So Sweet and So Cold
DISCLAIMER: Everything is with their rightful owners, nothing belongs to me.
Looking up from underneath
Fractured moonlight on the sea
Reflections still look the same to me
As before I went under
And it's peaceful in the deep
Cathedral where you cannot breathe
No need to pray, no need to speak
- "Never Let Me Go" by Florence+The Machine
Petyr staggered a few steps backwards, the whispering of the river growing louder and louder in his ears, mingling with the memory of Cat's begging and Lysa's frantic screams. Something warm was running over his belly and down his legs and somehow he couldn't properly breathe, but all that he barely noticed. He was staring over to the riverbank where she stood, her skirts and the long auburn hair moving gently in the warm summer breeze. She was silent now and stood still as a statue. One hand was clenched over her perfect mouth as she stared over at him, tears shimmering in her gorgeous blue eyes.
Don't cry, Cat, he wanted to say, it's nothing but a scratch, but the only sound that crossed his lips was her name, no more than a hoarse murmur. His head started spinning violently, all balance failed him and his foot slipped on the wet stones at the bottom of the river.
Falling seemed to take forever.
The water closed around him, sudden and heavy, and the biting cold knocked all air out of his lungs. He slowly sunk to the bottom and for a while, he could do nothing but stare up at the sunlight glittering above and stupidly think how it didn't look different from the other side at all. It was beautiful, the reflection painting white dots into light blue, blue just like Cat's eyes, and fine streaks of faint red meandering in-between.
He knew there was no air left, knew he had to get to the surface… but his body felt so heavy, and besides, it was so peaceful down on the riverbed. The cold was welcome, it was sweet, it made him feel so light and gifted him with a delightfully empty head.
And it was finally, finally quiet, his ears were filled with a blissful silence. The water swallowed every sound, and there was no air to make a new one… it was Heaven.
The water rushed past him, cold and blue as Brandon fucking Stark's beloved North, and washed over his body. More red streamed away from him and along with it, something else left him and he felt so light, so free…
His head was clear then and he drew a breath, swallowing ice-cold water, and something like panic gripped him with iron fingers. He struggled to lift his arms and milled through the water, but his lead-filled body wouldn't move.
Air was the only thought in his head, but every move sent an unbearable pain through his chest and washed more red into the river.
The water was growing darker around him, black seeping through the blue and the red and the small dots of light moved away from him, farther and farther still…
He swallowed another mouthful of water and tiny white dots danced in front of his eyes, then Petyr Baelish's world drowned in black ink.
.
And the arms of the ocean are carrying me
And all this devotion was rushing out of me
.
When he woke up, there was nothing but darkness and pain. With every breath, someone seemed to drive a dagger into his ribcage, and white-hot metal burned his skin in a long line from his shoulder to his hip.
He couldn't muster the strength to open his eyes as much as he fought, couldn't even move a finger.
For a while he thought he would go insane.
.
He couldn't tell how much time had passed until he remembered the river. It took all the concentration he had, but somehow he could conjure up the numbing cold in his head again. The memory of the clear blue water washed away the pain that burned across his chest. There was still pressure on his ribs, but it was bearable now.
He could even regain some of that sweet, wonderful peace that he had felt for a moment, some of that freedom…
Yes, he realised finally, he was free. Free of that all-consuming, bitter-sweet pain somewhere between his chest and his throat, of that constant question pulsating through his head, that never-ending beat of why Brandon Stark, why, why, why…
He could still picture Cat in every tiny little detail, he still saw how perfect she was and he would still have bedded her the moment he got the slightest chance.
But the obsession was gone. His world had stopped revolving around her somehow.
Free of the love.
Cured of the poison.
Littlefinger opened his eyes and smiled.
Please take a moment to review.