"I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me
I'm not calling you a thief, just don't steal from me
I'm not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me
And I love you so much, I'm gonna let you kill me"
Petyr rolls the delicate bottle in his palm watching the amber liquid glow from the embers of the fire. It is a serum of Sweetsleep, Milk of the Poppy, and a dangerous amount of Essence of Nightshade. He was afraid to even ask the Maester what else it contained. Those three ingredients were enough to rattle his nerves. He had told him that he would need to take at least half the bottle. It would make him fall into a deep, black, dreamless sleep. It would gradually flow through his person, slowing each vital organ in his body down one by one. Lastly, it would reach his heart... it's beat would fade so much so that it would become untraceable to the average person. His body would be still and unfeeling. His blood would run cold.
"And what are my chances for waking again?" He asks Maester Ayman quietly in his chambers one night after making sure Sansa was asleep. Even though she knew his plan was coming it had to be real for her. Her reactions and emotions had to come naturally, or Cersei would know she was scheming as soon as she saw her.
"It really depends on how your body handles the serum, Lord Baelish. It can take a few days to wake again or even longer. Obviously you will be in the privacy of my Chambers, and no one will know you are here. After the funeral ceremony I'll have my payed men smuggle you back into the castle. I have a tincture that should start the reversal of sleep, but it will take another few days for your body to recover even after your mind has returned. Even so, I have never used this before myself, but I read through the books and it has been known to cause palsy effects, loss of the use of limbs, and slowness of mind long after the serum has worn off. In some cases, even death is possible. It is a risk, Ser. I can't promise you a full recovery."
"I understand the risks." He growls at him, standing up and pacing over to the window looking out into the blackness. He shudders at the thought of his mind being blank, or even worse...joining Cat wherever she was in her dark, restful place. He was also anxious at what would happen to Sansa returning to King's Landing with no one to protect her and his child in her belly. What Cersei promises and what actually comes to pass are two very different things. He knows that she has probably told Sansa she would return home with no attachment to the Lannister's any longer, but he is sure that she has some other scheme just waiting for this one to take its course.
"And what shall be my cause of death?" He asks him seriously, turning around to face him. The man's eyebrows raise at the question, " I have been mulling it over. I think we should use your previous wound as the excuse, and say that complications from it caused stress on your heart. It's vague enough, but not something anyone would raise an eyebrow at. We could say it was an inevitable death. That it was just a matter of time."
"That will work perfectly well." Petyr replies. There will probably be rumors of murder and plot, but no one will find any foul play to speak of. And it will save him from having an actual wound to recover from.
"Thank you Maester Ayman. I trust in you that all will go smoothly. And remember this is between you and I. No one else can know, not even my wife. She may suspect something, but you are not to answer any of her questions other than explaining my death."
"I understand, Lord Baelish. You have my word, on the old Gods and the new."
"Forget your Gods, swear it on your life. That will mean something to me."
"I do. I swear to you on my life that no one will ever know the truth."
"Good. Thank you Maester. That is all. I trust you will get a good night's rest. You will need it for these forthcoming days."
"Thank you, Ser. And you as well."
With that he leaves Petyr to himself. The fire has died down to a smolder, and he could feel the draft from the window and chimney. The days had grown very cold, and The Fingers looked as dreary and grey as ever. Even still, Sansa had kept to her morning walks in what they called the garden. It really was just a maze of rocks with thick vines and flowerless thickets, but she seemed to love it nonetheless. He came upon her one day resting on a boulder and noticed her hands were clasped together, and heard her soft whispers. He realized then that it was where she prayed. She was using it as her personal Godswood. She looked beautiful in the misty morning. Her hair was tousled by the salty sea air, and her cheeks were rosy from the wind. Her eyes and skin were bright with the pregnancy. It suited her very well, and he thought she never looked more fair. He watched her as she rose, pushing herself forcefully off the rock. Her belly was swollen and protruding now, and it couldn't be hidden beneath her corset and the folds of her dress any longer. Even so, they dared not announce her pregnancy to anyone. A rumor spreading to King's Landing is one thing, but an announcement is quite another.
Thinking on her, Petyr decides he will check in on his lady wife. They both had been so engaged in their daily burdens that the only time they had a peaceful moment to speak was in the dim light of their rooms before they went to sleep. Making his way to their chambers he slowly opens the door to reveal her back to him. She has the window wide open to the elements, and the icy wind whips her hair against the curve of her back. She is in nothing but her nightdress, and his eyes follow the contour of her hip as it gracefully flows to the curve of her ass.
"More beautiful than ever, my sweetling." he says quietly to her. She turns somewhat, acknowledging his comment, her lips are turned up slightly into an appreciative smile.
"I thought you were asleep?" He asks, mildly irritated that he hadn't been more careful.
"I couldn't get comfortable." She says to darkness outside.
"You'll catch a cold." He warns.
With some distinct vigor she forces the window shut, and turns to him fully.
"That wind is mighty fearsome, but I cannot help it. I am always burning it seems. I think I stole your heat." She says fretfully, and he notices the feverish, rosy hue spread across her cheeks.
"Ah, but you never need steal anything from me. I'll gladly give it to you." He replies lightheartedly, pulling her to him.
He smiles as he sits on the bed and grabs her wrist tightly. He rests his hands on her hips and delves his fingers deep into her flesh. He can feel her fingers spread soothingly through his hair, and he kisses her swollen belly placed in front of him.
A small sigh escapes her lips, and she leans into him letting his face caress her tits. She has been so sensitive to his touch after the nausea ceased. He reveled in it.
"You shudder at my touch, Sweetling." he says grinning up at her, his voice muffled by her bosom. Her eyes smolder as she gazes down on him, but she doesn't give in.
"Aaah, only in your dreams I think, Lord Husband." She replies teasingly as she pulls away from him.
She turns from their bed and waddles over to her dressing table.
Her face grows serious and she looks at him intently, "You haven't called me to your solar these past couple days, Petyr. Is something troubling you? I hope you aren't drowning under you work."
Her voice growls the word "work" bitterly. He knows she means the plotting and planning he has been so focused on these past months.
"I don't understand why you chose to teach me history when what I really need to be learning is what we are going to do with Cersei." her voice raises anxiously, and he can see the terror and doubt which creases her brow.
"Ssssssh! Sansa." He hisses. "Please keep quiet. You need not worry yourself. It would have been different, but with your condition...you know the stress is not good for you. Your situation has changed..."
"Oh, so this is MY fault?!" She interrupts him. Her hand violently waves up and down as she motions to the roundness hidden under her nightdress.
She gets up to leave as fast as she can, and knocks over her chair in her haste.
"Sansa!" he groans loudly rushing from the bed as she makes her way to the door. He grabs her wrist firmly, and pulls her back to him in one, swift thrust.
"Sansa. That is not what I met, and you very well know it." He says calmy, trying to soothe her. She looks at him fiercely. There's a fire in her eyes that matches her burning hair.
"Don't you think I don't know that you are up to something, Petyr Baelish. I'm not the stupid little girl you married anymore. I know what's behind those liar's eyes."
With that she forcefully pulls her wrist from his grasp, and quickly brings her hand to his face with the intention of giving him a wicked blow. Instead, he catches her fist before it meets its destination. He uses his strength to pull and turn her around. Then powerfully, he holds her body to him using his forearm to lock her in his grasp. His other hand grabs savagely at her hip. She lets out a wretched and frustrated cry when she realizes he has her in his clutches. When she backs in to him trying to thrust herself away he can feel her ass brush against his prick, and smell the lavendar in her hair. He finds it so amusing that this little thing can still send shivers down his spine. He never imagined himself as the picture of monogomy, but he just can't get enough of her. And the fact that she's so clever makes his prick grow harder.
Petyr brushes her neck with his lips, but doesn't kiss her there. He rests there fleetingly before moving his way up along her graceful jawline to her ear. He knows she can feel his hot breath creep down the collar of her dress because she relaxes for the slightest moment before struggling to be free once more. She sucessfully jabs a pointed elbow into his belly, but even so she can't release herself as he tightens his grip; his hand moving from her breast to her neck.
He whispers as his fingers clutch her there firmly, " You are such a cunning girl, my sweetling. But I've told you this before... you must trust me if we are to seek your revenge."
