Out of her still soaked hair fell several water-drops and traveled down her nape; she could barely feel them. Auburn tresses like fire and yet, cold as ice. Nonchalantly, she stroked the wooden surface of the desk and looked outside the small window. This is my prison. The view was as poor and empty as her heart. Her thoughts roamed to the North, pondering what her family was up to, what their plans were of finding her. She sighed. He was right, they will never find me here.
Kella had left a while ago, after having helped her with her bath. Sansa looked over her shoulder; the door was unlocked but what would be the point of running? She was supposed to become a princess, not some runaway girl that wandered the roads and forests in danger of being caught, killed or raped. She looked outside the window again and released a deep breath; he had said she wouldn't have to stay here for long. Did that mean he would take her back to her family…and impress my mother? That plan sounded too foolish for someone like him.
After a while, Sansa heard the door creaking as it flung open. She didn't have to look to know who it was; his reflection on the window was clear enough. He didn't greet her; he only stepped inside and shut the door behind him. With every step he took, the floor crepitated. He must have stopped when he was right behind her chair. She watched his hand tracing the hollow of her neck; it made her shudder but she didn't react. His forefinger trailed her skin all the way up to her cheek and pressed against it, ever so gently. His thumb rested below her chin and he guided her head to tilt back so she would look up at him. She obeyed, though the oceanic blue eyes that met his grey-green ones were blank; or at least she tried to appear that way. He seemed to be studying her for a short moment before releasing her. He moved to stand right next to the desk so they could both see each other properly. A smirk had returned to his sharp features.
"Kella used the right soap. Your hair smells like roses. It is rather fitting with the colour."
She didn't know what to say to that. Therefore, noticing her silence, he averted his attention to another subject.
"I am sure you have many questions. I trust I will not be able to answer them all, but we can give it a try, shall we, sweetling?" There was mockery in his tone but she had started to getting used to it.
She simply nodded. So many questions and yet she didn't know where to start. He leaned against the desk, with his arms folded against his chest. Amused, he watched her trying to articulate her first question.
"Um…" she bit her bottom lip. Stop being so weak, she scolded herself. Look at him in the eyes. And so she did. "How long will I be here?"
He arched an eyebrow. No wonder he wasn't expecting this to be the first question. "A few days. Maybe a week." He responded easily.
"Why am I here?" She managed to emphasise on the first word as much as possible.
His lips parted and revealed his perfectly shaped white teeth. He was grinning so enigmatically that it made her shiver. She shifted on her chair, to ease out of her discomfort.
"Do you know who our King is, sweetling? And his Hand?"
It was Sansa who had to smirk sarcastically now. Even Arya had such essential knowledge.
"King Robert of the House Baratheon and his Hand Jon Arryn." She answered nevertheless, to see where he was getting at.
"Yes. King Robert has a son, Joffrey, who had grown to the age of getting betrothed and eventually wed." Petyr's eyes sparkled so brightly that she had to look down briefly.
"I don't understand…" she began but he raised his hand and stopped her.
"How would you feel if I told you that you are going to be a Queen?"
Sansa's mouth opened but no words came out. She stared at him, in both surprise and disbelief. The puzzle started making sense, if only she put the pieces together correctly. She puffed in realisation of what he meant.
"You are going to pretend you are the hero who found me? And offer me to wed Prince Joffrey?" She blinked, confused. "They will never believe you. You could be lying and I could be anyone."
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Yes. Therefore King Robert will summon your father to the capital to reassure your identity."
His mention of her father took her aback. Infuriated, she tossed up from the chair. "My father is missing and you know that. I told you that." She tried to calm down her enraged breath but it was no use. She was new to such malevolent conspiracies but he seemed certain of the obscure paths they were going to cross."Did you have anything to do with his disappearance?"
She must have started shaking since Petyr grasped her shoulders and steadied her. "Your father is going to return home soon. Surprisingly, I wasn't the one who wanted to harm him." More vague words, she thought. "He will be fine."
Sansa's sight was blurry with tears when she looked up at him. How can I trust him?
"You needn't worry about your father now, sweetling. Everything will be more clear to you, in time." With those words he seemed to be sealing their conversation on the matter for now. There were still loopholes that needed to be filled but she had to wait. She nodded and closed her eyes, swallowing down her anger. Why is this happening to me? His fingertips were wandering on her neck, on her cheek, on her lips but her emotional fatigue didn't let her react. Chills went down her spine when his icy lips pressed on the corner of her mouth and then her chin.
"Why…" He silenced the rest of her words with his mouth on hers. His large hands held her cheeks and she heard his breath hitching at the contact. She savoured the familiar minty taste, just like the first time he had kissed her. It was more gentle now but nevertheless, she turned away after a short moment. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and kept her head bowed down. His wicked ways were conquering her innocence; his expert seduction made her weak to the knees and ill at ease at the same time. His look reflected his longing and hunger; that only scared her and made her shiver again. She wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive position.
"What happened w…with you and my mother?" Her voice was shaky again. Seven Hells!
"Sansa…"
"You said I could ask you anything." A warm single tear rolled down her pale cheek. "You owe me that."
His eyebrows furrowed but the mockery and amusement had vanished from his expression. He sat down on her bed and motioned to her to sit next to him. She shook her head but he insisted. Cautiously and reluctantly, she gave in and sat down. For a moment, he studied her carefully and she took the opportunity to do the same. Locks of silver would appear amongst his short black hair and the stubble that covered his chin and partly his cheeks. She had noticed that his eyes gleamed differently depending on the situation, like a mask that either fell or became one with his true face.
"When I was eight, I was sent to Riverrun as a ward. My father was proud." He began so she had to jump out of her thoughts and listen to him; could this be a way to understand him better? "When living under the same roof, awkward situations seem to occur." He paused and he looked away from her. Was he referring to his feelings for her mother? Could it be that after all these years, it was still troubling him? Perhaps even hurting him? "Do you know that your mother was first betrothed with Brandon Stark? Your uncle."
She nodded weakly. She couldn't help but notice that the corner of his mouth had curved in repulsion of the name he had just spoken of; or that's what she guessed.
"I challenged him to a duel for her hand. I mean why not, I had read all the stories. The little hero always beats the big villain in all the stories." He chuckled. "We all do such foolish mistakes. In the end, she wouldn't even let him kill me. He left me with a scar to remember him by and off they went."
Their eyes met again. His mask was on but somehow Sansa believed that he had spoken the truth. It was the truth that had created this mask; she could see that now.
"I didn't see her again after that. I learnt about her wedding to Ned Stark." He shrugged. "I had dared to dream the future we could have and the heirs she would give me." His vain smile was back, covering all the emotions such a sentimental confession could arise. "I may not have earned her hand but your mother gave me a more precious gift; one women can give only once." He raised his hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheekbone.
Such words took her aback. Her mother had always been too dutiful to ever give her maidenhead to someone she wasn't married to.
"No…" She murmured, distracting herself from the touch of his hand. "No, she wouldn't do that."
"And yet."
She gaped at him blankly. Could my mother have done such a thing? She always said that Petyr Baelish had been like a little brother to her; nothing more. She set her disbelief aside and simply nodded, choosing to end their conversation there. From the window she could see that the sun was about to set in the west and hide until it was morrow. My first day at the Fingers, she thought. Away from my family, feeling helpless, trapped in a plan that I didn't choose for myself.
Soon after, he stood up from her bed and walked to the door. "Dinner will be served soon. I will see you downstairs." His toneless voice sent a fearful shiver down her spine. He didn't expect an answer; he plainly walked out of her room, leaving her alone in the dim light of sunset.
The spot on the bed on which he was sat was still warm. She felt the fur with her hand; if only his heart was just as warm. His past feelings for her mother didn't clear the image of his motive but at least it helped her earn a better understanding of his persona.
Kella had luckily left her a brush. She used it to brush her hair until darkness started overcoming the day. Then, she descended to the hall, to find Petyr already seated at the table and Kella serving tonight's dish. It was a disk filled with lemon cakes that caught Sansa's immediate attention. Kella must have noticed how her expression changed; and no wonder so has he.
"Lord Baelish knew you like lemon cakes, child." The woman said with a toothy smile. "Sit down, enjoy them."
"That's enough." Petyr gave her a stern look, so the woman bowed and left the room. Only then did Sansa notice the paper he was holding. There was a seal upon it but she couldn't make out of which House it was; was it a stag?
She sat down and filled her plate with two lemon cakes. She tried to focus on them and avoid looking at him; he kept rereading whatever was written on the paper while taking sips of his goblet of wine. The silence was frustrating and eerie but at least she had the opportunity to enjoy her meal. The familiar taste of lemons certainly felt pleasing and homey.
"I have some news for you, sweetling." His sudden declaration almost made her jump. She took a gulp of wine to swallow down the bite that almost stuck in her throat and looked at him through the candlelight; it made his features seem more fierce and enigmatic.
"Is…is it about my father?" She asked apprehensively but to her disappointment, he shook his head.
"Gods, no." He snorted and rolled the paper closed. "It's news from the capital."
Sansa raised her eyebrows with surprise. Why should I care about news from the capital? Those are his plans, not mine. His wide sinister smirk showed that he was deeply satisfied with those news.
"Jon Arryn is dead."
