Sorry for the long update wait, my first and appreciated follower BSG75. Shit hit the fan and it took a minute to clean it all off.
The Difference Between Black, White, And Gray
Chapter 2: Love lost
Petyr watched a small stage intently while the serving maids extinguished all but two torches. Sorcha had asked him to escort her to a seedy tavern not far from his brothel under the guise of a whore.
"Go have a seat in the front. This performance is for you," she ordered once they were inside. Lord Baelish had followed her instructions and now he grew impatient as the time crept by.
His interest was peaked when flames encircled the stage and two female acrobats twisted onto view. The one on the left was unmistakably the princess. The pattern she had painted on her face was fierce, intimidating even. Tribal markings ran along the sharp angles of her cheeks in mysterious black. She wore a simple unfinished leather strip across her bosom and glittering strands of beads barely veiled her nether parts.
Petyr couldn't help but gasp along with the crowd. Before he could recover his wits Sorcha had produced a heavy iron chain with a cloth ball at the end. She lifted it and banged it once upon the stage-Petyr could hear the heavy thud of iron behind the rags. Her partner stepped forward and sent two more bone chilling echoes though the room.
The fire burned out upon the stage and cast an impenetrable darkness across the tavern. Then all was illuminated when two large streams of fire shot from the acrobats' mouths and set a bundle of wood on fire. Sitting atop was an ornate bronze bowl of water.
The women lit their weapons and began a dance so fluid and precise that it caused Petyr to lean forward in astonishment. They bobbed and weaved with such precision and grace that his head snapped around just to keep up.
Then the acrobats threw their weapons into the air and stood on their hands. They caught the massive chains around their ankles-then they began to attack. Sorcha encircled her partner's thigh with her chain and sent her spinning down into a defensive position. The acrobat quickly recovered her instrument and began to ward off Sorcha's wild attacks.
Sorcha was thrown off balance and her partner knocked one flaming ball into the fire. A drum thrummed from behind the curtains and directed the women back into their starting positions.
"One out!" the barkeep called as he took center stage. A boy came out and untethered the steaming ball from Sorcha's chain as the crowd cheered and whistled.
Silence fell when the drums stopped and the women began their dance once again. Sorcha's eyes were wild and there was a ferocity in her movements that had not been there before. Petyr's heart raced and he clenched his hands in his lap; he was practically panting from exhilaration.
The women moved like snakes as they wove tight circles around each other. They were in a frenzy with the effort to claim victory. Sorcha's opponent cried out sharply when she took a blow to the hip. The smell of burnt flesh reached Petyr's nostrils as his eyes greedily devoured the scene.
Minutes passed before Sorcha wrapped her chain around the two ends of her opponent's. The flaming balls swung around her shoulder and flew towards Sorcha's back, causing princess to thrust herself forward and grunt with the effort of stopping their momentum. Petyr held his breath as the flames licked her skin, hovering for what seemed like hours.
Then Sorcha was back in control. She let out a fierce battle cry as she swung the flames back around and thrust them deep into the bowl of water. Bronze glittered as the contents rained down over the tavern. The charred sticks broke and sent embers flying while the bowl landed noisily in the back of the tavern.
"You bitch!" Sorcha's opponent roared, leaping forward to engage the princess once again.
"The match is over, Vivien wins!" The owner screamed, though it did nothing to stop the fight that had broken out on stage.
The acrobat rushed Sorcha and lifted her high into the air. When her lithe body came crashing to the stage the princess took the acrobat with her. The other woman twisted her fist into the princess' hair and ripped the wig right off her head, releasing the waterfall of black curls underneath. Sorcha screamed in outrage and tore the wig off her partner's head in retaliation. Petyr recognized the straight red hair as one of his whores.
The Hound elicited screams as he burst onto the stage in full armor.
"What is going on here?" Sandor roared, though it didn't give the women pause. He sighed and shook his head, watching the two squabble as if he wasn't quite sure if he should be amused or annoyed.
"Come on girls, that's enough," he sighed, dragging the acrobats off stage by the hair and firmly ending the spectacle.
As the curtain closed Petyr came to a shocking realization-he was aroused. Never before had he seen so much fire and determination from a woman, not even Catelyn. Those were always the two traits he admired in his lifelong crush and thought that no other woman could wield such a flame.
This day he discovered that one tiny princess could hold all the fires of hell-and more.
"How could you leave without saying goodbye?" Sorcha mumbled into the Hound's breastplate. Her arms were wrapped firmly around his torso and she was doing her best to crush the man to death.
"After how things ended?" Sandor replied. He removed himself from the princess' grasp and studied her face. He traced a still pink scar above Sorcha's eyebrow and fixed her with a stern expression. "Who did this to you?"
"Don't push me away and voice concerns at the same time, Sandor, it breaks my heart," Sorcha sucked in a deep breath to continue, "Don't you remember promising that we would always be close? I upheld my end."
"Well, it's easier for you-"
"No the hell it isn't! All you have to do is wait for me somewhere. I, on the other hand, have to sneak past my own guards, my mother's guard's, a network of spies, and the King's guard! Even after you ripped out my heart I would come every night to go adventuring, because you will always be my most trusted and beloved friend."
The Hound growled and balled one hand into a fist. "Stop it! You already know my reasons."
Sorcha's eyes brimmed with tears. "If that is your will, I shall respect it."
"Am I interrupting something?" Petyr Baelish's voice deflated the tension like an elephant would a souffle.
"What are you doing here, snake?" Sandor responded angrily. He quickly moved in front of Sorcha to form a protective barrier. He knew what would happen if the late king's daughter was discovered playing a dangerous and violent sport, wearing and outfit that showed more than a common whore.
"Calm down, Sandor," Sorcha snapped, "Lord Baelish is my personal guard. Please do not insult him."
"It's quite alright, Princess, I doubt The Hound has put down his sword long enough to learn manners," Petyr sniffed as he took Sorcha's arm.
The woman immediately recoiled and glared at both men. "You two are horrible!"
"Maybe, but he's worse," Sandor nodded at Petyr, "You've really lowered your standards, Princess."
"That title sounds like poison on your lips." Sorcha's voice quavered despite her defiant stance.
"Then why don't you kiss me?"
Sorcha's eyes hardened and she wadded her hands into the beads of her skirt. "I hate it when you act like this," Sorcha turned to Petyr and offered her arm.
Sensing her anger, Petyr delicately accepted the Princess and wrapped a soothing arm around her shoulders. Sorcha cast him a sideways glance but permitted the intimacy. "Do you mind if we spend the night in your quarters at the brothel?"
Petyr glanced over his shoulder one last time and smiled at Sandor's outraged expression. "Whatever you desire, my dear," he whispered comfortingly in Sorcha's ear before leading her out into the noisy night air.
The glowing sunlight warmed Sorcha back into consciousness. She kept her eyes closed as she let the golden beams cradle her, wondering why the servant hadn't woken her when she opened the curtains. Then the memories assaulted her along with a familiar throbbing in temples. Too much wine..she thought, her realization making the sunlight suddenly painful.
Movement on the other side of the bed startled her and drew her thoughts away from The Hound. She calmed when she remembered retiring to the brothel. Naturally, her only choice was to share a bed with Lord Baelish. A whore never knows when to shut up.
Petyr stirred without waking and wrapped a tan arm around Sorcha's waist. The blanket fell from around his shoulders and exposed a trim physique. Sorcha's mouth fell open as she struggled to remember the full events of the night but found only blackness.
Why are we both naked? Oh gods, old and new! Sorcha dressed as quickly as she could but only found her stage costume. A strange sadness settled over her along with the fierce need to be alone. She felt as if Sandor had raised a mighty paw and clawed her heart out once again. It only got worse from there; now she found herself in the middle of a scandalous mess. She shuddered to think how Petyr would try to use the incident as leverage in a power play.
Sorcha took another look at Petyr Baelish's naked form and cringed inwardly. He was quite handsome, down to every last little detail, but it did not change the fact he was a cruel and treacherous man. A dark feeling pooled in Sorcha's gut as her full distrust for Petyr screamed to the front of her mind. Why would he give himself up? Why would he after saving himself for all those years? For her? Then a more shocking thought revealed its horror.
Sorcha clutched her stomach in fear and rushed back to the bed despite the gag at the back of her throat. She threw back the covers and sighed in relief. The telltale stain sat neatly on the edge of the bed; apparently Petyr was mindful about where he ejaculated.
"Princess? Why are you..." Petyr awoke and quickly came to the same conclusion. His eyes wasted no time in taking in the incriminating. For the first time in his life words failed him.
"What do you remember? Don't lie-I deserve the truth," Sorcha demanded.
"Nothing past our entry," Petyr whispered. He slid out from under the covers and quickly pulled a clean tunic over his head.
"I'll kill you myself if you breathe a word of this to anyone-for the rest of your life. Understand?"
"Are you afraid it will ruin your chances with that scarred dog?"
Sorcha's eyes blazed as she tore one of Petyr's tunics from his wardrobe. "I judge a man by his heart, though I do find Sandor attractive. You are forbidden to speak ill of him in my presence. If you do, I'll bend you over my knee and spank your bare ass. Try me if you have doubts; I'd be more than happy to oblige."
"What a Queen you will make," Petyr remarked. He was testing his boundaries to cover the turmoil that raged within. The events of the night before replayed themselves vividly before his eyes and stole his confidence.
"Are your rewards not satisfactory, Lord Baelish? Or would you prefer a fool to take the throne so you can keep striving to become puppet master?" Sorcha snapped, "A game in which Varys will always be your better, might I add."
Petyr deflated and averted his eyes to the ground. Sorcha caught that familiar glimmer that she had watched closely since she was a girl. It was his sadness, a heavy stone that he wore around his neck every moment of every day.
The Princess understood, she had her own stone from which she could never be freed. Seeing Petyr's weight take its toll pushed her over the edge. Tears bubbled up to the surface and spilled down her porcelain face in silence.
"Princess?" Petyr responded politely. He crossed the room in swift strides and moved to hold Sorcha's hand but she swatted him away.
"I don't need your coddling, Lord Baelish, you know I don't appreciate false gestures."
"You seemed more than content to let me hold you a little over two years ago," Petyr reminded. He remembered that night perfectly; he had been spying on a visiting noble when the Princess had barged in on him in a fit of tears.
"What troubles you so, dear child?" Petyr asked smoothly, masking his surprise at her arrival.
"Who are you spying on now?" Sorcha whispered back viciously, obviously lashing out in any way she could.
Petyr pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently removed the tears from Sorcha's red cheeks. "Now, now, this won't do," he whispered and cradled her in one arm. He felt the Princess ease into his touch and smiled in the dark.
"My heart is broken, thanks to this damnable curse of royal lineage. I'm not even going to be queen anymore yet my name still strips me of all joy," Sorcha lamented.
"What are you talking about, dear princess?" Petyr urged as Sorcha buried her face in his chest, overcome by another bout of tears.
"It's Sandor, he refuses to ask for my hand. He said my father would rather behead him than give his daughter away to a monster."
"He is right, you know. Your duties as a princess require you to marry into a prominent family," Petyr reminded.
"But Sandor is everything I've ever wanted." Sorcha's voice was flat and hoarse, a sharp contrast to the whining Petyr received from his whores. "It infuriates me to no end that I cannot take what I want. It makes me feel imprisoned."
"Shhh, enough of this talk, Princess. It could get you in trouble."
"I don't care, I've given up. I'd rather die now than suffer many long years of this agony. I don't want to be sold off to some pig and have him rut at me every night, bare his children, perform for his friends like my mother does for her 'King.'"
"Your mother loves you enough not to pair you with a beast," Petyr placated. His ears strained to hear a faint conversation through the wall but found this interaction to be far more rewarding. Somewhere in the future he would have an ace up his sleeve, something that has saved his life multiple times before.
"Anyone who would damn me to a life of constraint is a beast in my opinion," Sorcha stubbornly insisted.
"My dear, you're looking at your situation all wrong."
"And you would tell me how to see?" Sorcha asked incredulously.
"Well, all you see now is a cage. If you stopped fighting the bars long enough to inspect them, then you might just find a way to slip through." Petyr hoped the Princess couldn't feel his heart hammering in his ribcage. She had turned to face him and their noses were less than an inch apart. The lamplight highlighted her stunning prismatic eyes and lustrous dark curls and lent her an ethereal effect.
"That was the wisest thing I have ever heard, Petyr Baelish." Sorcha leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on Petyr's cheek, the corner of her mouth touching his own. "Thank you."
"Get to bed, Princess," Petyr commanded numbly. He withdrew his arm from the Princess and gave her a little push. His face was a deathly pale-no woman had ever willingly touched her lips to his own. That wasn't saying much, he had only ever managed to trick one kiss from his beloved before she went off to marry a man she barely knew. The sensation was alien and bared a part of him he couldn't understand.
He vowed to stay far away from the princess from this point forward. He needed to protect himself, protect the part of him that was meant only for Catelyn.
A/N: I've made Sorcha the way she is so it sets the stage for chaos (a princess like that should never sit on the throne!) but sometimes I worry. I have only seen the T.V. rendition of the novels and I'm not familiar with all the fine nuances of Petyr and the rest of the characters that are found in the books. SO, if you spot any OOC or if Sorcha is something Petyr would despise, let me know so I can adjust. It will be extremely appreciated!