As Sansa made her way down she met Tyrion on the stairs, he looked very handsome in his evening suit of browns and reds. The two shared a smile when their eyes met and she quickly accepted his offer to escort her down to the dining room, although, she couldn't help noticing that the Lannister had already gotten himself a glass of wine from somewhere.
The pair chit-chatted as they headed for the dining room, polite conversation which was really of little importance. Then again, only Oberyn Martell had spoken to her and actually provided information, everybody else had a way of speaking without actually saying anything; skilful or annoying Sansa didn't know, probably both. While she'd been at King's Landing with her father the redhead had quickly learnt that most people dismissed Tyrion as a drunk and he was but Sansa could see he was far more intelligent than people gave him credit for, she could relate to that.
As the pair passed by the gallery they saw the library – which called the space between the dining room and gallery home – doors cracked open and allow Ros to exit. Sansa paused a moment wondering if her dress of light blues and pinks was quite appropriate for the evening but after what Olyvar had told her earlier that day she doubted the older redhead cared much. Ros held a stack of papers in her arms as well as an overused looking quill. She didn't acknowledge Sansa for even a split second but Tyrion flashed her a smile which was returned with a coy one, then Ros was gone as quickly as she'd appeared back the way Sansa and Tyrion had come.
"You know Ros?" The teen questioned lightly while the little lion peered over his shoulder at the elder redhead.
"Oh, I know Baelish's assistant quite-" he looked back at the young girl "-intimately."
Sansa wasn't so naïve as to not understand that meaning. Had all of this happened back at Winterfell then she would have most likely been scandalized along with her mother but Sansa was pleased to know she'd adjusted to this impropriety and occasional vulgarity quite well; Margaery had seen to that.
The lord and lady continued on to the dining room where they found the other guests already there and conversing away with one another in three distinct little huddles. Blue eyes also spotted Yara dressed in leather breeches and calmed knowing she'd not be judged for her dress. For a moment Sansa hesitated as to who to join so was grateful when Tyrion smoothly guided her over to stand with himself, Prince Oberyn, Margaery and the Greyjoys. Oddly enough Sansa had come to feel as though Tyrion had decided to care for her at this so-called conclave; he's a good man.
She didn't contribute very much to the conversation in her little group of people though no one seemed to hold it against her. The Dorinish prince and Lord Tyrion kept the talk going mostly until Margaery enquired as to Sansa's headache.
"Oh, yes, all recovered, thank you. I suppose I'm not used to the sun."
"Yes, though I've always feared going too far north lest I freeze." Margaery teased. "You northerners are far more hearty than I."
"Did you sleep well?" Prince Oberyn asked then.
To Sansa it was a strange comment, how had he known, but she tried not to show her surprise, she had probably been over-thinking anyway. Still, Oberyn Martell just always appeared to know more about her than he should have.
"I did, thank you. It would seem the rest did me good." She smiled because it was true, her dream had been strange but comforting.
Just then a servant appeared to offer them all fresh glasses of wine. Sansa wasn't allowed wine at Winterfell but still she took a glass.
Prince Oberyn flashed her that smile once again and the redhead decided she really would have to ask the tanned man about that before they returned to their homes.
From the vast, folding doors came a soothing night breeze which cooled the grand dining room rather than leaving it just a little too hot. The moon was high in the sky now and lighting the night with it's silvery presence accompanied by billions of dazzling stars; a symphony of glamour.
Sansa's dream had lingered in her mind since she'd awoken but now she thought about it she still felt as though that man was close, like he lingered around her.
Olyvar – who Sansa had become really rather fond of – entered the dining room then dressed in his usual valet's uniform of light blue and gray. He came to a stop before them and everyone instantly took notice and turned to look at him.
"Lord Petyr Baelish, ladies and gentlemen." He announced with perfectly enunciated vowels.
Petyr finally revealed himself to his guests after that, entered the dining room in another of his jet black suits though this one had been paired with an emerald-green waistcoat which matched that of Sansa's dress to the point it could have been cut from the same bolt. The redhead paid zero attention to that though as she was far too busy trying to calm the shiver which ran down her spine at the sight of him. Every single shred of the teenager said she knew this man, that they'd spent every second of their lives together even though Sansa knew that the two had never been introduced. Sansa had only heard about him from the people in that room and her parents before now, of course she knew that a Lord Baelish had Harrenhal and that he was the king's Master of Coin, but that was it.
His suit seemed darker than night, his hair graying at the temples which made him look distinguished rather than old and then there were his eyes, those bold, unwavering green eyes. Petyr was handsome that was for sure and – surprisingly as expected – a little younger than her mother; that would raise questions for Sansa later when she managed to focus on her thoughts.
Baelish spotted her instantly and flashed her a subtle smile as he addressed his guests. "Good evening. Please forgive my absence and neglect of you all, regrettably some unforeseen business arose, but I am here now and tomorrow the conclave shall commence. For now, let us enjoy our meal and some intelligent conversation for a change."
Had Sansa not been so heavily focused on Petyr she'd have noticed Oberyn as he glanced down at her consciously as if inspecting the contents of her brain. As it was she had become much too focused on the mysterious man with ash at his temples.
Petyr went off towards Xaro then and his little group to mingle and properly greet his guests. Sansa had thought he'd come to her, why had she thought that? Actually it became obvious rather quickly that he had apparently moved on and stopped paying Sansa any attention whatsoever … and why did that irritate her so badly?
Eventually this eclectic group of people sat down to eat at the strike of a golden gong. Petyr, of course, sat at the head of the table with his back to the open folding doors while Oberyn had taken the same seat he'd had at breakfast just beside the mysterious lord. The two of them did certainly seem far closer than anticipated. What had really surprised Sansa about the seating arrangements though was that she'd practically hurried to snag the chair opposite Oberyn, she'd felt compelled to sit beside Petyr as if that was her rightful place. What has come over you?
They all ate and it was just as wonderful as Olyvar had said it would be, the conversation was enjoyable as well. As expected no one revealed too much about themselves personally but that hadn't stopped their chatter being interesting and unique, at Winterfell the talk often became repetitive. They talked of travel and balls, of literature and history, this wasn't the boring usual of Winterfell or the terror of King's Landing, no, this was real society. Maybe Sansa could fit in with these people after all. All of them seemed so cultured and knowledgeable about such a wide range of topics, and though, at times, Sansa didn't quite follow a lot of everything being said she'd learnt more in an hour than she had in years.
Happiness was the main emotion which filled Sansa, she had good company and conversation, she was beside Lord Baelish – wait, why is that important in the slightest? She pushed that from her mind and instead focused back on the evening being fun and new. She had to admit to herself that she'd be glad of more evenings like this one, surrounded by candles and people who had seen the world, its wonders and had read books her mother wouldn't ever have let Sansa near in a thousand years. These people had come from all over Westeros and even Essos for an event Sansa still didn't completely understand, they weren't the irritable old men in King's Landing who just voted for more of the same.
Prince Oberyn regaled them all with humorous and slightly risqué stories from his homeland while the rest chuckled and sipped delightful wine. Sansa knew her mother wouldn't have liked Oberyn, found him too brash and morally questionable, but Sansa herself had become quite taken with the man, he was fun and a true breath of fresh air. Her mother unequivocally wouldn't have approved of everyone there and frankly neither did Sansa, she'd taken an instant dislike to Xaro Xhoan Daxos, there was a wave of darkness which dripped from him and actually made Sansa feel physically sick, then there was Melisandre who she didn't trust, but everyone else had either shown themselves as friend or at least someone who would usually fall on the side of ally.
Throughout the night Petyr spoke and conversed in length but never actually stated anything, he remained lurking in the shadows of etiquette and shared the occasional sideways glance with Oberyn; is it possible Margaery was correct and they are … fucking?
When conversation took a sudden turn to Essos Sansa had pushed thoughts of Petyr's and Oberyn's relationship from her mind and took interest, but quickly the topic of Essos' beauty had been turned to a truly uncomfortable subject for Sansa. Daxos, a mentally self-appointed king had started to pepper the conversation with comments of women knowing their place and though she never saw it, Petyr frowned when he noticed Sansa tense then turned his green eyes firmly to the dark-skinned man like a dragon looking for prey.
"Only a cowardly man feels the need to force a woman into submission." That got smirks from Tyrion, Oberyn, Yara and Margaery. "This 'where is a woman's place' argument is quite ridiculous if you ask me." Baelish continued as he reached for his wine glass and relaxed into his chair as if daring Xaro. "Why crush a woman and force her to be your slave when you could recognize the strength within her and have her at your side quite willingly?" Petyr glanced to the prince. "Oberyn, my assistant has been at their position for years, what do you think of them?"
Oberyn, who was grinning by this point, cleared his throat. "Most certainly excellent at their job, Petyr. Logical, forward thinking and almost completely unshakable."
Baelish sipped his wine. "Lord Tyrion, anything to add?"
The little lion's smirk turned dirty then as if the sentence had two meanings and judging by what Tyrion had told her earlier it did.
"Always accommodating and never fails to impress."
"Indeed." Petyr hummed approvingly and turned his green eyes back to the man from Essos. "And not once did anyone mention that my assistant is a woman. Looks as though my point has been proven."
That shut Daxos up pretty quickly much to his chagrin though everyone else remained very amused, a smirk even slipped out of Yara Greyjoy and there might have been a quickly concealed one from Melisandre if Sansa wasn't mistaken.
With the merchant put firmly in his place they all finished their dinner before retiring to the parlor for drinks and to wind down before bed. Unsurprisingly Sansa found herself staring up at another one of the gargantuan paintings which littered Petyr's castle while the same servant who had apologized for not greeting her at the docks handed out brandy behind her.
Polite but clearly veiled chat went on while she lingered off towards one corner of the room, she probably should have joined Margaery who had gathered Yara and Melisandre into a sort of women only huddle. Amusingly enough while the talk continued Xaro seemed to be left silently licking his wounds. Anger and ire radiated from the tall black man as if his whole body had been overtaken by it, it was thick, uncomfortable feeling and Sansa had to mentally question how no one else appeared aware of it.
Sansa blinked rapidly in surprise when the male servant offered her a glass of brandy and, after a split second of thought, she took one with a charming 'thank you'. This needed to be her last drink though, her parents never let her drink even with dinner so she had no tolerance for it really. Here at Harrenhal she felt so grown up, no one had flashed Sansa that look that said 'you're too young to be here so shut up and look pretty until you go home, girl'. The redhead honestly hadn't ever felt as though she would really be welcome at Harrenhal but there she was standing alongside them; now if she could just figure out what the conclave was about exactly.
Suddenly, as if he'd evanesced, Petyr appeared right beside her without Sansa noticing.
"Did you enjoy dinner, Lady Sansa?"
Sansa jumped because where the hell had he come from? She quickly forced herself to calm down lest she show her young age to her host.
"I did, Lord Baelish, your chefs are quite skilled."
Sansa had adored Joffrey when she'd first heard of him and even more so when she'd laid eyes on him but that had been a childish thought and a want to be queen, it had worn off hastily, yet when she looked at Lord Baelish she wanted to just sit and stare at his eyes. Petyr was handsome and those eyes where stunning as they sparkled in the firelight. His voice though, that was eerily familiar, like the man in her dream.
"Are you a fan of brandy?" It was a tease and Sansa knew it.
"Oh, I've never had it before. I mostly took it to be polite."
The man with ash at his temples didn't look in the least surprised. "Do not force yourself to drink it."
That actually encouraged her to take a sip to which she – somewhat shockingly – found she liked the warm burn of the amber liquid.
Petyr gestured loosely up to the painting she'd been inspecting with that smile of his while Sansa delighted in the scent of mint.
"Lovely, isn't is?" Sansa nodded. "Harrenhal right after it was built, the castle was truly a sight to behold back then, you know, before it became the haunted, dreary place it is now."
"I certainly wouldn't call Harrenhal 'dreary', Lord Baelish. I think your home is stunning. Many houses have had Harrenhal but never been able to truly settle- sorry, my Lord, that didn't sound-"
He cut her off with a calming smile. "No, no, you are quite right. Still, I much prefer Harrenhal to the other seat." He moved on before Sansa could question that. "Many bad things have happened here, my Lady. Harrenhal was burnt to the ground and the families who occupied it dispossessed, look what happened to Black Harren. Trust me, Lady Sansa, you have nothing to fear from ghosts, not here anyway. Whent Island was this island's original name, though it was stripped away along with the family. When I was given Harrenhal I not only became a high lord but discovered my new home was a nameless rock so I renamed it, thought this island deserved a new lease of life." He took a drink of his own brandy but never looked away from Sansa. "You know, from Kingspyre Tower I can just see the speck that is my family's original seat in The Fingers. A blip, hardly noticeable unless one knows it is there."
Sansa found herself quite fascinated by Lord Baelish and his extensive knowledge of Harrenhal, he seemed rather willing to answer her questions about the place and had a good understanding of history and why House Whent had been outed. Soon though Sansa wasn't entirely satisfied with just questions regarding Harrenhal.
"Is it true your grandfather was a sellsword?" Her father had mentioned it while he'd been listing reasons not to trust Petyr back at Winterfell and it had stuck in Sansa's head.
Petyr paused a little too long, as if he'd forgotten who his family was briefly. Then that odd look drained from his face and got replaced with his charming smile once more.
"It was my great-grandfather, but otherwise yes."
Sansa's smile just grew. "I've never been to Braavos before, I doubt Mother will ever let me."
Braavosi blood did suggest something of an answer as to why Petyr came across as so otherworldly to her. King Robert was surely lucky to have Petyr rather than him being in Braavos because Sansa had no doubt that this man would have easily taken over the Iron Bank should the mood take him.
"I'm sure she could be convinced, after all you arrived here safely and alone."
She had, hadn't she, Sansa had done it by herself – and a little help from Jeyne. She flashed Petyr a shy smile.
"She didn't exactly agree to this, my Lord. I somewhat went behind my parents' back."
His eyes lit up at that though he didn't appear surprised. "Quite the rebel, I like it. And Catelyn has always been … reserved shall we say. She wishes to protect her children as all mothers do but you need space to breathe."
At least Baelish understood it if no one else did. "Thank you. Maybe I should have you write correspondence to my parents explaining that."
Petyr chuckled light-heartedly. "I'd be delighted though I doubt your father would want to listen to me. We have never seen … eye-to-eye."
Oh the redhead could believe that.
The two continued with their conversation, the entire time Sansa felt more relaxed and happy than she had been since she'd left Winterfell. Why did she feel so soothed?
"... enjoy the library and my office since it is practically a second library." Petyr jested. "I have more artwork in there as well which depicts the history of Harrenhal."
Sansa knew where the library was already though hadn't been inside to see the wonders herself yet she focused more on Petyr's office. She'd seen the steps, climbed them both for herself and in her dream, but never actually made it beyond the door. Hell, until Ros had told her Sansa could have believed there to be nothing more than a broom closet behind the door.
Petyr had always been an observant man so he easily noticed when young Sansa started to get lost in her own thoughts and elected to tug her back with a devilish glint in his apple colored orbs.
"Lady Sansa, would you care to accompany me to my office and continue our conversation on Harrenhal's history?
Had Sansa been Margaery, Yara or basically any other woman she'd have questioned why a man so much older than herself suddenly wanted her alone in his office while the other guests were pre-occupied with one another, but she wasn't her new friend or any other woman and Sansa couldn't dispel the compulsion to stay close to him.
"Of course." Sansa agreed readily with a pretty smile.
Together the pair slipped subtly out of the room with only Prince Oberyn having taken any notice of them and made their way to the towers. Sansa hadn't found Harrenhal as daunting as expected but she certainly wasn't a fan of so many steps.
As they approached the staircase Sansa had been pulled away from twice now she felt some trepidation finally settle inside her but it didn't overpower the urge to follow him, to just be near him.
Petyr kindly pointed out certain paintings as they grew closer to his office, peppered their conversation with questions as to her opinions as well; which was refreshing because most people usually ignored Sansa. Soon though she approached the stairs with the mysterious lord at her side.
The stairs up to his office really were rather plain compared to the rest of the castle, then again, Petyr's office seemed to be just for himself and Ros. It didn't tell a story like the rest of the castle; though that was probably telling in itself. When they reached the top of the stairs Sansa half expected to be pulled away once again but instead Petyr took a key from his green waistcoat and unlocked the door with a quiet click.
Why had she dreamt of this place? Why an office hidden away in Harrenhal. Why had she wandered off from her sewing while at the Red Keep to stare at a ship as it sailed away with an emblem she couldn't see? Why did Sansa do these things?
She glanced down to the step she stood on, this had been the very one where she'd heard a male voice say 'not quite yet, sweetling', the words practically replayed in her head.
The man in black and green pushed the heavy office door and gentlemanly stepped aside for her to enter ahead of him, Sansa nodded her thanks. His office was vast and all black marble with intricate green and silver detailing which lightened up the marble and wood exponentially. Sconces provided an orange glow while candelabra did the same for tables dotted around the expansive tower room. If Sansa was asked to describe it she'd have only been able to say it was very Petyr Baelish.
Petyr laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. I didn't realize you were quite so insightful."
Sansa paused a moment, she'd not thought she'd said that out loud. Besides how did she know it suited Petyr so perfectly? She'd only met him at dinner so really didn't know anything about this Master of Coin. Fortunately Petyr didn't press the subject and Sansa decided it was easier to just push aside the uncertain thoughts to ponder later.
"Come." He said with a hand outstretched in a gesture for her to join him as he headed over to a painting between two rather large bookshelves.
Sansa didn't need telling twice and went to him happily. She easily recognized the painting to be a depiction of Harrenhal as it burned, a striking work with flames full of life, for a moment she paused to wonder what it would have been like to actually watch the castle be put to the torch, to watch the largest castle in all the realm go up in smoke. When night had fallen had Harrenhal looked like the ocean was ablaze? While he spoke to her of Harrenhal Sansa wondered if reaching out to touch the paint would leave her fingertips burnt, that was how lifelike the flames appeared; the artist really had been a master.
A fair-sized stone egg with a red sheen caught Sansa's blue eyes once Petyr had finished his speech, they sat on a small, circular table of dark wood just underneath the painting in the space between the shelves and though she'd originally dismissed it as a paperweight she wasn't so sure now she was up close. She leant down slightly to gain a better look.
"Beautiful, isn't it. It's a dragon egg, there are only four remaining and Daenerys Targaryen has the other three. According to rumors should we toss them into a hot enough fire the dragons inside shall hatch."
Sansa peered back at him with awe even if she didn't believe dragons had ever been real. "How did you get it?"
He just smiled back at her with a knowing expression which disturbingly mirrored Oberyn's. "Oh, Sweetling, I can get my hands on anything given enough time."
Sansa didn't hear a single word he'd said after the pet name, not one. That was the name the man in her dreams had used and when it had come out of Petyr's mouth Sansa finally realized he didn't just sound like the man, he was the man in her dreams. How had Petyr Baelish been in her dreams?!
Petyr's eyes softened as Sansa's widened in panic and he sighed while his smile turned softer, kinder.
"Forgive me, sweetling, I couldn't just come out and tell you the truth, you'd have thought me insane and ran."
She backed away a few steps, she wasn't scared otherwise she'd have just fled even if Petyr was probably much faster. Instead, Sansa turned to one of the chairs which faced Petyr's large, carved desk and sat herself down like a perfect lady though she did refuse to make eye contact with him. After little more than a second Petyr followed her and crouched down beside the teenage girl with a face full of concern.
"Sansa, all your life you have dreamt of searching for something though never known what or whom." Petyr spoke slowly and calmly so as not to spook the eldest Stark girl. "It has been an endless mystery to you and then, out of the blue, a stranger invites you to his island home and rather than declining like any other young lady in your position you felt the urge to rush here and even defied your parents to do so. Told yourself it was just plain curiosity but it's far deeper than that, my sweetling. You thought growing up meant having to die inside but it doesn't." Baelish reached up to rest a hand atop Sansa's where it lay on the arm of the chair and amazingly she let him, her brain had said to pull her hand away but something in her heart wouldn't let her. "When you arrived here you slipped into sleep quicker than you ever have before and your dreams tried to guide you to my office, then into my bedchamber – naughty girl." He smirked in what Sansa had learned was his way.
Blue eyes just stared down at him where he continued to crouch beside her. How did he know her dreams? How did he know what she thought and felt? How was any of this even possible? Those cerulean orbs flicked down to where his hand rested atop her own as he turned it over and laced their fingers together, his hands were so much larger than her own and wonderfully warm; despite all the strangely tended to fires and sconces Harrenhal was still cold in places. She watched as he lifted it up, his skin a little darker than hers, and pressed a light kiss to her fingers.
"Oh, sweetling, I told you before it is not a dream."
Sansa's eyes went wide as they would and finally some fear settled inside her, Sansa's breathing became panicked but Petyr quickly soothed her with a true smile and those green eyes.
"There is nothing to worry about. I waited for you so long and now here I am explaining everything. You are safe here, Sansa, you are amongst kin."
Most would have ripped their hand away and run for the hills – not that there were any – but something kept Sansa glued to the chair and it wasn't terror. How did he know all these things? And what did he mean they weren't dreams?
With hardly a sound Petyr rose back to his full height and in one quick, and surprisingly easy, move he shifted to sit down and pulled Sansa into his lap. This was not appropriate! It was improper and completely ignored any and all etiquette … so why did Sansa crave his touch, yearn for it even.
"Hush, sweetling." He comforted her as a large hand ran through her long, red locks. His movements could only be described as loving. "I will not tell you anything more tonight, Sansa, I do not wish to panic or overload you." The teenager found herself settling against his chest as she searched out his warmth and comfort. "A few more moments and then you should sleep, there will be time in the day."
For a long time neither said anything and Sansa didn't try to argue or force more information out of him, she trusted Petyr to tell her the following day just as he'd said he would. Her brain felt as though it were in two worlds, one half wanted to demand answers and learn how any of this was possible while the other half just wanted to settle against him and be held by the most comforting person she'd ever met. The latter half eventually won out when Sansa's cerulean orbs slipped shut and slumber took her.