"Oh! Are you happy to see me?" cooed Lysa, the moment she stepped into the room.
"Is it that obvious," Petyr teased. I heard him slam the chamber room door behind him, and that familiar chink as he twisted the lock.
"Very," Lysa said slyly. She began to giggle at the sight of Petyr's cock sticking out of his thick woolen robe, probably thinking it was her who did it.
Fool, I thought, as I pushed my ear against the wooden door to hear what they were saying.
"Do you remember the first time we did it?" She asked coyly.
"Like it was yesterday."
"I would have borne you a son- strong and handsome just like yourself. But I was tricked! My father came to me with tea. He told me to drink it so that I'd feel better, but how was I to know what was in it? It tasted bitter, but not as bitter as the day I found out exactly what he did to me."
"Shhhh, Lysa," Petyr murmured. "The past is the past. We must look to the future now."
"Yes! The future is so much brighter! All of their efforts were in vain; my father's, my sister's, even Jon Arryn's, for now I have you Petyr- at last you are mine."
"And I always will be," Petyr assured her. I could only assume he was kissing her for the room turned a deathly silence.
Lysa's nervous giggles broke the silence, it sounded so aerie and naïve. "Petyr, you mustn't!" she cried, and soon her laugh grew louder.
"Why not?" Petyr teased.
"Because we're not married yet!"
"How about I bed you, and then we get married?"
He wouldn't, I thought worriedly. He would.
"I am the Lady of the Eyrie, and I command you to marry me first."
"As you wish, my Lady, your wish is my command."
Damn, he's good. Petyr was playing her like a fiddle. Still, it was hard to tell who was speaking to my Aunt Lysa- Petyr or Littlefinger. Even I was having trouble telling exactly where his mask began and where it ended.
"Then you shall marry me this instant!"
"Now?" Petyr asked worriedly. "Wouldn't it be better to marry you once we reach the Vale? After all, you are the-"
"I know who I am, Petyr. I don't need you to remind me," she reprimanded. "I have waited long enough for you. No, I shall not wait a minute more! I shall have you Petyr Baelish, and when I make love to you tonight I shall scream so loud the Eyrie shall hear it."
"I can hardly wait," Petyr said unconvincingly.
"And I shall bear you a son. Sweet Robin will be happy to have a playmate. The boys are far too rough with him, as late. No matter, he will grow big and strong once is Lord of the Eyrie. The seed is strong, those were his father's last words. But I imagine yours are stronger."
"Undoubtedly," Petyr said with mirth. "But your son shall be happy to have a new playmate by the time we get back to the Eyrie."
"Really? Who?"
Don't say it! Don't you dare do it…
"My daughter."
Damn! He did it.
"You have a child. With whom?"
"A daughter of a Bravossian lord. Someone of little consequence. A fleeting affair to take away me away from all my troubles."
"Oh, yes! You have suffered as I," interrupted Lysa.
"I have, and a man takes out his frustration differently from a woman," Petyr concurred.
"You married her?"
"No, my sweet. The child was naturally born… there was no marriage between her and I."
"So, she's a bastard," Lysa said with disgust.
"She is," Petyr answered soberly. Apparently Lysa did not take the news well, for there was a deafening silence.
Will she turn me away, I wondered. Will she want to get rid of me? Why doesn't Petyr tell her who I really am?
"What is the matter, my dear?" Her fiancé asked with cheerful ease. "Even the honorable Lord Stark had a bastard."
He means Jon Snow.
"I suppose your right," Lysa said gravely. "And what do you intend to do with her?"
Yes. What are your intentions with me, I wondered, as the silence fell between them again.
"Let me worry about that," Petyr said smoothly. "Now let me get cleaned up, so we can marry right away."
"Oh, Petyr!" She yelled, and then smothered him with kisses. "Oh, I shall give you a night you shall never forget."
"I can very well believe it."
Off went Lysa in a flurry of giggles, echoing down the halls as she fled down the stairs. It was so loud I didn't hear Petyr's familiar tread until he was right in front of the washroom door. I opened it, and stared into his weary looking eyes.
"I know…" I said, while I passed by his slender frame. "Get dressed."
"Here," he said soberly, and placed my missing bed robe in my hand. "I had to hide it."
"Thanks." Lies, lies, lies. Why is it always lies with him?
"Is that all you have to say?"
"What do you mean?"
"I expected you to be scolding me by now, or at least throwing a fit."
"What's the point?" I asked dismissively. "Your still going to marry her."
Petyr said nothing, that was all the answer I needed. I shook my head at him and uttered, "Nothing changes. I'm just a stupid girl, with stupid dreams, and I never learn."
"Your wrong," he droned. His eyes remained fixed on the floor as if he was in deep thought. "You just need to trust me…"
"Like Aunt Lysa? Or my mother?" I asked with annoyance. "How do I know your not playing me too?"
"It's not like that."
"Isn't it?" I asked in a shaky voice. "I don't know anymore. I don't know who you are anymore-"
"You know me better than anyone else," he drawled, as he finally looked up at me. Our eyes were locked together, inexplicably held together like an anchor tethering a boat in the midst of a storm. "Trust me."
"You ask for the impossible."
"No," he said in a low tenor. He steadily walked towards me, maintaining his heavy gaze that stripped me raw till I felt naked. "Everything that is possible is right here- in front of me. Trust me, Sansa, trust me."
I gave him a small nod and turned to leave. He made no effort to hold me back, and so I slipped through the door without another word.
By the time I came downstairs there was already a merry party gathering around the happy couple.
"Alayne!" Ser Dale called out, for he was the first to notice me. "You've come down at last," he said cheerily, and took my hand in his own. "I wanted to say goodbye. I'm heading off now."
"You're not staying for the wedding," I said sadly, suddenly wishing this kind, genteel knight would stay. "Must you go so soon?"
"I must. Your father is most insistent that I go."
"Aye, look at you two love birds!" Interrupted Freyes, as he clasped his hands atop of my shoulders. His breathe smelt like beer as he leaned in to whisper, "Ought to be careful. Wouldn't want to anger the boss."
"The boss?" I asked in confusement.
"He means your father," Ser Dale said matter of factly.
"Well, I'll be damned!"
"Aye, look at that fiery spirit!" Freyes yelled out. He jumped up and down in excitement, despite his limp leg and cane in hand. "I love it! I wish you both all the happiness in the world."
My cheeks burned scarlet red. That's not what I meant, I wanted to say. I'm not interested in him that way- am I?
"Alayne," Petyr said, while walking hand in hand with his betrothed. "Come meet my future bride."
No! I don't want to meet her. I don't want to give her fake smiles and participate in this feeble charade. It was too late, however, they were already upon us. Ser Dale's hand that was still in mine felt like an anchor in a storm, as Lysa's eyes trailed over my figure with envy. She was not happy with what she saw.
"May I present to you Lady Lysa Arryn, of the Vale," Petyr exclaimed. He turned to her and added, "This is my daughter, Alayne."
"It is a pleasure to meet you at last," I said sweetly.
"Your much older than I expected," she relayed.
"Aye, and prettier," Freyes rejoined, much to the party's dismay.
"I couldn't agree more," said a deep voice beside me. I looked up to see Sir Dale giving me the most thought-provoking stare. He wasn't looking at me- he was looking through me, and he loved what he saw.
"Yes," Petyr said in a strained voice, clearly annoyed at the scene before him. "Shall we go?"
"Oh, yes!" Lysa shrilled with excitement. "We have waited long enough."
And so, the lovers rambled off, relishing in the last few minutes together until they were officially wed. Trailing behind them was pale looking septon, a handful of knights from the Vale, and a blond-haired youth with a singing lyre, who played a charming tune behind them.
"This is where I must leave you," Ser Dale said, his grave tone of voice brought me back to the present. "I shall see you again soon."
"I look forward to it," I said lightly.
"I'm glad to hear it," he said softly. His dark brown eyes were full of feeling as he looked down at me, but I could not maintain a steady gaze with him; soon my eyes fell to the floor in defeat. "Farewell, Alayne," he mumbled under his breath, before he kissed my hand and left without another word. I lifted my eyes to watch him go, uncertain what the future held for Ser Dale and I. Time will tell, I thought, as I made my way through the front door to follow the wedding party.
My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. My heart, which was once soft and tender to the core had now become scorched and burnt, it was hard as iron, cold as ice. I watched them take their vows. Vows so holy it was sacrilege to have the thoughts that I was having now. Ah, but jealousy is like a snake in grass that bites when you least expect it. I felt it now- that poison which galled me, turning me into an insensate being without feelings or thoughts.
There is nothing worse than false hope. There is nothing worse than broken dreams. This dark secret love, which I have kindled for so long was at once snuffed out as Petyr's lips ceremoniously connected with Lysa's.
The ceremony commenced, and at once Petyr showered her with kisses. If only she knew where those lips had been earlier, I thought bitterly. Petyr lifted here up into his arms, and Lysa broke out in a fit of giggles as he carried her home. False promises and false hope, I thought, as Petyr assured his silly wife that he loved her. They went through the iron gate, treading along the unruly sward at the back of the house, passing a beautiful flock of shining sheep, and only when they reached the ruddy red door did Petyr set her down on her own two feet.
"My sweet Petyr," she said, before she enraptured him in her arms and blighted him with kisses. I was bereaved of his sight once he slipped through the door, and Lysa in her foolhardiness giggled after him like some love-sick child.
"Come, kiss my happy wife!" Petyr said the minute I walked through the door. Already the room was full, a large group of people were swarming around the newlyweds.
Lysa came to me with her arms open wide, her large bosom nearly knocked the wind out of me as she pulled me in. Her face was heavily powdered, and she smelled of sweet perfume, still an acrid fragrance lingered upon her true form. Her skin was dry and faded as I pecked her cheek. The bloom of her you was gone, and now Lysa Arryn simply looked old and haggard in appearance.
"Won't you come kiss your father?" Petyr asked. I'd sooner hit you, I mused, but now was not the time to be spiteful. We had a game to play, Petyr and I, and I couldn't give way to my feelings now. I kissed him lightly on the cheek, before I whisked away from his haunting touch that wished to hold me for a moment more.
"Let us eat!" Lysa shrilled. "Although, I'll hardly be able to keep the food down."
"Are you nervous, my dear," Petyr teased, as he led her to the dining room.
"Hardly, I know just what to expect from you."
"I think not," Petyr contended, the moment he sat down in his seat at the head of the table. "A lot can happen in twenty years. And being a brothel keeper does give you some experience."
"Oh, you wicked man!" Lysa yelled, as she sat beside him. She then leaned in to whisper something in Petyr's ear, which made him laugh. I noticed his eyes did not match his smile- no they were denuded of all feeling, cold and blank as the porcelain plate that was placed in front of him.
He is hurting as much as I, I realized, as he glanced at me with deadened eyes. There is some hope yet. What that hope was I could not tell, but I could feel it- just as I could feel his gaze clinging to my own; suspended in animation, held for a single moment until he was forced to tear it away. Still, they were quick to return to mine. Grey-green eyes locked on to frosty blue. It was then that I remembered the fateful words Petyr said to me the night we first made love: When your so close to me- like you are now, I get the feeling that are fates are tied together. Intricately knotted, never to be torn apart.
Perhaps, that was the hope I was looking for- nothing but twisted fate.