms and hands of
Littlefinger. What he couldn’t do, Olyvar would do. It had always been this
way, so why did it bother him this time?
The lemon cake was beautiful, yellow and sparkly in a way, almost shining when
Sansa took it out of the box and went to fetch a knife to cut it with. She
handled it with care, as if it was something fragile and important. It was
important, at least to her it was, Olyvar knew that much. Sansa had always
loved them, the lemon cakes, but he had never payed attention to such details.
But Littlefinger did, of course he had. Everything about this girl seemed to
engulf him.
Sansa’s face told Olyvar everything he needed to know, about the pure happiness
a simple cake as this was giving her, and he found himself wondering what
affected her the most, the cake or the notion of Littlefinger having remembered
it being her favourite.
What bothered him, himself? The fact that Littlefinger was sending her gifts,
or…? Olyvar felt confused, something Sansa had started to make him feel
recently. No, he didn’t want Littlefinger to send her gifts, if someone was to
send Sansa gifts, he wanted to be the one to do it himself.
Sansa put the piece she had cut up on a plate, tasting it.
“Oh my God, it’s so good!” she exclaimed and headed towards the sofa.
Olyvar just smiled in return. What else could he do? He followed and sat down
beside her.
“It’s really good!” she continued almost to herself, but a look of realisation
hit her and she looked at him seemingly unsure for a moment, “you want to try?”
“Oh, me?” he said, as if there was someone else around that she might have
talked to, “oh it’s fine, you eat it, I know how much you love them.”
“Oh, come on. Sharing is caring. Here,” she cut up a smaller piece with her
spoon, took it with her fingers and stretched forward, offering it to him, to
Olyvar.
“Really, uh, you want me to…?” he replied, unsure as he looked at the cake and
then back at her face.
Her eyes were on him and he slowly opened his mouth, not entirely sure if this
was what she meant. Olyvar closed his lips around her fingers, using his tongue
to take it off her grip. It was sweet, the taste of lemon making it even more
so.
He pulled back, chewing: “yeah, yeah… it’s really good,” he said, looking into
her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah… uhm… yeah…”
Suddenly she seemed distant, her eyes tracing the wooden lines on the floor and
Sansa stood up abruptly, pacing around the living room and then went to the
kitchen, reaching for a glass. Filling it with water and swiftly swept it down
in one go.
“Sansa, you okay?” Olyvar asked, not sure what she was feeling.
Had he misread her? What had he done wrong?
“Yeah… sorry… I just-” she stopped, obviously trying to steady her breathing in
deep breaths, “I’m sorry.”
“Hey…” Olyvar went up, slowly approaching her, “there’s nothing to be sorry
about.”
“You must think I’m some kind of… Never mind…”
“Whatever you’re thinking of saying, that’s not it. That’s not you. Do you know
how I know this? Because you’re you, you’re Sansa Stark, the strongest woman in
England.”
He smiled at her, trying to sound reassuring, it was true though. She was like
no other woman he had ever met. She made him, feel unsure, of himself.
Something that was new to him. Littlefinger made him feel all but, with him he
felt like conquering the world.
“Thank you, Olyvar. That’s really sweet of you to say…”
He walked up to her, closing the space between them by putting his arms loosely
around her in an embrace.
“The strongest woman I know,” he repeated.
Sansa seemed to hesitate for a second and then put her arms around him in
return, her head resting on his chest.
The hug seemed to go on forever, and Olyvar found himself not wanting to let
go, as if the tide had come for them, and this was the only way of surviving.
Though the time came when he just couldn’t hold on to her any longer, there was
no water, there was nothing that made hugging important. Yet he felt as it was.
Maybe he was wrong, he thought as he remembered Littlefinger’s words about
attachment, maybe it’s okay to feel.
Olyvar felt now, he felt it strongly, he didn’t know what but it was something,
and he wanted to keep it close, just like he had Sansa, resting over his
beating heart.
“Join me in the sofa again, will you?” he proposed in a low voice, wanting her
to settle down again.
Whatever storm had risen inside her, he wanted gone and replaced by the feeling
he felt himself. It was good, and she deserved to feel it too.
They moved together, Olyvar’s arm still resting on her back as he guided them
back towards the sofa.
“I am not the strongest woman in England,” Sansa countered, a shy laugh
escaping her.
“What makes you say that? You’ve experienced more than what most people have in
a lifetime, and you’re still here, still fighting?” Olyvar smiled at her
gently, stroking her arm, looking into her eyes.
Silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable one, not like the
tension that always radiated from Littlefinger. Sansa was sweet, and kind, and
it made him feel at ease in ways he didn’t know he could feel. Olyvar looked at
her, her blue eyes and her beautiful mouth. A temptation. He could resist it,
but he didn’t want to. Why didn’t he want to? Did it matter?
Olyvar leaned in, his eyes fixated on her lips.
They were close, breathing in the other’s consumed air, his lips just about to
touch hers, and Sansa pulled away. He felt it like a stab, right into the heart
Littlefinger had worked so hard to get rid off. He could almost hear his words
spitting at him, you never learn.
“What are you doing?”
Olyvar looked down, shame filling him up.
“Shit, Sansa, I just thought…” he smiled nervously, “God I’m so sorry, I must
have-, I, shit, I’m sorry, I should never have done that.”
“Olyvar, no, it’s ok. I’m sorry too. I didn’t know that’s how you felt about
me? I’m sorry if I gave you that impression?”
Even though it was not what he wanted to hear, Sansa’s words were kind, but
they made him feel stupid. He wasn’t stupid, was he? Littlefinger didn’t think
him stupid.
“No need to be sorry, Sansa, it’s my bad, I jumped into faulty conclusions on
my own, I’m sorry,” he continued as he shuffled backwards to the backrest of
the sofa, and Sansa moved too, as if creating extra space for him. He didn’t
know if it was reassuring or if it made him feel even more stupid.
“Olyvar… hey…” hesitantly she reached for his hands, squeezing them, “it’s
okay. You told me I’m the strongest woman, you know, well I am thanks to people
like you, and Ros, and Daisy and Armeca, and Petyr, and Brienne. People that
help me, protect me, encourage me to keep going. It’s people like you who give
me strength,” Sansa paused, her eyes searching for his. “I just happen to be
really attractive…” she laughed at herself.
She was really trying hard, wasn’t she? Trying to break the tension between
them with her stunning laughter. Going for the jokes he himself always turned
to.
“It’s okay really,” Sansa paused again, “I was wondering if you could help me
with something? Ros and I have been analysing my nightmares and what might be
the factor that triggers them. We realised the only time I didn’t suffer from
them was the night Petyr stayed with me? Like, next to me? Not really next to
me, just… there. Somehow my mind understands that it’s not going to be alone
and ‘relaxes’ in a way? I think? What I’m trying to say is, would you stay the
night? It’s been days I haven’t really slept and it’s becoming weary…”
Olyvar felt put off, he had just tried to kiss her, showing her feelings he was
not supposed to feel. That he shouldn’t be able to feel. Sexual attraction was
one thing, but this had been different, and he had been rejected. He took a
deep breath, trying to steady himself. Even after this, Sansa’s kind nature was
ever so present. And of course he would do that, she was asking, and he
couldn’t say no. How could he ever deny her that?
“Of course, yeah, I’d like to do that, I mean, I’d like to help you, if
possible.”
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
‘It’s wrong’. That was all she could think of while she checked her wardrobe.
Sansa was still in her shower towel, her hair dripping wet on the soft rug that
covered her walking closet’s floor. She was searching for something that looked
good and… convincing? After all, that was what she was about to try to achieve
with Olyvar. It had been 10 days since Petyr left - to do God knows what - but
even more had passed since she was last seen in public, the day her house burnt
down. ‘One thing is to ask him to stay with you at night, so you can sleep, but
this is different’.
The news she heard of Cersei and her party being on the lead in the polls had
unsettled her greatly. Sansa needed to go to her office. She needed to study
the strategies that would help her Party close the gap between them and the
Lannisters. The danger was there, Ramsay was after her, she had a feeling
Cersei was as well, but what was she to do? Stay underground and let them win?
That’s what Petyr wanted but Sansa didn’t. Ros insisted it was better to wait
for them to make a mistake but then, what if they didn’t? They were ahead of
her and all Sansa was allowed to do was sit back, read books and watch
television.
Well, she was fed up. At this point, she was ready to risk it all for the good
of her people.
Even if she had known what was going to happen later in the evening, the panic
and the sweat, the feeling of not getting out of it alive, the look of
disappointment Petyr was going to cast at her and the words he was going to say
to her... she would still have done it.
Sansa chose the black dress. It was a loose long linen dress, with an open v-
neck. Before putting her master plan into action, she took her time drying her
hair, an auburn colour that would attract any person’s eye. She opted for
pastel colors as a final touch to her makeup.
When she stepped through her bedroom’s door she felt powerful, unstoppable, a
feeling that was welcomed and embraced, since she hadn’t felt like this in a
long time.
 
Her high heels reaching the bottom floor let Olyvar know she was just a few
feets away from him. With a quick motion he let his eyes rest upon her. Sansa’s
arms were drawn wide open and made a swirl.
“Well, how do I look?”
Olyvar stared at her, shifting his eyes from head to toe.
“Beautiful as ever?” he gave her one of those smiles that had started to become
so familiar.
“Thank you. I was just wondering if you’d like to be my date tonight?”
Olyvar furrowed his eyebrows, but his smile never leaving his face.
“However lovely that sounds, you know you can’t leave right?”
Sansa stared at him calmly, ‘here we go, as expected, just breath in and talk,
share your points with him and hope for the best’. And with that thought, she
began.
“I know. Listen, I know you’ve got orders. But I need your help. You’re the
only one who can help me. My Party needs me. I need to see them, tell them I’m
ok, point them in the right direction,” Sansa paused, studying his face trying
to tell whether she was achieving what she wanted or not.
When she couldn’t find anything suspicious in his look, she continued: “we are
losing, and if we don’t do something about it we are going to leave this
country in the hands of Cersei,” she stopped.
You need your pauses when being a politician. To have an effect on people, make
the idea sink in slowly.
“I need to see them. I need to see Brienne, tell her I’m ok. She’s been a
professional for years, there’s no risk on her slipping information. She’s been
taking care of me… I’m like a daughter to her… and Petyr cut that bond between
out of the blue”.
When she stopped and saw Olyvar’s lack of answer - seriously, what was it with
Petyr’s team and just staring, first Ros, now him - she knew she had to use her
last resource. The absolute truth.
“I’m not asking for your permission, because either way I will find a way to go
see them,” she noticed Olyvar’s body shifted slightly, “I just thought I’d ask
for your help first. Will you help me?”
Olyvar looked at her, considering.
“I said I’d help you before, didn’t I?”
Sansa smiled.
“Wow… really? I was going to try to convince you by asking you to have a drink
with me later on.”
“No need, my lady, tell me when you’re ready and we’ll leave,” Olyvar replied,
an unreadable expression on his face but Sansa was content, it didn’t matter,
she would get where she wanted.
Chapter End Notes
     Last part of Team Baelish Sweet Life Drama part for the moment,
     you'll get more action in the next chapter, and then we're back to
     drama and angst and feels and character development (loads of hurt/
     comfort to come). We'll be focussing on the plot in the next chapter
     so personally I'm very excited about that.
     Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let us know your thoughts
     on the story so far! It's really encouraging for us to receive
     comments, as ever, all kudos and bookmarks are greatly appreciated
     and it honestly means the world to us! Thanks for sticking with us
     for so long, and hello to any new readers!
     The one writing as Petyr wrote Olyvar this time as well.
***** The little bird has a song to sing *****
Chapter Notes
     This update came way later than we expected, hope you're still with
     us and haven't forgotten about the fic! Here's chapter 9, finally!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 9:  THE LITTLE BIRD HAS A SONG TO SING.
 
===============================================================================
 
PETYR
“You’re sure about this?”
The voice was calm, as smooth as always but Petyr didn’t reply, he just walked
past the man, opened the door with the code and went inside with confident
steps. Large mirrors were facing him where he knew the man he had walked past
was still watching.
The girl sat on the floor beside the bed, staring out at what seemed to Petyr
to be nothing in particular, but when he was standing in front of her she
raised her head, looking straight into his eyes. Not fearing. What a pity. Fear
is what keeps us in check, surely she must know that? Or had he misjudged her
character? No, this was what she was like. This was the nature of Arya Stark.
“A girl needs a name,” she said, her expression blank.
“I see you’ve been informed of your assignment already?”
“As if you were not the one who gave it to me.”
He smirked in reply, somewhat proud of having acquired this creature. The
Stark’s blood definitely run through her veins, but she was cleverer than them.
She didn’t care about morals or ethics like the Starks, but she definitely
wasn’t fair like the Tullys. She was her own species in a way, something Petyr
admired. He could relate to that. The outsider, an oddity. Hadn’t he too been
just that? An outcast of his own dying family, a strange boy not able to fully
fit in - in the loving family of the Tullys?
“You’re clever,” he noted.
“They say you are too, but I reckon you’re just a selfish jerk.”
“A selfish jerk who came from nothing and now has the entire world in his
pockets.”
The girl gave him another look, staring up at him from under her thick
eyebrows.
“Why should I help you?”
“I’ve heard you’re the girl with a list.”
Arya shifted.
“People tell you all sorts of lies. They can be really fascinating, it’s
amazing for storytelling, and great when wanting to scare little kids when
they’re in your way, but they’re just that, lies, rumours.”
“Oh, people lie all the time, but rumours, no, they’re often born out of
truths, they might be modified, but there is often something to it, something
that is just right. And I know I’m not wrong. Arya.”
“Littlefinger.”
How could she know? Had they told her? Who had she heard this from? He could
just tell her it was all lies, all rumours - but that was what she wanted,
wasn’t it? She was testing him, and she was pretty good.
“You won’t be doing it for me , you’ll be doing it for yourself. I know this is
one of your top priorities right now, but it’s one you’ve not been able to
attain-”
“Not yet.”
“So you might find yourself saying for the next 10 years, if you’re unlucky,
maybe even for your entire lifetime. Cersei won’t let you to come close enough
for you to even point a finger at her.”
“I’m good.”
“Oh, I know you are, that’s why you’re here. But you’re not able to use your
abilities without my help. You need me. As much as you don’t like to admit it,
you know it’s true.”
They all did, didn't they? Need him. Could anyone ever do anything without his
help?
But it wasn’t bothersome, the conversation they were having. This was what he
liked, having to play people who were much capable themselves, people who were
intelligent. It meant he had to put a lot more thought into it. This was what
Petyr enjoyed, the risk, the cleverness of it all.
Arya sat silently, studying him, considering. He knew it was all for show, she
had already thought this through before he had entered the room, just as he had
himself. These were no news to her, she knew the truth, and what they were
proposing was something she just couldn’t resist agreeing to.
“I’m not helping you.”
“Never said you would, I’ll be the one helping you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’m in.”
***
“You’re sure we need the brother?”
“We’ve gone through this before.”
“Of course we need the brother, family should stick together,” Margaery Tyrell
sounded sure of herself.
Wasn’t it typical that those words were coming from her; the Tyrells always
conspiring together. She and Petyr exchanged a look before they both turned
their heads to the man with a voice as smooth as his head.
Could he foresee something Margaery wasn’t able to? Varys knew Petyr better
than anyone, but also not more than the rest of the people in the room. He
could see past his mask in ways no one else had ever done before. It was a his
strength, and his weakness. What Varys saw underneath was even worse than the
front Petyr kept to everyone else. He believed Petyr to be rotten to the very
core. If someone were to say that Petyr was the most dangerous man in the world
it would be him.
“But you already got people on her?”
“I do.”
“You must have people who could-”
“I assure you, we promised we would see through with this.”
“And since when do you keep any promises?”
Petyr looked Varys in the eyes, smirked at him without letting it say anything.
Let him believe whatever he wanted, he would always distrust the man called Mr.
Baelish.
The days all played out in a similar manner, by the days they seemed closer to
locate the boy, and throughout the time he heard updates from Ros, planning and
deciding who was best fitted to infiltrate the Prime Minister’s network even
further. Varys being suspicious around Petyr, and Margaery charming everyone
with her calm front. She was much alike Petyr in that sense, they were not all
what they seemed. Although the Tyrells had a way of being that Petyr lacked,
they showed compassion, empathy with others and their people. Was that why they
came to power with such ease? While Petyr had fought through manipulation and
hiding of his true self, to create the cold front with no true friends, only
the fake masks of people enjoying his cleverness, people being suspicious of
him or fearing him in secret? The Tyrells were surrounded by people who loved
them, and no, that wasn’t just a front, it wouldn’t crumble beneath them, the
people did appreciate their work. Most people didn’t even know Petyr existed in
the first place, just a shadow at the far back, working his way up without
anyone noticing.
The group had worked notoriously hard on getting it all working, finding Arya
was difficult enough, but the boy. It was as though he had gone underground,
disappeared from the face of the earth - but Petyr was sure he wasn’t neither
gone nor dead. The boy was still out there, all they had to do was find him.
They had manage to pull the girl out from Ireland, and he had been surprised to
see that she had settle down close to his own childhood home. Was that why she
had turned clever?
The week proceeded with planning of a schedule and how the collaboration with
Arya should work, who should play what part in the game, whilst the boy
remained in the shadows. They really needed him, just the notion of how
difficult it was to find him was further proof of how very needed he was. He
would be the crown to their masterpiece. Petyr was sure.
 
===============================================================================
BRIENNE
Brienne was on her computer. A bottle of whiskey, opened, half filled, rested
next to it. She never really liked to drink, but it became a habit after she
lost her job. For a security personnel it’s hard to keep your credit clean when
your client goes missing. In a matter of days, Brienne lost everything that
mattered to her. And it wasn’t just her job, it was Sansa.
When the Stark family began in politics, Ned and Catelyn came to the company
she was working for, asking for their protection, a safeguarding that became a
priority after several anonymous threats were delivered to them. So, Brienne -
among her other colleagues - were to face those threats. Unfortunately, their
enemy was bigger than them, and found a way to breach their security personnel
to end the life of it’s main figure. Brienne had her theories on who might have
been responsible, and it always ended up being one possible person, one person
capable of lying, killing and betraying to get to the top... Cersei Lannister.
Ned Stark’s death changed it all. The rules of the game turned for everybody.
An assassination, so well planned that police were still looking for suspects
up to this day. It was the last convention before election day and he was
delivering his speech as gracefully as ever. He was going to win, there was no
doubt about that. People loved him and his lead on the polls reflected that.
Ned Stark was going to become for the first time in his life the Prime Minister
of the United Kingdom,  under the promise of leading a government with
transparency, lower cuts and bigger public investments, improving education and
healthcare. Those promises weren’t new for the public, but a message delivered
by two different people was most likely to have a different effect on the
population. There was always the hesitation whether a certain candidate was
eventually going to take off the mask, and show that his real intentions were
not so different than the sour loser who wasn’t elected. What do they always
say? “Why yes, the problem is bigger than I thought, I can see that now… I’m
afraid I won’t be able to fulfill my promises”. But Ned was different, Brienne
knew it. She felt it. Being part of the Starks personal security team was not
only a job, but a duty as a citizen. She wanted Ned to represent her country,
to take care of it and its people. Ned Stark was everything they needed in
these times of selfishness and materialism.
It all happened pretty fast, was all Brienne could remember. That night the
security routine was analyzed and studied. All possible escapes for all
possible outcomes. Brienne was to stay with Catelyn, overwatching her who at
the same time would be overwatching her husband from behind the stage. Ned
finished his speech dashingly as he always did. When the confetti began falling
and the music started playing Catelyn was to join him, for all the smiling and
waving. Just when she was going to step out, Brienne received the order.
Catelyn Stark was to put to safety. When Tarth got the message she immediately
knew something bad had happened, and without asking further questions, did as
she was told.
She grabbed Catelyn in a swift move, covering her with her own body as she
moved past the staff off-stage. Put Catelyn to safety . Brienne repeated those
words in her mind and under her breath.
She didn’t hear Catelyn shouting behind her, asking her what was happening,
where was Ned, and where were they going. She did hear the screams from the
public. It took several seconds between her supervisor's order to come to her
through all those shrieks of absolute terror. They were already in the parking
lot when the noise of a stampede could be heard - and felt. You never forget a
sound like that. The sound of thousands of people running for their lives.
Catelyn was crying now. Ned’s wife was not stupid, she knew something bad had
happened. And the absence of her husband was a nerve wracking corroboration of
her fear.
When they reached the car, Brienne ordered her driver to take the emergency
route. She could hear Catelyn’s demands now, asking to please turn the car
around. But they couldn’t, Brienne knew it, and somewhere deep inside Catelyn,
she knew it too.
It was when they got to the Stark’s household when the news started to pour in.
Sansa was there, barely 14 years old, she stood in the living room watching the
television with her phone in one hand. The news channel was on and the images
were repeating themselves. Ned smiling, waving at the crowd, a slight change in
his furrow, looking down at his chest and a ring of blood staining his shirt,
getting bigger and bigger as Ned grabbed his chest with a painful expression.
At first the news were calling it a heart attack, but when the images started
coming in confirming that it was not a natural death, they called it a
terrorist attack, executed by a sniper, most probably. The police were looking
for suspects.
Brienne brought Catelyn to the house, where the help attended her. She was
sobbing. Brienne looked at the living room, all of Ned’s children there,
watching their father die, repetitive times, and from all different angles.
Sansa’s attention turned to Brienne. There was so much pain and sadness in
those eyes. Brienne wanted to go to her, tell her how sorry she was for what
happened to her father, how responsible she felt as part of her security
personnel and how they were going to mend the wrongs that were done to her
family tonight. But those words wouldn’t matter now. Maybe later on, but not
today.
Catelyn Stark never overcame Ned’s death. It was all downhill after that. First
the drinking, then the pills. Brienne watched all of this without being able to
intervene. That task was reserved for Sansa, being the last of the Stark
children to stay with her mother. Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran and Rickon, all left
London to different destinations, after their father’s death. Sansa preferred
to stay behind. She couldn’t leave her mother alone, not with all her issues.
Brienne admired the oldest of Ned and Catelyn’s daughter. For Sansa there was
never a doubt in her mind of what was the correct thing to do. Her brothers and
sister called her out and said “staying behind and doing nothing” wasn’t the
best way to face her father’s death. What the Starks children were unaware of
was that “doing nothing” sometimes was the wisest thing, but often the hardest
one too.
Do nothing. Wasn’t that what her boss said when they found Catelyn’s body
hanging? She did nothing to prevent it, but then again, she couldn’t be
Catelyn’s shadow. She really wanted to, but her boss wouldn’t allow that.
Brienne remembered when she asked her to take the night off on that terrible
night. Of course, she didn’t. She left the matriarch in the upper level to her
business while she stayed in the car, just in case she needed her later. Her
body was found several hours later by one of the assistants. Brienne almost
lost her job after that, but Sansa intervened. She asked her boss for her
relocation, as her personal guard. Brienne took the job enthusiastically,
knowing there were more things to make up to her apart from thanking her for
not getting her fired.
And now Sansa was gone too. Somewhere in London, under the care of Petyr
Baelish. Brienne never liked that man, but admired that man’s connections. He
somehow accomplished to hide Sansa well enough that nobody was being able to
find her, not even the people who wanted her dead. She assumed it was the only
good news.
Brienne stared at the bottle. She saw her reflection on it. This wasn’t who she
was, nor what she always believed she was. Falling into this sort of addictions
was not the way to go. She needed to get rid of it. The tall woman stood up,
grabbed the bottle with an aggressive move and went to the kitchen. She
approached the sink and emptied it. The feeling of satisfaction didn’t come
until the last drop hit the stainless steel.
The phone started ringing and Brienne glared at it from afar. Throwing the
bottle in the bin she went to pick up to whoever had interrupted her call for
sobriety moment.
“Tarth,” Brienne answered.
“Brienne, in about an hour, a driver will be waiting downstairs to pick you
up,” a man’s voice said.
“Yeah? Who’s this?” as far as she knew, this could be anyone.
“We’re... the good guys,” the voice waited for Brienne’s reply.
At the lack of it whoever it was on the other line knew Brienne wasn’t buying
it.
“I wouldn’t have this phone number if I wasn’t working for Mr. Baelish. One
hour. Downstairs,” but he decided to give her more, “the little bird has a song
to sing,” and the line went dead.
And with that last piece of information Brienne immediately knew who it was.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr woke with the sun warming his back. He stretched out his arms like a cat
and turned in the bed, reached out to the night table and moved his laptop onto
the bed, placing it right beside him as he turned it on and logged in. He
pressed the gadget again, as had become a habit of his, always checking each
morning, each evening. The window popped up showing the large open space, the
tall man was pacing around the kitchen again. He seemed stressed in a way Petyr
hadn’t seen him for a very long time. Okay, something was up. Was it still the
reaction from a few nights ago, when he had stayed over in spite of
Littlefinger’s clear and simple rules? Petyr pursed his lips, clicked next and
the window showed another room. This one was smaller, but still extraordinary
large for being a bedroom. The form of a woman was standing in the middle, she
was standing with her back towards the camera. The skin was pale, porcelain
like, it looked soft, smooth with only a few freckles and moles spread out in
various patterns down her body. She was facing a mirror. Petyr couldn’t really
distinguish any facial expressions but her body language told him she was
nervous as well, and yet she stood tall in front of the cheval glass. She
shifted her weight to the other foot, considering, bending down to pick up a
piece of clothing, but Petyr only stared at the figure of her body. The art
that was shown on his screen, and he could feel himself grow underneath the
covers. A part of him wanted to shut it down, this wasn’t how he had imagined
it. In his mind he had seen her in front of him, and not a mirror, facing him,
looking into his eyes and scanning his body. This was different, he was so, so
very close to her, and yet she was further away than he had felt her being
during this whole time. He wanted her here, wanted to feel her soft skin
underneath his fingers as he traced the patterns on her body, following it down
her spine to her bottom, drawing the outlines of her shape as he would continue
up her front, dipping down after having followed up her hip bone and then
stroking the silky skin of her abdomen, stopping to cup her breasts, just to
feel the weight of them in his hands, all his.
Petyr swallowed, his member making itself more and more evident. It had been a
long time since he had given in to bodily needs, he hadn’t touched himself to
the thought of another since… Petyr licked his lips, trying with whatever
saliva he might still have left. The only times he masturbated nowadays was
after the thrill of a chase, the sweet taste of finally getting what he wanted,
when his cunning or intelligence proved itself exceptional, it was at times
like these he would marvel at himself, over the things he could achieve and the
things planned ahead. The times when he’d frantically stroked himself into
oblivion without a reason behind other than hormones were times when
Littlefinger was still just a name to mock his insignificance, and those times
were long gone. Petyr Baelish had the whole world in his pocket, he was all but
insignificant.
But things had changed when Catelyn’s daughter had entered his life. She turned
things around in ways he hadn’t imagined possible, after all those years of
building up his walls, making them stronger and impossible to break down.
Lately he had felt himself harden by the thought of her, a need to touch
himself and imagine her close. But Littlefinger resisted, the idea of giving in
only because of a normal girl was absurd. She was beautiful, but so were they
all. She was Catelyn’s daughter, but she was not Cat. She was very much
herself. A combination of the Starks and the auburn haired Tullys. A
combination Petyr never thought he would find himself attracted to - and yet
here he was, his hand almost unconsciously travelling down his stomach. It was
only when his hand was already on him, grabbing hard, that he forced himself to
stop, realising what was happening he released his grip around his already
throbbing cock and opened his eyes, swallowing hard.
Sansa was changing clothes, trying on different things but settled for a dress
in simple black. But something about it caught Petyr’s interest and it wasn’t
the cut of the dress but the fact that shewas wearing it. Why would Sansa wear
a dress like that? There were no reason for her to dress up like this, she had
been advised and should know better than to try leaving the flat. She knew
better than that, and Olyvar would notify him instantly when and if it
happened.
When he could see her exiting her room and going down the stairs, the next
frame showed her in the kitchen.
The two of them were talking, just as ever, but Petyr noticed the look on
Olyvar’s face. He recognised that look. The desire, the lust, the amazement,
the adoration, the… no. Petyr swallowed. Enough of all that. Back to reality.
What was about to happen? Could she have dressed up for Olyvar? Why would they
do that? Sure, they had been close lately but no, this was for something else.
He could tell.
Petyr studied them as they spoke their inaudible words and he stared with a
blank expression on his face as he could do nothing but watch as Olyvar left
through the door together with Sansa. They left, without saying a word to him.
Why?
If not for the hidden cameras Petyr would never have known.
This was why it was crucial to have thought of everything beforehand, why the
wars had to be fought and conquered in this mind, playing out every scenario
possible, so that he would always be ready for whatever was in the making.
He took out his phone quickly. Typing went fast, writing the codename he had
wished to never use: “squire”.
 
===============================================================================
OLYVAR
Olyvar knew this was wrong, and definitely against the rules, but he had
promised to help her if she wanted him to. But was that really what it was
about, him listening to what she wanted - or rather he wanted this? Olyvar
wanted to be of help after what had happened the other day. And anyway, since
when did he follow any rules other than Littlefinger’s?
He inhaled slowly as he drove around the corner to find a spot to park the car.
The meeting took place in Regent’s Park. It wasn’t so much the fear of seeing
Sansa walk out of the car and not being able to follow her, than the fact that
he had no knowledge of what was to happen. Olyvar felt as though he was on
autopilot, and he had no way of stopping it all from happening. Somehow he
wanted this to happen, he wanted to show his good manners, being transparent
for once, no traps, no hidden microphones, he wanted to seem like he cared
about her - because maybe, maybe he truly did care about her. The thought
didn’t scare him as much as it should have. Why? Maybe because he compared
this, much like everything else, to the way Littlefinger acted himself. That
man had let this girl into his life and without further adieu they now all had
to take care of her too. Look after her. Olyvar didn’t mind that, he wanted to
be more to her than just a security guard of some sort. Was this what he was
proving to her right now? Was this more? Was this was friendship was like?
Doing things for others? Risking things for others?
He watched as Sansa approached the tall woman with blond hair.
Guilt was spreading like a sickness in his body, crawling like spiders all over
him. This was more risky than he had thought. Had he put any thought into it at
all? He wondered now, because it didn’t seem like it.
The women seemed calm though, discussing with a relaxed manner but neither
looked at the other. He noticed the Tarth woman turning her head to Sansa but
Sansa didn’t meet her eyes, but kept hers steadily in front of herself.
That was when he noticed them, the men, all in black slowly approaching them.
After that everything happened rather quickly, Olyvar wasn’t sure if he jumped
out of the car to scream at Sansa or if she or Tarth noticed even before he did
himself. However the car was speeding, and Olyvar drove up to Sansa and the two
of them got into the car with him as he watched the men do the same barely a
second away.
The buildings seemed to flash before his eyes, green lights, red lights - who
cared? There wasn’t enough time. Olyvar pressed his foot down hard, he could
hear the complaints of the other vehicles around him, but none of that
mattered, they just had to get out of there. Vaguely he could hear the taller
woman checking on Sansa, but it didn’t last long until she was screaming in his
ears just like the other motors surrounding them. Left! No, right! Fuck, you
have to turn - no! Now! At first he felt as though the machine was actually
protesting against him, howling and roaring underneath him as he turned and
snatched them in different directions.
The car behind them looked very much like the one they sat in themselves, it
looked much like a shadow of the Aston Martin Olyvar was trying his best to
drive as fast as he possibly could, almost hitting speed limit in the middle of
a city busy with life and shopping and tourism. He was surprised at his quick
reflexes, being inches from taking down an older lady out on her daily stroll.
“It’s him,” he heard Brienne Tarth stating, it was a simple sentence, but they
all knew exactly who she meant.
On the right side of the driver was a man with dark hair, eyes like ice that
glared with a fiery thrill. It was the look of a madman, a predator watching
its prey. Playing until the bitter end.
Ramsay didn’t do much, he didn’t seem to scream at the other men in the car, he
didn’t seem to notice anything but the jet black Aston Martin.
Littlefinger would be furious with him, knowing about the way Olyvar made it
whine and rumble. He had never been sure if Littlefinger had ever been
interested in the car in the first place but the car was important, a crucial
accessory to play the games of the rich and dangerous.
The surrounding turned dark, almost black if not for the tiny orange lights
that flashed by in what looked more like a thin line than anything else.
They were in a tunnel, zigzagging around the cars to get past them, Ramsay and
his men following. This was bad, really fucking bad. This was why it was
crucial to always be on one’s feet, to always think of everything before it
happened. To know what to do if a scenario like this layed itself bear beneath
them. It was all Littlefinger’s words, wasn’t it?
The shot was quiet, but unmistakably so from a gun. Olyvar could see the blond
head of the Tarth woman aiming back at the car speeding just a moment after,
having been able to come right up behind them after fighting the pattern of
driving cars going in lower speeds at all sides. The shot was precise, and the
car behind them rebounded slightly as Ramsay noticed the driver falling slack
against the wheel. She was good, really good. In class with Olyvar himself,
maybe they could have use of her.
“Got him,” Brienne Tarth stated, but with no answer.
Olyvar’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead, trying his best not to knock into
anything too hard, to, if possible, making it easier for her to aim again.
He glimpsed Ramsay saying something, taking over the wheel above the dead body
beside him. Whilst driving he pushed the door open, heaved the body out of the
car, still with his eyes seemingly immovable from his target, Sansa.
“Get down!” Tarth called.
He didn’t hear the gunshot as much as he heard the window protesting. For a
moment he had expecting the shattering sound of the glass breaking and
scattering all around them, but it never came. And Olyvar was relieved to
remember the bulletproof glass Littlefinger had ordered for the car. But
another thump appeared, giving no time for further thoughts. And another after
that, and another. The shots came quickly now, and Olyvar hunched over the
wheel, not being sure where to keep his eyes, the rear mirrors or the road in
front of them. The glass wouldn’t be able to sustain much longer.
The glass broke slowly but surely, in a similar way that Olyvar drove the car
into other vehicles every now and then, scratching the surface of the black
varnish onto others.
“My phone, now, in my pocket,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
His phone was handed to him, he wasn’t too sure who it was, vaguely he wanting
it to be Sansa.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
Petyr for once wished that Roose was still alive and could get some control
over his son, no one wanted car chases in the middle of London, putting
everyone at risk. What if someone recognised Ramsay - that would look bad on
the Bolx Banks. Especially gunshots.
He had called Ros and later Daisy, using one of the codenames he had never
wanted to use but feared that he one day would. Today just proved his
hypothesis right, again. It was always rewarding to be prepared for everything.
Every employee of importance had a codename. Not everyone knew about them of
course, that would have left everyone suspicious and not so surprisingly at
short notice everyone would be aware of their own codename. No, there had to be
just a few knowing about them, and another handful knowing about some other’s.
Believing that only specific people had codenames and that you happened to be
one that were to know about them would not leave you to tell the others, but to
keep that information to yourself, in case you could use that as an advantage
one day. Everyone wants to be important, special, when in fact, they’re just
like everyone else. Just a pawn in a bigger picture.
Daisy had found out that his Aston Martin was missing and after not too long
she had been able to locate the car, walking through the security shield she
herself had built up to make it as safe as possible.
He was curious to see that a meeting had been set up between Sansa and Brienne.
Did she not trust him?
Later when the two cars were speeding, making way too much noise and bringing
too much attention to themselves, it was not difficult to catch up on them
either.
This chase was truly a mistake of Ramsay’s. Typically him, Petyr had noticed,
playing around like a child with new toys. This was the difference between
Ramsay Bolton and Petyr Baelish, Petyr didn’t play with toys. His game was a
game of chess, and he moved every piece with precision.
Petyr was in a helicopter together with a handful of others, cars driving from
all different directions possible to crowd the two speeding cars. Ramsay was a
child, and a fool. Obsessed with all things new to him. Power, especially. It
was plain for everyone to see, only everyone was just as foolish as Ramsay.
They swallowed it all, all the talk about him, the success. But this had to
end, and he would see the end of it now.
“The child’s play is over, stop the cars before any of you embarrass yourselves
any further,” a voice said over speaker.
Petyr watched with intent and a played dullness as Olyvar stopped the not-so-
very-black Aston Martin just below. That would be a bother, getting a new one
and getting a new security shield up, installed and running, with bulletproof
windows and all. Petyr sighed as he looked down at Ramsay pulling over abruptly
a moment later as well.
“You don’t want this to come out to the news, I’ve blocked off all the streets
in the neighbourhood,” the voice of a Lannister continued from the helicopter
to the left.
They landed smoothly, Petyr kept his eyes fixed on the smug look of Ramsay
Bolton until a golden haired man approached him, when the taller man opened his
mouth to speak Petyr interfered before he could start: “I’ll talk to the poor
people he targeted this time, you talk some sense into him, if at all
possible.”
Jaime Lannister nodded and Petyr went off alone to the car a few feet away,
they had to leave now, before the Lannisters realised who was in the car.
Petyr tapped the window, not surprised to see Olyvar’s distressed face when he
rolled down the car window.
“Get out of my sight, quickly, and see to that Mrs Tarth comes home safely.
Daisy will be helping you with the security you’re so obviously lacking.”
Petyr didn’t care to meet his eyes, he knew Olyvar looked like an ashamed puppy
as he drove off with the rest of them and Petyr turned his attention back to
Ramsay who was standing as smug as ever in front of his own car with blood
soaking his white shirt from top to bottom, a couple of men in black behind him
looking even more liberated from feelings than Petyr was himself, they looked
like figures made out of stone. Surely, that must be how people saw him too?
“I won’t be covering up for you much longer, if it wasn’t for the arrangements
between…” Jaime trailed off as he noticed Petyr coming up to them.
“They were on my priority list, it won’t be happening too often. But then
again, there’s not much you can do about it, really?” Ramsay giggled to
himself, his eyes staring wildly at the now empty spot where Petyr’s car had
just recently been.
Where Sansa had just recently been.
“You know,” Ramsay continued, “you just have to try to get a leash on me, but I
don’t like to be controlled, I misbehave - unlike my dogs over here,” Ramsay
nodded towards the men behind him.
“Oh, we are aware,” Petyr replied, “but all dogs become obedient with the right
utensil. You will obey.”
Chapter End Notes
     Finally some action and not just drama, hope you enjoyed the car
     chase! Petyr is fully back and I'm personally happy to see Brienne
     back in the game again, although no Sansa POV this time - but don't
     fear, we'll bring her back full force in next chapter. There's so
     much going on now, and there's a lot coming up next. For the
     shippers, the wait is soon over, stay tuned. Hope you liked this
     chapter and please let us know what you think! Thank you for all the
     kudos, comments and bookmarks, we're so grateful to you all for
     sticking with us!
     Olyvar and Petyr are written by the same person whilst Brienne was
     written by the person usually writing as Sansa.
***** Is it too late *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter 10: IS IT TOO LATE.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
Silence reigned in the car as they headed back to the flat. Olyvar looked like
knew he was in big trouble. Sansa was looking out of the window, she hadn’t
said anything after their “special” encounter with Ramsay Bolton.
It was when they finally arrived home that Olyvar broke the silence.
“I’m sorry about... that, are you alright?”
Sansa went to the kitchen for a glass of water without saying a word. She heard
him alright, but she felt as though she couldn’t speak, her mouth as dry as a
desert.
“I mean, of course you’re not. I’m sorry,” Olyvar continued, hands in his
pockets, pacing around the room.
He finally stopped for a moment and looked in Sansa’s direction, “can I be of
any help?”
“I just need a moment ok?” was all she managed to say.
Sansa took the glass of water with her and sat down on the sofa, staring at
nothing.
“Yes, yeah, of course, of course”, he licked his lips nervously as he followed
her with his eyes, slowly moving to the other side of the sofa and placed
himself with a bit of a distance from her but still not too far away.
Sansa’s mind was replaying everything that had happened just hours ago. Why
wouldn’t her mind stop thinking about it?
“I could feel him watching me,” Sansa’s words came out, and she realised she
didn’t really wanted to share that piece of information, and least of all with
Olyvar.
Before she could stop herself, her mouth carried on, “I could feel him
concentrated on me, almost as though we were in the same room again.”
Olyvar looked up at Sansa, nervously clutching his own hand, “I’m so sorry,
Sansa, I should have checked the security of your location a lot better, I
mean, I should have seen to… there are lots of things I should have done. God,
I’m sorry, Sansa,” Olyvara seemed to not really know whether he should look at
her or his own hands, his eyes flickering between the two.
She heard Olyvar’s words, and by the concern in his words she believed him to
be honest.
”It’s not your fault Olyvar,” the way his hands were moving was all Sansa was
looking at, “it’s my fault. I put us out there, I’m to blame, not you.”
It was true. She knew it was true. No matter what he would try to tell her, the
blame relied on one, and one person only. Herself.
“Oh, definitely not, it’s my responsibility, that’s one of the more important
reasons to why I’ve been around, remember? I was put on this job, to... protect
you…” he moved a bit closer to her, slightly hesitantly.
“Olyvar…”
Sansa wanted to tell him that whatever he had in mind, it was all very kind and
sweet, but nothing would change the fact that she was to blame. He had done
more than enough already and Sansa was sorry to see him being dragged into her
problems - and then she felt the kiss. Olyvar was leaning in, his hands on her
face and his mouth gently sucking her lips.
It took her a couple of seconds for her busy mind to realise what was
actuallyhappening. Seconds that seemed to last minutes. Minutes in which the
one and only Petyr Baelish opened the door and stopped in the hallway. That man
did always know how to make an entrance.
The sound of the door opening and the simple idea of Petyr watching the whole
scene made Sansa snap out of it and quickly ordered her mind to break from
Olyvar’s sweet kiss.
Olyvar looked at Sansa with seemingly drunken but sad eyes, noticing Petyr.
“And I failed…” Olyvar’s words were whispered so low that only Sansa could
hear, his voice was so quiet she wondered whether he had said them to himself
or to her.
 
===============================================================================
PETYR
The ride home was tense. Everything inside Petyr seemed to bottle with heat
like it hadn’t in several years.
He pressed in the familiar codes and turned the keys to the flat, Ros following
promptly.
The sight that welcomed him was not at all what he had expected. Olyvar’s hands
were on Sansa’s cheeks, caressing her, his mouth on hers.
This wasn’t right. It was one thing touching her hair, but this? This was
taking it too far. This night wasn’t about Olyvar and Sansa, Petyr had almost
lost her to the Boltons again.
He looked at her soft pink lips, it seemed almost like yesterday.
 
Upon arriving a few days ago Lysa had wanted them to marry almost on the spot,
not even wanting to wait for him to get properly dressed for the occasion,
telling him that he always looked stunning wherever he went and Petyr had just
smiled at her in response, feeling flattered that someone could appreciate the
time he put into his appearance and at the same time displeased by it. They had
thrown a party, some days later, Lysa having wanted to spend the evening and
the wedding night with Petyr alone even though, as she had reminded him, “we’ve
had our wedding night many years ago, don’t you remember?” and he did remember,
oh how he remembered.
The music was loud in his ears, but also comforting, surrounding him. Voices
laughing and talking. It was the sound of a party, a large party. His wedding
party.
As he listened to the person beside him rambling on about whatever it was he
was talking about, Petyr saw Sansa walk towards the table with drinks for the
third time seeming like she was mumbling words to no one in particular. As she
was pouring herself another drink he excused himself from the person beside
him, moving smoothly through the crowd of people to get to Sansa.
“You alright?” he asked her when standing a few feet away.
She seemed surprised, but he couldn’t tell why. It was not as if she was
surprised to see him at his own wedding party?
"I am alright. Why shouldn't I be? What makes you think I'm not?”
“Just... the amount of drinks you’ve had, you usually never drink,” he reminded
her with a quirk of his eyebrow.
"I don’t usually... okay, since when do you think that I don’t drink. I drink.
I drink a lot. I happen to love the taste."
“Sansa, you hate drinking, I think that’s enough,” he said closing the space
between them and putting his hand on hers, stopping her from putting the glas
to her lips again.
Sansa glared back at him, seeming to radiate pure hate all around her.
"Ugh," she reluctantly gave him her drink and walked away.
Petyr set the drink aside, checking the place and the people before following
her. The hair that used to be so distinguishable was now hard to make out in
the crowd of people. Black locks danced away into one of large rooms at the far
end of one of the corridors. Petyr followed with slow collected steps, making
it look like he wasn’t really heading towards anywhere, just simply stolling
without a goal in case someone was looking. He went into the room to the right,
moving smoothly - similar to a cat - through the half closed door. The room
seemed to currently be serving as a place to store all the extra tables and
chairs that usually filled up the space in the other rooms. He found Sansa
sitting on the ledge by the window, seeming to be staring out at nothing in
particular. He stopped just in front of the door, just standing there. For a
moment they were quiet and the only sound was the cheering of the people, the
music from the party in a world so close to theirs.
“What happened?” he asked, finally breaking the silence but Sansa didn’t reply,
“was it something they said? Some people are not worth listening to, especially
not those who doesn’t sit upon truth.”
Petyr took a few small steps closer to her, now standing in the middle of the
room.
"Easy for you to say," she mumbled, almost to herself, her voice quiet, not
fitting the sound coming from the hallway.
When he came closer he noticed tears falling down her cheeks.
“What makes you say that?” Petyr asked with a low voice, matching hers.
He could hear his Irish accent making itself known, it had always been that
way, him revealing parts of himself depending on what fitted, whatever would
work the better. Ever since they had arrived he had fallen back to his old
sounds and habits, maybe it was to make Lysa be more comfortable around him,
open herself up to him - literally, maybe it was him allowing himself to be his
younger version again, maybe, just maybe, he felt like showing his true self to
this child in front of him.
“Tune them out. They’re just background noise, they don’t matter.”
"Don’t matter? Don't matter?! Half of the country is here and all those girls
do is talk about Joffrey! I have to stand there and listen to... what they have
to say about him, about me!"
“He’s gone, and you’re not,” Petyr reminded her, “that’s what matters. Your
life is here, not in London. Leave the past behind, it’s not worth your effort
nor your time. People always talk, it’s what people do. Better tune them out
before their worthless words starts defining you. You’re better than that.”
"Did you know he didn't kiss me?”
Her words came unannounced, changing the topic completely. Was this something
she had been thinking of? Was this why she was upset? Was it so weird though?
She was a girl, a young woman. These thoughts were only natural, and she had
been drinking.
“Joffrey. He took me home. He thanked for the time we had and just when I
thought he was going to kiss me he just patted my shoulder, turned around and
left. How pathetic am I?" Sansa’s voice broke, and the tears came streaming
down her face again.
“You’re not pathetic, Sansa. A real gentleman would have kissed you,” he said
while taking the rest of the steps needed to be able to stand with his front
facing her back.
Petyr picked up a lock of hair from behind and touched it, twirling the black
colour between his fingers. She could have been his daughter after all, and the
black hair made the idea even more insistent, matching his, perfectly.
"I've never been kissed... did you know that?"
Silence waited for a moment and Petyr slowly slid down on the ledge beside
Sansa.
“No...” he replied, making his voice softer with the lock of her hair still
around his fingers.
Sansa continued staring out the window, and for a moment Petyr thought the
alcohol had made her mind drift away, forgetting about the conversation
completely, but then she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper: "would you
have kissed me?"
He turned his head towards Sansa, and let the quiet be, letting the seconds
tick on. He swallowed, unsure whether honesty was the right way.
Petyr thought of a memory from a time so long ago it should probably have been
long forgotten, but to him it wasn’t. The memory ever so present. The girl
beside him was almost a copy of the girl that had been standing beside him back
then, the laughter of a young girl filling his ears. Their eyes were so alike,
their cheekbones high, the shape of their face almost the very same. Yet the
girl in front of him now was more beautiful than the girl that he remembered,
and this one was a few years older than she had been. Petyr lowered his gaze,
remembering the games they used to play, the two of them - and another. They
had not been alone but Petyr wanted to remember this one specifically. He had
tried sticking his tongue into the girl’s mouth, but she never let him. And
Littlefinger saw the possibilities flashing before his eyes for a brief moment.
All that he could have got.
Sansa was so alike her mother, but with hair that looked like his own. She
could have been my daughter, he thought again, and without any more
consideration his answer came out before he could change his mind.
“Yes”, he breathed, leaning in just a bit, but not closing the space between
them, locking his eyes on hers.
Sansa finally stopped staring out the window to face Petyr, her eyes locking
with his, then lowering to his mouth and without any hesitation she leant
forward the few inches that were still between them. Petyr closed his eyes,
pressing his lips against her soft ones and he was surprised at the urgency and
desperation he felt coming from her. He reciprocated eagerly with the same
urgency, overwhelmed by the fact that he was kissing the daughter of the woman
he had dreamt of ever since his childhood. He put both his hands on her,
wanting to feel her, wanting to have her close. One hand was now fully occupied
with her hair and the other one was cupping her jaw, his fingertips resting on
her neck. Sansa let out a soft moan still with her mouth on his and Petyr
almost shivered at the sensation of just having her this close. Then he felt
it, the wet touch of her tongue wanting to be allowed participants in this
sudden exchange of needs. Petyr completely lost himself to the kiss, her tongue
being sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, the faintest hint of lemon cake
present. He felt desperate, his hands moving down her body and let go of her
hair. For a moment he pressed their heads closer still, her tongue moving
against his. The feeling of her hands on him, on his chest as they made their
way down. Inexperienced fingers started to unbuckle his belt. Later he wondered
if it was the tremble that caught his attention.
Petyr wanted to stay like that, it was as if this was truly all he had ever
wanted, but facts he could not see past made themselves present. Her hands
might be clumsy because this was new to her, but Sansa was drunk, and he
wasn’t. It was all so very much alike what he himself had experienced in a time
that didn’t seem that long ago. It had been a feast, much like this one and
Petyr had already danced with Cat six times that evening. He had made her
smile, she made him smile and nothing else seemed to matter. He had told a
joke, a clever one as they often were and she laughed, sounding more beautiful
than the music playing around them. Her hair swirled around her in colours of
autumn as she spinned, her hand never leaving his. It must have been a sign,
her choosing to dance with him and not the man she was engaged to. It had to
mean something. The celebration was after all theirs and not Petyr’s and Cat’s.
In a moment believing she might have thought the same as him, maybe realising
it was all a mistake, knowing that Petyr was the one for her, the one who knew
her, who had been there for her through all this time. He had spun her around
one last time. When she came back into his arms he had embraced her, her words
echoed through him, “what are you doing, Petyr?” she said giving him another
one of her beautiful laughs, and it was he who had made them happen, he was the
origin to that sound. Petyr had looked into her eyes and thought he had seen
the same desire staring back at him. That was when he leaned forward, it wasn’t
that hard, they were almost the same height, but the moment passed and before
their lips brushed Cat pushed him away. She just laughed, and Petyr felt
stupid. This was not the laughs he had enjoyed so much throughout the whole
evening, this laugh was not because he had made a joke. He had laid his heart
bare, and she laughed at him. Hurt and rejected he sat down at the table,
taking drink after drink until he finally passed out. He didn’t want to be able
to remember this, it pained him, and he couldn’t stand the anguish. What
happened next was still almost a blur, but something he never wanted to think
about. No, Petyr would never take advantage of Sansa like that. With alcohol in
her system he would never know if this was what she really wanted, maybe it was
all a coincidence. Him being there when she needed someone the most. But Petyr
was not who she needed. Sansa wanted a charming prince with roses and love,
something Baelish would never be able to give her. He had played his part,
gotten what he wanted. Now it was time to be the grown up he actually was, be
responsible. His need for Sansa was something he didn’t want to force on her.
Reluctantly he took a step backwards, there was nothing else to be done. The
belt made a sound as it slid from Sansa’s fingers. Petyr closed his eyes for a
moment, trying to collect himself, feeling as though the air had went out of
him, not completely sure if it was the reminder of what had happened back when
he was young and stupid, or if it was the reaction of the passion he still felt
beating inside of him.
“You’re drunk, Sansa,” he let go of her shoulder, opening his eyes he saw her
awkwardly crossing her arms around her waist.
“I am... a little bit,“ she admitted, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doing all this.
You're married to my aunt. Oh my God, I'm sorry.”
For a moment he almost got stuck in the vivid memory of that red hair dancing
around him from a few nights ago, her naked body waiting for him.
“Let me worry about aunt Lysa,” he said taking a deep breath, trying to steady
himself, “now, you better go to bed.”
Petyr just looked at the floor beneath him. Without another word he saw her
slowly disappearing from his vision - but then she stopped, abruptly. Something
in her stance didn’t seem right. Petyr lifted his head to see what had made her
freeze.
A lean figure was standing in the doorway, hands just hanging along her body,
red dark hair flowing around her. Lysa.
Petyr knew what it looked like: Sansa’s cheeks flushed, Petyr still catching
his breath, his belt undone hanging in the air. But was the reality really so
different?
“I knew it! I knew it!”
Her words seemed to echo in the room as though it was quiet, as if the crowd
not far away was completely silent. Petyr turned slowly, his eyes never leaving
the shape of Lysa at the door. Fixing his posture and redoing his belt, Petyr
made his face seem more closed off, more like himself as he tilted his head
slightly, giving her one of his famous smirks.
"Lysa, whatever you thought you saw, it's not what you think," he raised his
eyebrows, trying to seem convincing.
Lysa turned, as if she was just about to storm out of the room but Petyr was
quick on his feet, catching up to her before she had managed to leave, the door
in front of them still barely open. He was standing with his chest almost
touching her back, his head just behind her ear.
"Lysa..." he whispered so that only she would hear, “it's nothing, this means
nothing, I assure you."
“Nothing you say? I saw everything. I knew she was going to be trouble. She’s
no good. You know she was looking at me while she was giving you a-” she paused
for a split second before continuing, “you fell for her didn’t you?”
It was just like it had always been, Lysa always seeming to know how everyone
had just played with him. As if he was not able to tell this by his own, as if
manipulation had not become his trademark. In a low voice, his mouth almost
brushing her ear he whispered: "how can you believe such measures to be true,
even after our wedding night?"
He touched her shoulder, and her body loosened a bit. She turned to face him
and Petyr could see desire in her eyes.
“Tell me I’m prettier than her,” she said softly, her eyes flicking to Sansa
for a moment but Petyr’s never left hers.
"Oh my sweet wife, don't let rotten thoughts into your head," he soothed her,
moving his hand up and down her arm and she embraced him, locking her arms
behind his back.
Her waist moved forward, as an invitation to let him feel her against him.
“Tell me I’m sexier. That you want me,” she said, eyes never leaving his, “make
me scream. Like during our wedding night. Make me scream so that she can hear
us, so that she knows who you truly desire.”
Petyr put his mouth on hers, crushing into her. His hands cupped her face much
like he had done with Sansa, but his kisses were more reckless, as if his need
for Lysa was stronger, made him wild and uncontrollable. He used his tongue to
open up her mouth, biting at her lips and Lysa responded with the same
intensity. Her desperate moans echoing around them. She licked his lips with a
disgusting passion.
Petyr opened his eyes as he could hear movement. Lysa’s were still closed, ever
so urgent for him. He saw Sansa, she had been able to walk past them even
though they more or less took up all the space in the doorway. She turned
before leaving, looking into his eyes. Petyr had often found that he could read
that girl without problem; now she looked unsure, possibly nauseous and he
wondered if it was due to the alcohol or the scene in front of her. Petyr
continued to kiss Lysa, hands on her body and he pressed his body flat against
her’s. Making sure Lysa could feel the presence of his own persistent need, but
his eyes had locked with Sansa’s, not leaving hers for a second and he felt
himself harden even further.
“Take me to bed Petyr. Take me to bed and fuck me. I want your mouth on me,
sucking anything you want. Show me how much you love me!”
Petyr wondered about her choice of words for a moment, not feeling particularly
like he wanted anything to do with her. His eyes and thoughts had travelled
back to Sansa, who turned, slowly leaving them to each other.
"Now my dear, go back to our bedroom, I'll be there in a minute and we'll be
together again, soon, very soon."
He smiled at her, his hands resting on her arms and Lysa gave him one last
sloppy kiss before finally letting go of him. Petyr straightened his back and
his jacket. Swallowing hard as he saw Lysa walk away, joining the crowd and
music which existence he seemed to have forgotten completely. He cleared his
throat, and followed into the crowd, his mind busy with the idea of Lysa being
ready for him in their bedroom. The people still dancing and talking,
gratefully, obviously unaware.
 
Petyr swallowed at the memory as he watched Sansa push Olyvar away.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
Petyr stood there, in the middle of the room, looking at them and they looked
back at him.
Sansa hated the silence, but most of all, she hated that look on Petyr’s face.
“Petyr, I can explain-”, was all she had time to say before Petyr interrupted
her.
“Do you realise how foolish you’ve been? Both of you.”
“No, it’s my fault. I asked Olyvar to come with me even though I knew I
shouldn’t have. He tried to talk me out of it and I just wouldn’t listen. Would
you prefer he left me alone?”
“I’m disappointed. I didn’t think you would sink this low,” Petyr said but his
eyes were looking straight at Olyvar, “do you have any idea how stupid you’ve
been? I’ve trained you, put time into educating you. How long ago did we meet?”
Olyvar was quiet.
“How long?” Petyr insisted.
Olyvar opened his mouth to answer, but Petyr was faster and interrupted
whatever he was planning to say.
“16 years ago… 16 years should be enough to learn but you don’t even seem to
have a single thread of sense in your brain left? Am I really just surrounded
by idiots?! And you, too,” he continued this time looking at Ros who had
entered quietly just then sitting down on the sofa beside Olyvar, almost
jumping at the tone of Petyr’s voice.
“Where are you in all of this?! Should you not be able to keep track of each
other or who knows? Actually discussing things before executing them? Because
someone is clearly lacking judgement,” he looked back at Olyvar, “maybe I
should just take you out, both of you, there are many who would like to succeed
you. I can’t believe I trusted you to be able to do one thing right?!
Protection? It was all you were assigned for? And the very thing you couldn’t
fulfill? Disappointed is a mild word for what I’m feeling. Do you have any idea
of the danger you put yourself in?!”
He turned to Sansa now. It seemed he had time for everyone.
“Isn’t it the typical stupidity of a young girl like yourself to not be able to
simply talk to me before doing something like this?! Hm? Is that too much to
ask? You should have come to me instantly, and nothing of this would have
happened. It’s just like before - where were you even?! Why didn’t you come to
me when you ran away from Ramsay?! I could have helped you, it’s perfectly
simple. Why didn’t you?! Was it that difficult to give me a call?! You could
have gotten yourself in the same situation today, and that’s on you too, Sansa,
you can’t-”
“You shut it right now!” Ros interrupted him, standing up abruptly, “you have
no idea what it was like for Sansa, it’s not “perfectly simple”, where have you
been anyway?!”
“You know perfectly well where I’ve been, I’ve been away for-”
“Working, I know. But that’s not what I’m talking about! You took her in, but
you don’t care to do anything for her, you’ve put us on all of that, to care
for her needs. Where were you when she needed you?! Because you definitely were
never there! I was. I’ve been here listening to her, I know what she’s been
through and you got no idea,” laughs sadly, “no fucking idea what it’s been
like for her, so don’t you dare say a word about what she should have done! She
might have, if she could, but there might not have been a choice, and if she
had one, there might be reasons why you weren’t the first one she wanted to
call when running away. To even try to accuse her of something she had
absolutely no control over, this is not her fault, and you will never
understand. You know why?!”
“Enlighten me,” said Petyr.
“Because you’re cold, arrogant, and a pathetic brute who have never experienced
what it’s like to not be in control. You would never understand how strong
Sansa is for pulling through after everything she’s been through,” then Ros
went silent for a moment, staring at Petyr and then giving Sansa a look, unsure
but caring.
Petyr fell silent too, when he continued it was short but yet insistent,
“you’re dismissed.”
He walked straight past them and disappeared up the stairs.
Ros approached Sansa, trying to offer some kind of support. Lowering her voice
and putting an arm around her.
“I’m sorry, Sansa. But he has no right to treat you like that.”
Sansa offered her a smile, it was the only way she could thank her for making a
stand in her name.
 
===============================================================================
SANSA
Do something to keep your mind off of it. Sansa remembered Ros’ words when she
asked her about ways to deal with flashbacks. She still had one as soon as she
dismissed herself and closed the door to her room. As vividly as always.
Unfortunately Sansa remembered all the tiny details that made her flashback a
constant nightmare.
She was drawing now, a first sketch to a dress that will never see it’s
fabrication, trying to keep her mind off of itwhen she heard her door knocking
and opening it without waiting for permission. Sansa continued drawing, not
caring who might have interrupted her own way of making peace with her mind.
“Sansa, can I talk to you?”
It had been a long day, and it wasn’t ending as she thought it would. The last
thing she needed now was Petyr going at her again.
“If you’re going to continue to scold me, do it another day. I’m tired and
upset, the last thing I need is you continuing shouting and saying things
you’re going to regret later on”
“Actually… I was going to… apologise.”
The pencil stopped drawing where the folding of the dress should have been.
Sansa turned around and set her eyes on him, quite amazed after hearing that.
“Go on.”
“About what I said… I shouldn’t. I mean, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t
know what happened to you, not exactly, and I have no right to judge. I was
upset. I was upset because I was…” Petyr paused, “afraid of the consequences
that could have been. To lose you to Ramsay again.”
She listened to what Petyr had to say, studying the look in his eyes, not
interrupting him. When he finished, Sansa took her time before answering. How
could she reply to that. Littlefinger apologising was not a common thing to
witness.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have said all those things. Jumping into
conclusions like you did. We knew we fucked up, we didn’t need you reminding
us. And Olyvar? He’s done everything to protect me, I induced him to do it. He
had two choices, it was either going with me or letting me go on my own.”
“Olyvar is another issue and not yours to defend, you did nothing wrong, Sansa,
but he has to stand up for the decisions he made. But that’s for another day. I
am sorry, that I wasn’t there for you. I’ve been out working but it’s not an
excuse, I should have been there.”
“Yes, you should have been.”
Sansa’s heart hurt when she said that. Because it was true, it was what she
felt. Deep down she felt as if Petyr never really cared for her at all, maybe
he was after her name. Use it as he thought fit. Everything she wanted was
Petyr to be there with her, to be there for her. She knew she needed him now
more than ever, especially after coming out with Ros about what happened to her
with Ramsay, wanting to get over her trauma. She needed those who mattered the
most to her, she needed them close. And Petyr was not close. He was distant.
“I still can… be here for you… or is it too late?”
Sansa’s mind shouted“no! It’s not too late!” but refused those words to come
out. She had to make her stand. Let him understand the difficulty of her
situation. And just how badshe had missed him.
“He was after me, Petyr. He almost got me. I’d rather die than getting caught
again.”
Petyr sat down on the bed, inviting her to sit down next to him. She went to
him, arms folded, hands moving nervously.
“I will never let that happen again.” Petyr continued.
“How? Being away?”
“I came back, as soon as I realised something was… wrong. But I’ll take you
with me next time, then I won’t be that far away?”
That was an option that soothed her. Made her hands stop moving and relax.
“I’d like that.”
“Can I hold you?”
“Yes please,” she needed this more than ever, needed him.
Petyr moved closer to put his arms around her, very lightly as first, and then
a bit more firmly.
“He raped me, Petyr.”
That was the second time of the day her mind just blurted out words without her
realising what she was doing. And Sansa felt embarrassed now.
Petyr held her, quiet for a moment, hugging her tightly.
“I’m so sorry, sweetling.”
He could probably feel her trembling, she was letting out all the stress of the
day just now. Petyr gently pushed back just to be able to see her face, looking
into her eyes.
“In an ideal world, one where love could overcome strength and duty, you could
have been my child. But this is reality. You’re more beautiful than she ever
was... given the opportunity what do we do to those who’ve hurt the ones we
love? He’ll pay,” the last words barely audible.
He leaned in, stopping just a few inches away from her.
Sansa allowed him to come close, and noticed the moment where he stopped. Was
he waiting for her to make the first move? Did he stop to see if she truly
allowed him to continue? Sansa leaned in and pressed her lips lightly against
his.
 
===============================================================================
OLYVAR
Littlefinger was standing in front of him, he made Olyvar feel short even
though he himself was in fact taller. They had been silenced for about a minute
already, or possibly longer. It felt more like an hour but Olyvar was used to
this, keeping track of the time.
“Tell me why,” Littlefinger said, looking him straight in the eyes.
“You tell me,” Olyvar counted.
“You like her.”
“So what if I do?”
“You kissed her.”
“So what if I did?” Olyvar’s answered, his voice curt.
“You’re a disappointment, Olyvar. I thought you had learned something after all
those years we’ve spent together, after everything I taught you,” Littlefinger
looked down at his feet in clear disapproval, “you should know better-”
“Better than what?” he replied, surprised to see the look Littlefinger gave him
when meeting his eyes again.
One time they had been close. It was an exceptional night that time, a time
forgotten by everyone but Olyvar. They had stumbled onto the bed back at
Olyvar’s now long gone flat, laughing at the stupidity of a man Littlefinger
had sacked earlier that day and the woman who had so obviously yearned for his
touch so much that she had chosen to step down from her post in Littlefinger’s
favor and earned him a fair shot at getting in contact with the real people,
the people of importance. It had been a big step towards one of Littlefinger’s
many goals back then. But who really knew what Littlefinger’s goals was anyway?
They stretched so far into the future that a younger Olyvar often questioned
whether some of the so called plans were succeeded by mere coincidences, sheer
luck out of spontaneous actions, but he had been proven wrong, for Littlefinger
had always managed to get closer and closer to his goals, whatever they were.
Mysteries, for everyone but him.
That time they had shared a glass of gin, talking about the dumb faces of the
people they had played, that was when it had happened. Olyvar must have been
stupid himself back then, brave and stupid, for he leaned forward to quiet the
laughter, to press his lips against Littlefinger’s. The man in front of him
hadn’t even flinched, it had seemed fine. Previous to that moment Olyvar had
done nothing but watch and listen as his boss deceived and seduced. Taught in
distancing his own feelings from logic and reason he never felt anything for
the man, but he had caught himself watching intently, never taking his eyes of
the grey-blue eyes of Littlefinger. He had gone to bed too many times with the
lingering thought of his supervisor, that jet black hair with the white
temples, the smug look on his face, his body, lying next to his own.
The kiss was everything he had dreamed of, hot and wild and experienced. So was
his own tongue. Littlefinger had seen to that, but never had he himself
indulged in anything with any of his own employees as far as Olyvar knew of. He
had been taught how to use his tongue with precision, how to move his hands,
how to make both women and men cry out of pleasure with a single touch. He was
more qualified in this subject than most. But this felt new, the meeting of
flesh as trained as himself, somehow maybe even more so. Their mouths crashed
against each other, all teeths and tongues and wetness. It would be the first
of several times the coming months. Just two mouths kissing and exploring.
After a chase - the adrenaline still pumping through their veins, after a
successful meeting Littlefinger could turn to Olyvar and share one long
intimate touch. Later he learned what it had all been about, he shouldn’t have
been surprised.
It was a few months later, a new flat, a new bed, new status and titles. A new
situation, they were closer this time, hands roaming for more contact, for
skin. A hand slid itself between his legs and Olyvar let out a rough groan,
tugging at Littlefinger’s ironed shirt. It had never felt like a pretended act,
it had always been real to Olyvar, pure in a what seemed afterwards like a
naive way. When Littlefinger backed off with that smirk on his face and those
eyes reflecting the content of victory Olyvar felt more stupid than ever, his
own face blushed with an open mouth letting out small pants, his blood pulsing
fast through his body and his cock already hard as a rock. He knew he had lost
for Littlefinger showed none of those things, he seemed like his normal self,
all control, all... above it all - wasn’t he always. Olyvar straightened his
clothes but the bulge was clearly visible through his garments, his foolishness
on display. He had been played with, just like all of them. He had learned that
day, a lesson Littlefinger surely had figured out he was in desperate need of
him. Never to dream of his manager again, for that was all they would ever be.
Business, just business.
“Falling for an ordinary woman.”
Here they were, in a room conveniently enough in the Fingers and Littlefinger
accused Olyvar of falling for a woman? Was that really what he had done, had he
fallen for Sansa?
“So what if I have.”
“Surely you must have heard some of the words I’ve spoken these last couple of
minutes?”
“You’re only upset because you fear she might be more interested in me than she
is in you.”
The silence grew between them.
“I came further with her than you have ever done,” Olyvar said after a while,
fearing that his voice might break.
It was stupid, all of this. After all this time and he still did dream of him,
he wanted him. Olyvar had come to term with that. He would never have him, but
neither would anyone else. That was the nature of Mr. Petyr Baelish. He didn’t
get attached. Perhaps he would spend a night with someone, perhaps he kissed a
girl to get himself to a higher position but never would he ever have someone.
Olyvar had been okay with that, after all, he would always be the one who would
have come closest. But now there was this girl, this woman. He hadn’t wanted to
see it for what it was at first, but to his dismay he had realised he had been
wrong. There would be someone for Littlefinger.
Olyvar had always known he had been attracted to men, it had never been a
problem for him. But he had learned, and he had worked hard at the Fingers. But
never had he ever felt anything for anyone. Bodily needs was one thing, fucking
someone was all business, that he had learned. But when Sansa Stark walked out
of the car to introduce herself for the first time everything changed.
Olyvar could see it now. She truly was special, just like Littlefinger - and
neither of them would ever be his.
“I love her,” Olyvar continued, tears threatening to spill over, his voice a
weak whisper in the soundproof room, “and that’s more than you’ll ever be able
to say. Don’t even try to tell me differently. I know you, I know you better
than anyone else and I see the way you look at her. I do too. At least I don’t
fear to admit it. I don’t fear it, you know. I did once. I was scared that what
I felt for you would develop to something more, to go deeper. But it never did.
I learnt how to live with that. The longing for your touch. Because I realised
that it wasn’t by ignoring my feelings that I would get past them, it was by
accepting them.”
“Feelings make you weak, make you prioritise the wr-”
“You’re wrong. For being so clever you can be awfully thick.”
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for reading, whether you joined in recently or have been
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     know your thoughts on this chapter and the story so far!
     Olyvar and Ros was written by the same who's writing Petyr. Lysa was
     written by the one also writing Sansa.
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