When the conclave finally came to a close for the day at a quarter after nine the sun had already set and everyone easily decided to dine in their rooms. After just a moment of pause Sansa suspected they would for the rest of the conclave since some – namely Xaro – had gotten a little worked up.
Sansa realized she'd learnt three things while in that complicated conclave. The first was that Robert Baratheon's days on the Iron Throne were clearly numbered. The second was that when King Robert did die there would be all out war for control while a stupid little boy acted as nothing more than a seat warmer. And, because her father was Hand, Sansa knew the Starks would be effected before any of the other noble Houses. The third and final realization Sansa had come to had absolutely nothing to do with the conclave, it wasn't about the king, land, entitlement or even her family. No, the third thing Sansa had come to know was that she now completely believed Petyr; something people had warned her not to do. Now that the differences of her nature had been pointed out the redhead couldn't deny them or how accurate they were.
Lord Baelish had shown his skills as a manipulator and orchestrator in the conclave hall of stone but the smirks and expressions he'd shown his guests weren't like the ones he'd revealed to Sansa in that hidden room of his. She was certain it wasn't the naïve mistake of a teenage girl, she knew he'd been honest with her and she'd come to learn that, as much as his story had sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, it wasn't. Olyvar and Oberyn had all attested to Petyr's claim, Oberyn had even looked to have been watching out for his elder brother.
Sansa made a decision then as she sat awaiting her supper. All her life her future had essentially been decided for her and there had been a time when she'd gone along with it thinking it was what she wanted, but if this conclave, this meeting of the best conniving minds in the world, had taught her anything it was that Sansa could keep up with them and could choose her own fate. So Sansa chose to listen to Petyr and his story. To give him a chance to explain properly and then the Stark girl would choose for herself.
Petyr Baelish – I'll have to ask what his name really is – was far older than Sansa both physically and in actuality but he wasn't unappealing. The man's gray-green eyes were sweet despite the secrets they kept hidden behind them, and his voice shrouded Sansa with a comforting allure every time she heard it, deep but lightly accented. While not the tallest man she'd ever met – that would eternally go to the Hound – he was still taller than herself; although Sansa was expected to shoot up another few inches by the time she turned twenty. Petyr certainly knew how to dress as well, even his suits seemed calculated to cause the most impact. Yes, Petyr Baelish was handsome and attractive to the teenager despite the age gap, she liked the gray in his hair as well, it made him look distinguished.
She wished she had someone to speak to about all of this, someone on the outside, but if she told her family Sansa would surely be locked away in an asylum before she could even open her mouth to defend herself. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration but her parents would certainly think her mad. Deep down she knew she should have been much more terrified of Lord Baelish and his inhuman nature but Sansa wasn't, bizarrely Sansa felt safer and more at ease in Petyr's presence than she ever had at home in The North or at King's Landing, every fibre of her being told Sansa that she was safe there. Harrenhal wasn't her home, but it wasn't the prison the Red Keep would turn into, it was … a sanctuary, a home away from home.
Had Sansa told anyone that she actually found the halls of Harrenhal comforting they'd had found another reason to think her mad. All the stories said Harrenhal was haunted more than any other place but they'd never been inside. No, the burnt castle wasn't haunted, full of history and demons apparently, but not haunted.
Sansa started to wonder then if Petyr had seen flames engulf Harrenhal and seen the Whents cast out. What would it have been like to live through all that history, she questioned herself, it did explain how Petyr knew so much about the past though; being there was better than any history book.
That night while she waited for her dinner to arrive Sansa sat on the settee, she'd left one of the balcony doors open to allow a breeze in since the evening was a surprisingly warm one. The smell of the ocean was a nice accompaniment to her sewing, she'd started work on embroidering a handkerchief just to keep her hands busy; she'd always found some level of comforting in the task.
A loud but not startling series of knock sounded on her door then and Sansa was quick to call out for the servant to enter since she'd expected her evening meal; something she'd been looking forward to since her stomach had started to growl roughly fifteen minutes earlier. However, when the doors opened her meal was not brought in, instead Lord Baelish's valet, Olyvar, entered and gave a little bow.
"Forgive the interruption, Lady Stark, but Lord Baelish has requested for you to dine with him."
Sansa set her sewing aside; she should have expected something like this and sure enough before she'd even decided to agree Sansa had nodded.
"Certainly, Olyvar. Please, take me to him."
Sansa rose to her feet and straightened non-existent creases from her gown peticoat and followed behind the blond servant through halls which had become familiar to Petyr's chambers. Olyvar knocked politely on the door then opened the door for her to enter which Sansa did with a smile to the handsome servant. The door was quickly closed behind her and just like that Olyvar was gone, dissolved back into the walls of Harrenhal until he was needed again.
Blue eyes instantly spotted the large painting above the fireplace, the one depicting the fall of Castamere she'd seen it before in her dream. A small table had been set before the fireplace topped with everything a noble would need to dine but Sansa paid it all little attention when movement had her attentiveness firmly turned towards Petyr's bedchamber door when he appeared. He was stood before her in quite a level of undress for how prim and proper she'd seen him though it wasn't quite inappropriate. Gone was his coat and waistcoat as was his cravat. The shirt he wore was loose and flowing just like all shirts and the wide opening at the neck revealed a hint of the scar her uncle had given him long ago; a pink line bold against a hardly there speckling of dark chest hair. Over the top he wore a banyan the color of boysenberries and Sansa wondered how he could stand before her dressed so casually though keep the formidable air about himself.
"Thank you for joining me, Sansa."
He gestured for her to sit at the small table and Sansa quickly did so. She watched as he moved closer, the smell of mint surrounded her, and lifted the cloche from her dinner plate. A waft of chicken rose up to obscure the previous scent of cool mint.
"I thought we could talk over supper."
She nodded again while Petyr sat himself down in the chair opposite her though instead of uncovering his own plate Petyr took up his wine goblet instead. He had his back to both the fireplace and painting which had left Sansa with a perfect chance for escape what with the door being just over her shoulder. Sansa didn't know if that was important or not, on the one hand she knew that everything this man did was planned and calculated but, on the other hand, Sansa might have been reading a little too much into things. The older man continued to sip at the rich crimson that was his wine while Sansa watched him, that went on so long that eventually he lifted an eyebrow at her questioningly.
"You have a very determined look about you, Sansa."
The redhead supposed she did and it was something Sansa could be proud of.
"I have made a decision, Lord Baelish."
Petyr smirked. "Do enlighten me, my dear."
Sansa wasn't a little girl any longer, she was a young woman and a Stark; she could do all of this.
"Yes." Sansa took a breath. "I am going to sit here and eat, because I am actually quite hungry, and you are going to tell me everything … if you wouldn't mind."
"And then?" Petyr questioned.
"And then I shall decide if remaining here at Harrenhal, with you, could ever be an option."
Baelish sat up straight then as he set his glass down and looked at young Sansa with all the seriousness she'd ever seen from him. All of Petyr's aloof nature faded away as his breathing deepened.
"Very well, sweetling, I shall agree to your terms."
Sansa wasn't entirely sure it was a deal they were making but still she was thankful regardless. Sansa doubted most high lords would have given her much choice let alone considered negotiation; Prince Joffrey certainly wouldn't have.
"Good." She took up her cutlery. "Thank you, Lord Baelish."
"Please," he smiled "call me Petyr. I do not wish for there to be such formality between us, Sansa."
While her parents would have likely objected even if he'd not grown up with Catelyn, Sansa could understand his reasoning; they were soulmates after all.
"Where would you like for me to begin?"
Sansa didn't need a single moment of pause, she knew exactly what her first question would be. Having had all day to ponder it she'd firmly decided which was her most pressing question.
"Why me? Of all the women in this world, why me?"
Petyr sighed. "Truthfully?"
It was a perfectly rhetorical question though Sansa still answered. "That would be nice."
"I don't know why, and that is the honest truth." The redhead's brow furrowed. "Demons have absolutely no say in when their soulmate is born or who they are. I can't tell you why you are mine and Oberyn was given Elaria rather than the other way around. It is not a choice, fate has already chosen for us. I cannot answer your question, Sansa, because there is no way of ever knowing. However, I am glad it is you."
Sansa took a moment to absorb each and every word and used the excuse of chewing a piece of her tender chicken as a reason for her silence. It made sense in a weird sort of way. After all why would he ever have picked her consciously? Sansa was just a girl who hadn't even known she wasn't human until the previous evening. Eventually she had to swallow her mouthful and yet no words slipped through her parted petal lips, Lord Baelish took pity on her.
"What is your next question, sweetling?" Petyr took up his wine glass again as the fire crackled behind him.
"I have so many questions and yet I don't know what order to ask the others in."
"In whatever order you like; I shall answer." He assured her. "You have been denied your true nature all your life so it is the least you are entitled to."
The quietude continued to linger a while longer as Sansa continued to eat but Petyr made no attempt to rush her, just sipped his wine.
"If- if you – or we – live forever why aren't there more of us? Why aren't demons everywhere?"
Baelish smirked. "Very good question. When I said we are immortal that wasn't entirely correct. Demons have a sort of … longevity, it can vary wildly at times but mostly we live for about two to three thousand years." Sansa paused in her eating, fork halfway to her lips. "Going of of that I and Oberyn are middle-aged. Do you remember when I said our souls were different to human souls because ours don't degrade?" The Stark girl nodded. "Again that was not entirely true, towards the end of our longevity our soul begins to degrade and it is why we die."
"Then why did you say demons are immortals?" Is it me or is this man speaking in riddles?
The Lord of Harrenhal spoke softly. "Because we can become immortals. The few of us who find our soulmates can." He sipped his wine again. "Our souls are the same, they sing with the same rhythm so, when we are together one soul feeds the other, one is constantly repairing the other after that and we don't degrade. That energy is how I found you." Blue and green eyes just gazed at one another a moment. "My parents are fully immortal, Oberyn is." Well that explains his complete disregard for danger. "Some of our kind never find their other half because we can wait thousands of years for the other to be born. Of all of my siblings only Oberyn and I have found ours."
"So you really only want me here to keep you alive?!"
Cutlery clattered to her plate. Was all of this just about self-preservation? Her father hated Petyr, her sister wouldn't ever trust him as far as she could throw him and Jon had made a point of warning her off of Lord Baelish. That didn't explain why Sansa felt so safe and happy around this man, he couldn't have just been using her surely.
Keenly aware of the sudden heartbreak in Sansa's cerulean orbs Petyr leant forwards and set his glass down quietly on the table.
"No, no, no, sweetling-" he was quick to begin "-it is not like that at all. I could lock you in a closet for the rest of time and we would still not become true immortals. Demon souls don't start resonating properly until both have accepted one another; it is nothing which can be forced."
His words comforted Sansa, she had just started to accept how happy and safe she felt around this clearly dangerous man, and couldn't take the ache of having everything crash down around her again.
Sansa took a breath as she reached for her wine goblet, took a sip then made herself return to eating.
"So what, some just can't ever die?"
"Yes." Baelish nodded and went back to his casual posture. "We cannot die but we can be killed, is the old demon saying."
"That doesn't make any sense, Lord-" he flashed her a look so Sansa corrected herself "-Petyr."
He shrugged ever so slightly, an action which made the fabric of his banyan shift. "Actually it does. You see, thousands of years ago when my father was but a newborn babe, all the religions humans had come to believe decided they had a common enemy; us. Demons were known by humans back then and we lived alongside them, they had called us by our true name but alas we became just demons. They wanted us gone because they'd turned us into horrible things of evil to fit their stories, the ones that said we only lived to destroy the humans and their goodness. We stopped being their neighbors then and became the horrors in the shadows. You know, the usual human nonsense." Petyr indulged in a long sip of wine then before he continued; the fire crackled. "So, the Seven Kingdoms, which were individuals back then, got together all the leaders of every religion who hated us and set to work. Seven swords were smithed of Valyrian Steel then blessed and blessed again by every Septon, priestess and slightly pissed off Septa in all the kingdoms. There's a rumor among us they mixed the hearts of a mated pair into the molten steel though quite how they accomplished that I don't know. Funny, isn't it? That they only managed to set their petty squabbles aside and work together when they were trying to commit genocide, you see, Sansa, humans can only stand united when they are trying to kill something else. That is how desperately they wanted us gone." Lord Baelish downed what was left in his glass then promptly refilled it, for a split second he'd reminded her of Tyrion Lannister. "Anyway, these seven swords were blessed and then tested on a young demon and her husband who were newly mated, they'd also never done anything which could be deemed evil. Their heads were cast from their bodies and the pulse of their souls ended. The swords could kill immortals. As you can imagine the humans were overjoyed."
For a time she thought he'd just paused again but when Sansa realized he had finished Sansa finally spoke.
"What happened to the swords?" She asked curiously.
"One was given to the king of each kingdom and a great many demons were killed. All of my granduncles and aunts, only my grandfather survived. We were hunted almost to extinction and those who lived found themselves being born to already murdered soulmates and so eventually they died as well. We almost went the way of the dragons, my sweet girl."
Sansa chuckled. "Dragons aren't real."
Petyr tilted his head. "You have come to accept I am not human – that you are not – and yet dragons are still ridiculous? By the time I was born dragons had been bread and deformed into something the size of a dog, oh how wonderful it would have been to see a live one in all its glory. Though maybe not Balerion as he did burn Harrenhal down." The Lord gestured loosely behind himself with the hand not holding his wine. "The skulls are under the Red Keep, maybe I shall show you one day."
It was Arya who had always longed for dragons and wolves, not Sansa, but the redhead had to admit that the image of watching a dragon flap its powerful wings as it flew over head was captivating. Such a beast must have been a wonder to see, obviously they'd been destroyed just as Petyr's kind had. I should say 'our' kind now, her mind prompted.
"What happened to the swords?" Sansa mused aloud again. She'd never heard of such weapons, surely if they were so mighty they'd have been displayed proudly.
Petyr shrugged. "They passed down from king to king, or occasionally queen, only ever allowed to be viewed or touched by the ruler of a kingdom."
A bad feeling flooded through the young Stark girl then. "So, King Robert has seven of them since he's king of the Seven Kingdoms, or does Prince Doran have one?"
Sansa was horrified to think of what would happen if Joffrey learned the existence of those blades, there would be mass executions of people he'd decided he didn't like just so he could pretend to kill monsters. When the Lord before her shook his head Sansa's heart calmed and she breathed a sigh of relief.
"No." He said in that lightly accented voice of his. "I have six of them." Sansa's eyebrows shot up much to Petyr's amusement. "When my mother told me of the swords it was a sort of bedtime story for myself and Oberyn. While he was content to roll over and go to sleep I didn't like the idea of the humans having so much power over me. I knew my father would never find a way to acquire them, he's not ambitious and would rather keep my mother pregnant than anything else." Petyr sighed. "Over the centuries I have wormed out their locations and taken them. Oberyn didn't just take a prince's body for Elaria and his own fun, he took it so we had access to Dorne's sword."
That sounded like the Petyr Baelish everybody talked about, the man who could play the long game, who could think everything down to the very last second and took what he wanted. Frankly Sansa was glad he had these swords, better to be in the hands of a demon than Joffrey's.
"Which one is missing?" Sansa asked after another sip of her own wine.
Petyr smirked. "Ironically, perhaps, the only one remaining is the North's. Winter lets the North hide things well it would seem. It could be inside Winterfell Hall, it could be buried deep under Mole's Town, it could even be somewhere in Castle Black." Yes, the North was vast and full of places to hide things where they'd never be seen again. "I suspect Winterfell Hall to be its likely home though, best to keep it close."
"I've never heard of such a sword."
The Starks were proud of their history and had many weapons on display throughout their home to prove just that. Sansa had grown up there, walked every hall, and yet she'd never seen or heard anything about a demon killing sword. Maybe Father doesn't even know it exists?
"And I doubt you ever would." He commented pulling her out of her thoughts. "It is secret after all."
"What will you do once you have it?" She asked because Sansa knew he'd have some kind of plan.
He flashed her that smile again, the one which said she was asking the right questions.
"Hide it just as I have with the others. I will not be murdered for the crime of having been born."
Sansa could understand his sentiment, she wouldn't wish to be either, no one would. If Joffrey had ever found out about the swords chaos would ensue, innocents who were both demon and human would have died while the blond fool passed himself of as a god of some kind. No, these swords were better off with Petyr, where they'd not hurt anyone. It did also make Petyr the most powerful demon in existence as well but that was neither here nor there.
She noticed Petyr watching her then, his soothing green eyes on her while she continued with her meal; is he not going to eat?
"What else would you like to know, my sweetling?"
If Sansa hadn't have known better she'd have thought Lord Baelish to be enjoying himself. Was it the fact he'd finally gotten his soulmate in the same room or that he'd slipped into the role of teacher for her new world? With a man like Petyr Baelish it could have honestly being either … or more likely both.
The red-haired Stark sat in quiet a long time and was once again pleased for the meal which kept her occupied a moment. What did she want to know next? Sansa doubted he was even this honest with his own siblings and clearly he didn't sound fond of his parents, or his father at least. Sansa had spent almost the entire conclave thinking of her questions and now she had so many that she didn't know where to start. Eventually, though, she settled on a topic which had become almost paramount to her.
"Earlier you said that I am an empath." She began slowly, voice soft and gentle. "While we were in the conclave I found I was feeling people's emotions rather than interpreting, and the more I think about it the more I realize I have done that my entire life." None of that was a question, Sansa. "Can all demons do that, all of us?"
Sansa really needed to get used to saying 'us', part of her still questioned why she'd accepted it so freely but deep in her heart she knew it all to be true.
"No, sweetling, it is unique to you and a few others." He stated as if it were all very simple and to him it probably was. Behind Petyr the fire crackled as a log broke. "Humans can be born with an innate talent for chess, archery, swordsmanship or poetry, for languages or strategy. They aren't things no one else has aptitude for but you may be the only painter in your family." Petyr cleared his throat. "It is the same for us, sweetling, though our innate skills are somewhat more categorized and while perfectly natural to us they seem like magic to humans." Sansa's brow furrowed in a lack of understanding. "As a species we all have a set of … base abilities shall we call them. We can control our ageing process, we don't actually need to eat-" Well that explains why he's not dining with me. "- nor can we get drunk, we heal rapidly and are immune to all illnesses. Then there is our sense for our soulmate, sometimes even what they are thinking." That nugget of information answered a few more of the teenager's inquiries. "What you're asking about is more specific. There are five – let's call them adroit natures because it sounds more impressive – though then vary in prowess from demon to demon. Empaths," he gestured swiftly to Sansa, "like you, are considered rare. Have you noticed that when you stop thinking about it you don't notice the emotions as much?" Sansa just nodded but Petyr hadn't expected words. "You can interpret and – if desired – alter the feelings in humans, although I expect it will take you some years to figure that out." Petyr ran a large hand through his hair then and Sansa couldn't help but think it adorable. "Then there are Skimmers who are quite common, they have a subconscious ability to detect liars, falsehoods, almost instantly even if someone has convinced themselves. It's a useless talent in my opinion since anyone can learn to do that human or demon. Wayfarers are quite common as well. They can walk through the dreams of humans while they sleep and influence the brain for a short time, but if the person wakes up then they're tossed out again."
"Because two souls can't be in the same body?" Sansa ventured which got the boldest grin she'd ever seen from the older man; he was proud of her.
"Very good, my love, very good, you're learning." He took a sip of his red wine. "Oberyn is an Infiltrator which is rarer. While the Wayfarers have to wait for a person to fall asleep, he doesn't. Infiltrators live up to their names and can essentially possess a human for a short period, can see their memories and basically do what they like since the human is forced to sleep."
Lord Baelish paused then to drink from his glass and Sansa found she'd leaned forward to eagerly hear more.
"And which are you?"
The man with ash at his temples smirked as though he'd expected that question. "What I am is called and Exhort or occasionally a Persuader; we're probably the rarest. We can implant thoughts or ideas into others, if we're very familiar with the human we can do it from quite some distance as well. How do you think I summon my staff when I need them? I can use it to steer a person into doing as I please, make a man go and kill his entire family or turn someone into the perfect leader. You know how you can wake up craving a certain food and you just keep thinking about it until you go and get it? It's like that, a subconscious suggestion which lingers and grows until you fulfil it."
Comforting, said Sansa's brain. "If that's true then why do you have a conclave, why not just make them do things if you are the puppet master?"
Clearly he'd heard that phrase used for himself before and it made his green eyes twinkle.
"Some humans are more strong-willed than others, my sweetling, and so are more resilient to the ideas, those people also just happen to be the secret holders. They need to see the benefits and have them proven to be real before they'll jump to the suggestion; it's to be commended really. As I said though, they're natural to us and witchcraft to humans, something evil." A pause, small and hardly there. "Also, since I anticipate your next question, these talents only work on humans, that is why you could not read myself or my brother during the conclave."
Sansa remembered the expressions on their faces when she'd tried then, how they'd just stared at her. Sansa had wondered if they'd known what she was trying to do and now it seemed that they had.
Petyr's silky voice reached her again, his smile evident in his voice. "You should know it is considered very rude, but you didn't mean to be so I will forgive you, my love."
There it was again, him calling her 'my love'. Why did he keep saying that? At first she'd brushed it off as just another of his endearments like 'sweetling' and 'my dear' but his eyes changed when he used the word love, they grew – for lack of a better term – loving.
"Why do you call me 'my love'?" She demanded far more ferociously than intended. Joffrey had kept calling her 'his lady' before he'd turned vile. "Why? You say our souls are the same, meant to be together, fine, but that doesn't mean you know anything about me. It doesn't mean you love me. How could you love someone like me, really? I'm just a child, Lord Baelish, the daughter of a man who clearly hates you and who has only ever left Winterfell Hall once before for a trip where she realized the dream she'd had since childhood would likely leave her as the shortest lived queen in history."
Sansa hadn't meant to get so worked up but her emotions continued to bounce around inside her. Her heart yearned for a man she hardly knew, a man who wasn't human and had shown her than neither was she. Petyr Baelish was a High Lord, and even with the knowledge that she wasn't human and did have the capacity to hold her own in the conclave Sansa still felt as though she were a silly, little girl when compared to him.
The dark-haired man chuckled but not with malice. "Oh, Sansa." That seriousness returned to his eyes then. "Humans would call it love at first sight. I have been in love with you since I burst through that crowd and found your father stood guard over you. How could I not love you? Eyes the color of ice, hair like liquid fire, a young woman who has already started to realize she is capable of far more than those around her have ever believed."
The words meant the world to Sansa but she still wasn't entirely convinced. When she spoke again her words were much calmer though laced with a touch of sorrow.
"But you don't know me. Those are just things you've noticed about my body and something you started me thinking. What if you hate the way I laugh, or we disagree on every topic set in front of us?"
Petyr's brow furrowed as he wondered how anyone could ever not like her, she was wonderful.
"I have heard you laugh, my sweetling, and I adore it. As for if we disagree, I hope we do. Debating with you is sure to be a most enjoyable and tough evening."
In Sansa's experience 'debating' was more along the lines of arguing with Arya until their mother broke in and stopped the war … which Arya always started. Still, Petyr had to want more from her than some late night conversation. She had to have something else. Sansa wanted to just accept the love and kindness he seemed to show her, but the distrust Arya had placed inside her mind topped with her mother's scepticism lingered on.
"Is it because I can marry Joffrey? If I'm queen then I can help you spread whatever plan you have."
Petyr sighed, sighed as if he'd been defeated. Until that very second Sansa hadn't known Petyr was capable of such a sound. He was quiet for a long time and then, finally, his green eyes started to twinkle again and he broke the silence.
"While it would be most beneficial to have you wed him, I could not bear it." He breathed. "I want everything, Sansa, and to a demon their soulmate is everything."
Oh that made Sansa's heart soar, she was a daughter, a sister and a cousin but she'd never expected to be someone's everything. It was the childhood princess dream, right, to be loved entirely by someone. For a moment Sansa had thought she'd find that with Joffrey but it was a ship which had sailed quickly.
"You'd really give up on me being a queen and furthering your plans?" Maybe her mother's cynicism had attached itself to her a little too much.
He smirked. "Oh sweetling, if you want to be a queen I shall make you one, but I will not have you marry Joffrey."
"Little possessive." Sansa hadn't meant to let that comment out even if it had been in a hushed whisper.
Petyr breathed out a laugh at that, a tiny sound which soon ended when he picked up his wine glass again. For a demon he looked rather angelic all back-lit by the fire.
"Forgive me, but I cannot help it. Your Aunt Lysa has been eager to have me marry her since we were children – well, she was a child I was just wearing one. I should probably accept her want and marry her-"
"No!" Sansa cut him off before she even knew why.
The word had just burst out as if her mind hadn't had any say in it, like it- like it had all been her heart, her soul.
Lord Baelish regarded her a time before he finally broke the quietude which threatened to linger between them.
"Do you understand now?" He asked her softly. "See how your entire being couldn't withstand it?"
The redhead couldn't understand quite how fast the possessive urge to keep him for herself had risen up. It had just surged from nowhere.
Petyr reached over to take her hand, it was just as warm as the other time's he'd held her hand but this time it sent a spark of jubilation tingling up her arm and set her soul ablaze.
"We are designed to be together, Sansa."
"Still doesn't mean you'll like me … or that you won't get bored."
Petyr sighed and downed what was left of his second glass. "Sweetling, I'm starting to feel as though you're not listening. How could I ever get bored with you? The thought is ludicrous. I have already firmly decided like you, I love you." He ran a hand down his face then subconsciously patted down the edges of his moustache. "My brother has a promiscuous, happy-go-lucky way about him and so does Elaria. I am highly intelligent, deceptively dangerous and blindly ambitious. We always have other halves which mirror us."
She had to hold back her laugh. "I am none of those things."
Petyr tilted his head a little to his left. "Oh Sweetling, I beg to differ. The only difference that I see is your ambition hasn't quite come to the surface yet. It will though, don't worry. You were quiet at the start of the conclave and not just because you have more than most on your mind, by the end, however, you were talking circles around our Qarth friend. Have more faith in yourself, Sansa, you may be a demon but you are also a Stark. Formidable."
Quite frankly Sansa felt as though this walking mystery of a man had more faith in her than most of the people had her entire life. Most just saw her as Ned Stark's silly little girl, his sons were all known by name but his daughters had been balled just as the violent one and the innocent one. No one had ever called her formidable before but Sansa liked it, it made her feel special.
"Is it true you took Lothor, Armeca, Olyvar and Ros in?" She asked completely out of the blue.
Both Petyr and Sansa knew it was a perfectly random question, but they also knew that in that moment he'd answer any question she could possibly throw at him.
"Yes." Lord Baelish nodded. "Lothor a year or so before I took this body." He gestured loosely at himself. "Armeca a couple of years later, then Oly and Ros just after my body's twenty-sixth birthday. Why?"
The redhead shrugged. "Just wondering how many wards and children you already have in this semi-immortal family of yours." She flashed him a smile mostly to prove to him that she wasn't angry or upset for some odd reason. "I'm going to be learning a lot of names since you have so many siblings and I suppose you're also the uncle of the Sand Snakes."
Lord Baelish chuckled. "Just the four wards, though they're more like staff than wards. Lothor is rather closed-lipped and very loyal. No children though, I am a demon after all."
That had Sansa's brow furrowed deeply because what did that have to do with anything. "I don't understand."
"Soulmates can only reproduce together, Sweetling. Only you can bear my children and only I can sire yours." Petyr's voice remained level and clear.
"So if I did marry Harrold or Joffrey everyone would just assume me barren."
Her words were a statement more than a question as her face fell. The dark-haired man in front of her simply nodded again. Sansa didn't know how to feel about this revelation. She would either have his baby or remain childless all her life. Was that cruel? Could Lady Sansa really view it as a cruelty to herself though when he would experience the same thing? Then again Sansa was still a maiden and truly hadn't thought about children before. She'd helped raise Rickon a little but that and the occasional visit from her – frankly crazy – Aunt Lysa and Robin she'd not had much experience with children at all. Of course Sansa knew that her prime purpose as a wife to any prince or lord was to provide at least one heir, but that had always been a given.
"Are you all right, sweetling?"
She nodded quickly as he jolted her out of her thoughts. "Just thinking, sorry."
"You never need to apologize to me; to anyone. Would you care for dessert?"
Is he trying to change the subject? He is, isn't he. The blue-eyed beauty peered down to her plate then to find that she'd actually finished her meal and had been just sitting there with her knife and fork held lamely.
"No, thank you, Lord Baelish."
Petyr tilted his head again. "What did I ask?"
"Petyr." Sansa corrected herself easily.
Oh saying his name felt so right, and the smile he gave her warmed her heart.
She was surprised when he abruptly rose to his full height still backlit by the glowing fireplace, she watched him though, watched him entirely with those cerulean orbs of hers. He slipped off his purple banyan and set it over the back of a settee not too far away before he returned to her side and held out a hand for her to take.
"Dance with me?"
"There's no music." She pointed out which earned a smirk from the older man.
"Indulge me."
So Sansa did, she wanted to be near him. Sansa's soft hand slipped into Petyr's larger, warmer one. She let him pull her up and wrap his arms around her slender waist so they could sway in a soft, circular dance.
"Listen." He breathed. "Listen to the fire crackling, to the night breeze as it beats on the windows, to our hearts. Is that not music, sweetling?"
It was music, so comforting, such sweet and ethereal music which had Sansa settled against Petyr's chest before she knew it, her head against his lean but strong chest while the comfort of scent of mint and the fire enveloped her. Sansa's parents and siblings had always loved her but their love had never made her feel like this, so entirely happy, like the world had turned silent where only she and Petyr existed to enjoy the calm. Sansa never wanted it to end.
"I feel as though you don't believe me still when I say that I love you. Please believe it, Sansa, I need you to." Green eyes caressed her blue ones. "I do love you, very much, my beautiful sweetling."
Sansa took a deep breath as she pressed her cheek further into his shirt clad chest. "I believe you. I want to stay with you but I can't, I can't leave my family." She didn't look up. "I can't just not go back. If I don't they'll send Robb for me or worse, Father will come looking himself."
Baelish breathed out the smallest of laughs, a sound Sansa wasn't even fully sure she'd heard.
"I never said you would be forced to remain at Harrenhal, of course not." The two continued to sway before the fireplace. "You are free to go to Winterfell as often as you like, my love. I just want us together."
Sansa stopped and sighed, something which had the elder man snap his eyes down to her in an instant. Petyr still seemed to glow thanks to the roaring fire but Sansa knew him to be far from angelic.
"Maybe I shouldn't but I want that as well." She'd only known him a few days. "Doesn't change the fact I need to go back to Winterfell."
Lord Baelish nodded and pressed a light kiss to her pale forehead, such a gentle touch but it had a blissful wave of happiness run down her spine.
"I understand this is unorthodox, all other demons don't have to hide what they are from their families but we shall be together, my sweetling." The man with ash at his temple took a breath. "After the conclave ends you will return to Winterfell as you wish and I will return to King's Landing. I spend more time there than here anyway." Petyr cupped her cheek lovingly: his hands weren't calloused like her fathers but they weren't exactly the soft, void of any hard work, hands most lords had. "We will soon find a way to be together rather than you being married off to that little blond cunt."
Nobody had ever used that word around her, it wasn't the type of word gentry nor peasants used around teenage girls lest they somehow corrupt her. However, Sansa didn't care, it was a word not a rabid dog.
"You really don't like him, do you."
"I suspect even Cersei has some level of hate for him." Said Petyr simply.
The older man tilted her chin up then with a single finger which held a gold and amethyst ring. He gazed at her a moment with those bold eyes of his then kissed his beautiful girl properly. Petyr's moustache tickled her skin as the kiss deepened and he smirked into it when Sansa let out an uncontrollable mew as he pulled the teenager flush against himself. Baelish tightened his grip on her narrow waist and Sansa couldn't help but grip the fabric at his shoulders. Petyr took the opportunity to slip his tongue between her lips, he'd waited so long to kiss his soulmate and so he'd take this chance to map her perfect mouth now he had it. The dark-haired man longed to dominate the kiss but the time wasn't right, in that moment his sweet Sansa needed gentle kisses and loving touches. Their foreheads touched every now and again when they separated for air before letting their lips brush against each other's once more. Her scent flooded his senses, their kiss was innocent like a newly born child, not the sort of kiss Petyr was used to, not the sort of kiss he'd had in over a thousand years, but that didn't stop him basking in it.
Sansa felt her heart warm with each kiss, felt as though something which had been hidden from her all her life had suddenly been returned to its frightful place. Eventually though the two were forced to part for oxygen – that was if they really needed to breath, Sansa had no clue any longer – and their eyes met. Rich green gazed into bold cerulean but Petyr's hands remained firmly around young Sansa's waist to keep her close.
"Sansa, stay with me tonight." He was close enough that his hot breath caressed her cheek. "All I ask is you allow me to hold you nothing more."
Most noble ladies – well, the ones with any decency – would have said no, it was completely improper but the redhead had thrown proper out the window when she'd accepted she wasn't human. Silently she nodded and Petyr's usual smirk turned to a real smile of happiness as he smoothly lifted her up bridal style and carried her into his bedchamber.