I know it's been so long since I wrote anything on this site. College got pretty crazy and I kind of stopped writing altogether. But I'm back. I've revamped my plot outline. This story will have an ending. Sorry this chapter is so short but there are good things coming, I promise. Sansa and Theon will be back next week. Read and review as always!
Chapter 10: Chaos is a Ladder
A soft whistling noise hung constantly in the air around the Eyrie. When Petyr first arrived, it filled his chest. The sound was an ever-present reminder that he had flown so much higher than anyone thought possible. But that was then. Back then the warm light cast across his desk by the setting sun would have looked beautiful. The Lord Protector of the Vale had little time to wonder at the beauty of this ancient and secluded castle. There was always another step on the ladder to climb. Always another move to play.
The winds shifted and moaned. Petyr's small pointed beard twitched and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
A soft rapping on the door interrupted the mechanical churning of his thoughts.
"Come in."
"My Lord, a raven has arrived from Winterfell with a message from Lord Bolton." The young boy approached his desk with a scroll clutched tightly in a stiff, outstretched hand. Littlefinger snatched away the parchment like a hungry bird pecking at a scrap of food.
He spread out the message on his desk, methodically smoothing it over several times. He didn't even look up when the door opened and closed again. The shuffling and breathing of another human were gone. Only the whistling of the wind and the ticking of his thoughts, shifting the pieces into place.
Ramsay was dead. Not particularly unfortunate or interesting. Sansa ran away. That is interesting. Roose still needs her to secure the North. He wants me to return her to Winterfell to bend the knee when she arrives at the Vale.
When. Roose Bolton had chosen that exact word. Petyr leaned back, running his fingers along the front of his silk robe from the base of his throat down to his navel. He sighed. When. Roose was certain that Sansa would come here for refuge. To him.
Tick. Roose Bolton has no other heirs who could marry Sansa.
Tick. Roose remains married to Fat Walda and would not risk losing the support of the Freys.
Tick. The next best move is to make her pledge fealty and support to House Bolton, then marry her to a loyal lord with a large army.
Tick. I can convince Sansa that House Stark is scattered and dying, with no chance of regaining Winterfell. She needs to believe she is playing now only for survival.
He stretched and curled his lips, then licked them. A fearsome ally in Roose Bolton and a powerful pawn in Sansa Stark. The swirling chaos of murder, escape, and revenge settled, all at once, into neatly laid stepping stones. Petyr stood up. His bare feet made no noise on the cold stone floor. Pacing, he began to compose his reply to Lord Bolton in his head.
...and in return, as reward for my delivery of Sansa's pledge of fealty to House Bolton, my own continued loyalty to your house, and the swords of House Arryn and the Knights of the Vale in any future battles you may face, I ask that Sansa Stark be released from her promise to marry into your line and be made Lady Baelish instead. If this pleases you, I can assure that, from this day forward, my wife and I...
Petyr paused and perched on the edge of his desk. Sansa Stark would be his. Her beautiful blue eyes and thick auburn hair, by his side and in his bed, to have whenever it pleased him.
Petyr's sharp, bright eyes clouded over. He stroked the inside of his thigh. He gripped himself firmly and began to slide his hand up and down.
Petyr exhaled a breath that was long, wet, and heavy, as though it had been trapped in his chest his entire life.
"Cat..."