The sound of heavy footfalls outside my door released me from my cheerless solitude. A key pierced through the golden lock and then erupted, before my door swung open to allow a shadow to slip through. In the candlelight, Lord Baelish's tired, forlorn face was revealed; deep lines etched beneath his grey-green eyes as he stared back at me.
"I'm not going to hurt you, sweetling," he whispered, as he sat down at the edge of my bed. His fingers ran through my disheveled sheets, as he murmured, "I imagine you are growing quite lonely by now. Locked away in your room for days... without a soul to speak too. But, I want you to know that I am your friend, and I only want what's best for you."
Petyr leaned himself further back, until the bed gave way to his additional weight with a serious of creaks and groans. Petyr ignored them, he simply laid his hand close to my own and continued, "At this very moment, the Queen is offering a lordship for the price of your head. Your husband is rotting away in some prison cell awaiting his execution. But you, my dear, are sailing away from harm's way undetected by Lannister spies, but that all could change if I let you freely walk around my ship alone, so you must understand the reason I am keeping you locked away in this room."
Lord Baelish leaned in closer, until he was almost a breath away. He whispered, "Do you remember what the Lannister's did to your father? The way they butchered your mother and brother at the Red Wedding. Don't let that be your fate, as well."
He lifted my hand off the bed, and held it in his own comfortingly. Ever so gently, Petyr, rubbed my cold fingers until heat gradually penetrated my frozen bones. He lifted my chin up with his other free hand, and said, "I am taking you home, Sansa, just as I promised. Do you believe me?"
"Yes, Lord Baelish."
"Call me Petyr," he said. His eyes seemed to darken like the night sky, as he uttered those fateful words. They darkened even more when he asked, "Now, that is worthy of a kiss, wouldn't you agree?"
Before I knew it, Petyr drew my face towards his own and kissed me. As our lips parted, Petyr gave me one last longing full look, before he abruptly fled for the door, and vanished like a phantom into the night.
The brightness of the morning sun awakened me from my silent slumber. Stretching myself out across the bed, I could feel the frosty air clinging to my limbs, and the howling wind slamming against my circular window. Winter is coming. I climbed out of bed and sprinted towards the ebony chest, and pulled out a long woolen cloak to shut out the cold. Petyr gave it to me the day he smuggled me out of King's Landing. The day he stole the serpent's nectar off my neck and smashed it's head with the hilt of his dagger. The day he steadied me in his arms, before adorning me in a frosty grey cloak. "Your safe now," he whispered to me in the cover of night. He had stayed true to his word- for now, at least.
Ringing my fingers through long auburn tresses, I made my way over to the wooden desk where a washbowl and a pitcher were stationed. Ice chunks bobbled at the bottom of the washbowl, reminding me of this never ending cold I've had to suffer through ever since I stepped aboard this ship nearly a week ago. Oh, how much I craved warmth now! My mind suddenly flashed back to the heat radiating from Petyr's fingers as he held my own, and the warmth from his lips as he kissed me in complete darkness- I splashed the water against my pale cheeks trying to cool off the burning sensation that came over me.
A gentle rap on the door recalled my thoughts. It was too early to have guests, and Lord Baelish only visited me at night. I feared whoever it was that rapped at her door. "Who is it?" I cried.
"Petyr," said the hoarse voice from the other side.
"Lord Baelish?" I asked, as I opened the door to let him in.
"I came to ask you- to see whether or not you'd like to spend the day with me?"
I was anxious to see the rest of the ship, and to escape this prison of a room. "Could I go above deck? I want to see the sea? Are we close to Winterfell?"
"No, sweetling. There is too much at risk."
"Yes, of course," I replied, trying to conceal the wave of disappointment that flooded me. Pursing my lips, I stared down at the cabin floor: white feet contrasting off a dark mahogany wood. I could feel the cold air seeping its way into my skin, O, how I longed for warmth- I was frigid to the bone. "Only if your office is warmer than this room."
"I'm sure I can arrange something," Petyr quipped. He turned away abruptly, but not before I noticed the dangerous glimmer in his grey-green eyes.
"Good morning," Petyr breathed, as he opened the door for me and beckoned me in. "Please, make yourself comfortable."
He was impeccably dressed in a forest green doublet; the richness of his doublet accented well with his furnished surroundings. Petyr's office was impeccable, just as I had suspected, but I was thrown off by the warmth as I stepped into his room. Sprawled across his desk was a loom, needle, and thread; all arranged for my comfort. I felt a hot hand press against the bottom of my back, as he lead me towards the desk. In a cheerful tone, he said, "I have a gift for you."
"Lord Baelish, you have already given me so much!"
"Petyr," he reminded me gently, before handing me a small present left at the side of his desk. I opened my hand to receive the dainty box, embellished with black and silver trimmings. After I untied the final bow, my eyes elated to see a box full of lemon cake.
"Oh, my favourite!"
A harmonious sound escaped Petyr, as he chuckled softly to himself. "I thought you'd like it."
"I do," I said sweetly, curling my hair around my finger with pleasure. "Thank you- Petyr."
His eyes darkened just like it had done the night before, when Petyr kissed me under the shadows of the night sky. I felt estranged under his longing full look of desire. Petyr must have sensed my uneasiness, for he offered me a small smile that did not match his eyes. "I have much work to do," he said, "but you may disturb me at anytime. Despite appearances, I am very desirous of your presence."
Oh, how those grey-green eyes looked at me now- so soft and full of warmth. Petyr's mask had momentarily slipped away. It was Petyr that looked at me now- not lecherous Littlefinger. It was the boy from the fingers, the friend of my mother that blessed me with a kindly, boyish grin, before he uttered, "I hope you desire mine too."
As a matter of fact, I did enjoy Petyr's quiet, unobtrusive presence, as I set myself to work with needle and thread in hand. I was so concentrated on my work that I had almost forgotten where I was, and who I was with- I shot a shy glance at Petyr and noticed the deep crinkles between his eyebrows as he studied the small scribbles across the page, and the messiness of his hair as he stroked long fingers through his luscious locks. It was only then, as I watched this kind, gentle stranger that I realized how truly happy I was. I must have studied him for a long time, for Petyr suddenly looked up and asked, "Need a distraction?"
"No, I- I simply needed a break," I stuttered. There was something about Petyr's look that unnerved me.
"Your welcome to read any of my books, if you like," Petyr replied. He rose out of his seat to scan the myriads of books along the walls and shelves of his office space.
"Oh, I thought they were all accounting books."
"Not all of them… here take this."
"The Songs of Westeros," I groaned aloud. Anger simmered low within my chest at the sight of the rose coloured book with glossy gold trimmings. It was meant for a child, and I was a child no longer. My experiences at King's Landing ensured I would never believe in those songs again; there are no gallant knights in the world, and no tragic hero's who sacrifice their life for their one true love. The world was filled with malicious boy kings that kill innocent women without a second thought, and beat them till red blood smears their pretty white dresses. Joffrey had taught her a valuable lesson she would never forget: Life is nothing like a song. Petyr had warned her of that long ago in King's Landing, when he pulled her aside and whispered, "Life is not a song, sweetling, one day you will learn it to your sorrow." If only I had heeded his advice, how many countless lives could have been saved, including my father's.
"I don't believe in songs anymore," I said, and threw the book down on the desk to prove my point.
"There was a time when you were quite fond of them, Sansa," he pointed out. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost threatening to smile at my obvious displeasure of the child-like book.
"Those days are done now."
His voice was dripping like honey, as he suggested, "Then you might like this book instead. These are the songs that nobody sings, dearest, but you might like it all the same."
I placed the heavy leather book upon my lap, and licked my finger to turn the first page. "Read it aloud for me, Sansa, I want to hear you say it," Petyr asked, in a strangely compelling voice.
"But, I would not do it justice…"
"Try for me," he implored. He rose out of his seat, and stood before me now with his hands interlaced together in a methodical manner.
"Hidden beneath the towering trees, I'll graze your territory- lips wandering here and there, trailing down your sultry lines making it hard for you to bear…"
"What is the matter, Sansa?" he asked in a low tone noticing how I suddenly froze after the first stanza.
"I don't understand. These aren't the songs that bard's normally sing. They are far too…"
"Seductive?" Petyr asked in a strained voice. He sat atop of his desk with his legs spread wide open, the palms of his hands layed flat on the charcoal desk, the rings from his fingers glistened off the darkened surface. Aware of the immodesty and implications it gave to me, Petyr's lips curled to the side slightly, relishing the purple-stained cheeks flourishing across my face. "Sansa," he said, "Don't you know what happens between a man and a woman?"
"Of course! My septa told me," I said childishly. "And I almost experienced it with Tyrion!"
"Tyrion," Petyr chuckled, while stroking his pointy black beard.
"Yes, Tyrion," I drawled out to emphasis the matter.
"Count yourself lucky he did not touch you."
"Oh!" I said with annoyance, "And why is that?"
"I imagine his cock would be the size of my little finger," he teased.
"I don't see how size has anything to do with it!" I shot back, instantly regretting it the moment it flew out of my mouth.
"Oh, my sweet child, you know nothing," he drowned, "But I promise you- one day you will."