Author's Note: I wrote this for Katie (CokeBottleK on this site) because she is the Sansa to my Arya, the Chandler to my Monica and the piña to my colada. It's a break from the norm. Rest assured I am still writing Jily fic, I'm just refusing to post again until I can post a completed story.
Petyr Failish
"Fiddle-de-dee," said Petyr Baelish, in a terrible imitation of an Irish accent even though Aiden Gillen, the actor who plays him, is Irish and what's that all about? "Sansaaaah. You know what I waaaant."
"To elongate vowels unnecessarily," said Sansa Stark, with a small sigh. "I know."
"Noooo," Petyr breathed breathily (and creepily). "I want the Iron Throoone, and you, by my sideeee. I love you, Ca- Sansaaaah."
"We didn't bring you here to talk about love," said Jon Snow miserably, not because the task ahead made him miserable, but because that was Jon's default setting. "We brought you here to talk about the crime you've been accused of."
"What crimes are thoseee?" said Petyr, grinning his creepy grin.
"You stand accused of betraying my father, Eddard Stark," said Sansa, with a regal lift of her chin. "Back in season one when you started this whole damn mess."
"Oh really?" Petyr slimed. "And what evidence do you have to back up these… accusaaations?"
"Well, we have the word of Tyrion Lannister," Sansa began. "Of the Hound, of Lord Varys, of-"
"And who among these fiiiiiine men do you really think you can trust?" said Petyr, arrogance seeping from his every pore. "You haven't named one person in whom you can fully-"
"Hello," said Bran, entering the room in a vegetable wagon. "I'm Brandon Stark, and I'm so magic and powerful that I can see everything you've ever done as long as I'm sitting next to a certain type of tree. Luckily, we've got one of those trees in the back garden. You betrayed my father and convinced my aunt Lysa to murder Jon Arryn, thus setting off a chain of events that lead to the deaths of both of my parents and two of my brothers."
"That's evidence enough for me," said Sansa, with admirable composure. "Kill him, Jon."
Jon stood up and unsheathed his magnificent sword – no, not that one, get your head out of the gutter. "Lord Petyr Baelish," he said seriously. "For the crime of betraying my father –"
"Er, about that," said Bran, but then shook his head. "Actually, I'll tell you later."
"- Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell," Jon continued, his beautiful hair billowing in the wind even though there was no wind, "I hereby sentence you to die."
"No, please, Ca- Sansaaaah," Petyr pleaded. "You'll save me, won't you? Just like your mother saved me from your uncle Brandon!"
"Die faster," said Sansa coolly. "I have a promising career in fashion to get back to."
Faced with nothing but his own mortality, Petyr turned on his heel and ran away in a most undignified manner, because he was terribly unfit for anything other than plotting evilly. He ran and ran until he was safely ensconced in the utter darkness of Winterfell's crypts. Not a candle was lit. Petyr breathed a sigh of relief.
"Finally," he said to himself. "I'm saaafe."
"Think again," said Arya Stark.
"Oh, for the love of-" Petyr snarled, as Arya drove Needle straight into his bowel. "This fucking family."
