A/N: Whhhheww. I have NO idea what I'm doing here. New to the fic world, still newer to the Petyr/Sansa creepyship of wonder. Do I need canon edits? Oh, quite, I'm sure. What am I attempting here? Well, originally I had plotted out a sort of "1001 Nights" thing for the two of them, but I have to say finding stories for them to tell one another is challenging. It may yet morph into such a thing – I simply wished to express the romantic side of evil. Hey. We're twisted, but it can happen. ;) Review! I quite sorely need it, I'm afraid.
Disclaimer: If I owned these guys, I wouldn't be able to make them do the horrible things GRRM can, so it's quite a good thing that I don't.
Better Worlds: Chapter 1
Wind howled against the high towers of the Eyrie. As it roared past her to whip its chaos through her chambers, Sansa braced herself against the stones of her arched window and pulled her cloak more securely about her. The cold here had a way of creeping into a person's bones that even the deepest snows at Winterfell couldn't match. It permeated everything with a clear and piercing chill – and it wasn't just in the air. It rose like a mist from the sleepless souls who dwelled in those high towers, cloaked their movements from all save the moon, which now cut a retreating path across the sky. It would be morning soon. Soon, the coming of the sun and the rising of its minions would make her Sansa no longer.
And so she was restless. She only wished to digest it all, for once. King's Landing, her father's execution – there had been no time, only fear. Fear for her life, for her future, for any hour of any day. Fear will make a person capable of acts that dance precariously at the edge of sanity, and Sansa found herself reflecting on her submissiveness then with a wave of disgust. Her lord father had not been so cowardly. He might perhaps have gone blindly to his death, but he had done so without betraying his values. Her lady mother… She sighed, and pressed her forehead against the icy stones, hiding her eyes from the moon. Life had taught her, harshly, that honor and power very rarely share the same path. Why then, she wondered, had it always been so hard for her to choose one or the other?
Looking down into the shadows of the mountains below her, her thoughts turned to Lord Baelish. No doubt at this hour tucked into his solar, his pot of ink growing gradually emptier as the sun hastened to illuminate his scheming. He willingly slept as little as her conscience limited her to, and she reflected on their natures now with a sense of dark understanding. He was a man who kept his true ambition constantly hidden, because to reveal it for an instant would be to risk his head. He didn't want her – she was sure that's what he felt she believed, eyeing her suspiciously from the entrance of her chambers just a few short days ago. He wanted everything. If the words her Aunt had spoken were true, his plans had begun in earnest long before she was anything of value. They had begun the moment he had obtained the vicious wound that had almost taken him out of life, out of the game. He'd never said as much, would never say as much, but servants talk and ladies listen. He'd meant to fight for love and win on those grounds, and life had cast him into the dirt for it. She knew her lady mother could not help that she didn't return young Lord Baelish's feelings, but her heart lingered with pain of sympathy over the loves she had sought. The loves that in return had only dealt her cold understanding and fear. Following the path of her own pain in her mind, she saw how easy it could be to give up love and honor for the sake of life.
Her forehead burned from the cold of the stones, and she drew away from the window and out of the moonbeam, watching from her shadowed bed as light flurries of snow whirled past. Perhaps they were not so different, the two of them. She felt comfort here in the dark, safety in places where she could not be seen. After King's Landing and her Aunt's death, Sansa wondered if she would ever trust another soul again. For a moment this evening, after she'd gained the privacy of her chambers and blown out the candle, she'd looked out that window and mourned the loss of her innocence. That moment had gone when the snows came, however, and here in the dark she now found her veins pulsing with a sense of power, the bright whirling of moonlit snow reflected in eyes that met the blackness wide-open and fearless. If she could not have trust, if she could not have honor, family, and love, she would have everything else. Everything she could grasp at before the winds saw fit to extinguish her flame.
As if summoned by the force of her determination, a soft rapping sounded through the heavy wood of the door to her chambers. Sansa didn't flinch, didn't look away for a second from the abyss of her window, only uttered a low and knowing "Yes…?"
The latch clicked and the door edged open silently, giving enough space for a booted foot to pivot its owner across the threshold before it closed again, all in the space of a whisper. When it latched, the visitor pressed back against it to meet her eyes through the dark. She couldn't clearly make out the lines on his face, but she knew he was weary from cups and parchment, and the fire in her eyes faltered a little.
"What is it that I want, Sansa?" His voice was a ragged whisper.
Sansa was not surprised. Suspicion had ridden on the backs of his eyes every time he'd looked at her since the trial, since that day in her chambers, since she'd descended the stairs of the Eyrie meeting his gaze with pride. She chuckled, the sound as icy as the wind that stole through the space between them. "Everything, m'lord."
His breathing hitched, and he took a step forward. Just one, but enough for the moonlight to catch his face and show her the shadow in his eyes. Her heart began to beat faster at the sight of it. "And what exactly is everything?"
At this she faltered, for a moment. She'd thought, in the privacy of her own mind, that 'everything' meant power, riches, land, and control most of all. Looking at him now, seeing the strange vulnerability displayed there, she was no longer certain. Perhaps, like her most secret of selves, it was not so black and white. Perhaps… She hesitated for a moment, drawing a breath and rising from her bed to step toward him. "Everything is what you lost, what you never had, what you wanted so badly you drove yourself into the shadows to escape. You want the bliss of innocence and contended days without giving it the power to destroy you. And…" She drew another breath, steadying herself for what was about to come. She hadn't known she'd wanted it until she'd seen his eyes. "For a very long time, you've convinced yourself it's impossible."
She'd meant to take him by surprise. Meant to make his eyes widen, maybe cause his breath to catch again. Instead he only grinned slowly, a spark swirling in the depths of his eyes. "Dear Sansa, what does that make you?"
She hadn't wanted to think about it, even here in the dark where she couldn't lie to herself. She'd pushed it away with disdain, part of her still clinging to the childish fantasies of love and belonging she'd always harbored for herself. It rose through her throat now, almost a sob, but her eyes, fierce and wide again, stayed locked with his. "Nothing, m'lord. Another stone under your boot, as I've been to everyone. Nothing."
The space between them vanished in a heartbeat, and suddenly a hand snaked through her Tully hair, pointing her face to his as another pulled her closer. His mouth, so close to hers she could taste the mint on his breath, pressed into a hard line as her eyes made their way up his features. As she locked eyes with him again, what she saw there made her breath catch. Her lips parted in question but he cut her off. "If it takes the rest of my life, Sansa Stark, you will know just how wrong you are." The words, almost an oath, were sealed then as he met her lips with his own, and Sansa's reason left to dance with the snow.