"Seems that I have been held, in some dreaming state,

A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake.

No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber

Until I realize that it was you who held me under.

Felt it in my fist, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids

Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs.

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone.

No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love.

No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world."

Standing outside the great doors to their wedding suite, Sansa lifts her hand up to the doorknob, and spots it trembling violently. Her tummy is fluttering, and it takes all her strength to keep the bile from creeping up her throat. Cersei's details about her Lord Husband's betrayal won't leave her mind, but she has no idea what to do about it. Should I stomp in there with these accusations, or maybe let it play out keeping calm and collected? She is confused, and tired already of playing this game. It's takes all her strength not to break down and cry.

As she finally forces her fingers to turn the knob, he appears in the doorway. It seems he was leaving because surprise rushes over his face, and he smiles when he realizes its her.

"Sansa, what are you doing out here?" he asks kindly. "I thought you were with the Queen. I was just coming to fetch you. The hour grows late, and it's time we left."

"She is finished with me," she states, her words coming out shaky and with none of the calmness she would have liked.

He rests his hand on her shoulder ever so lightly guiding her into the room. It burns into her skin. She doesn't want his hands anywhere near her. When they enter she notices all their belongings have been packed and sent away.

The door shuts faintly behind her, and then she can feel his heat at her back. His fingers come up to the nape of her neck, and brush her hair over her shoulder exposing the skin to the cool air. She wishes he would leave her be, but her body responds against her will. He places a soft kiss on the skin there, and it sends shivers down her spine, and to her secret place. In her mind she is screaming, but her body will not listen. She is sickened with herself that it's even happening with this man, this reached, calculating man. She is shocked at the naivety of her wishes, I really thought that this man may have cared for me in the slightest way. How could I have thought a happy marriage might be a possibility for me? He is just like the rest of them, out for only himself, and I am only a pawn in his game. A piece to be toyed with until he no longer has need of me.

Another butterfly kiss, and the shivers magnify to throbs. The ache in her body causes her to lean her backside into him slightly, and she can hear his breath catch in her ear. She's ashamed of her behavior. What would Father think? She asks herself, but she is afraid of the answer.

"No." she sighs suddenly, her mind finally able to pull the reins on her body.

"No?" He questions, now stepping back from her. He pulls her around to face him, and she's staring into those emerald pools, they are dark and wanting. Her hand brushes up against his chest pushing lightly against the tautness there. She wishes she had a dagger, as she would thrust it into his heart, and watch that life fade from those magnetic, lying eyes. Whoever it was that first marred him had the right idea. If they had succeeded her father would still be alive. Sansa means to find out the truth behind that scar before her task is completed.

"Is there something a miss, my sweet?" Sansa tries not to cringe at his affectionate name, but manages to keep her face neutral and her voice steady and innocent, " It's just that...I thought you said we must be going, Ser."

A broad, sardonic smile plays across his lips causing his dimple to crease on his cheek, and she swears she catches a glimpse of knowing reach his eyes. He's figured me out already, she thinks nervously.

And then it's gone, "Ah, you are quite right Sansa. It is late, and the horses wait for us. The Queen kept you too long I'm afraid, but nevertheless we must leave tonight. It's unfortunate for you and I, but I gave my word. We must hold up our end of the deal."

"What deal, my Lord?"

His smile fades now, and his features grow serious, " If I was to have you as my wife, we were to leave King's Landing as soon my affairs were complete. We aren't to come back you know. Yours, as well as my, life here is over."

She knows. It was one of the reasons marrying him became bearable, and she looked forward to leaving this treacherous place. Alas, this is not her path. She will return to King's Landing and continue to be the Lannister's play thing for the rest of her unfortunate life. Even so, she looks up at him directly, hiding the bitterness from her countenance.

"Honestly," She states, "it was one of the high points of becoming your wife. I am glad to be rid of this reached city, and all the people in it."

"I'm glad I could be of service." He replies, one side of his lips raising scornfully. Then without warning he kisses her fully and passionately on the lips. His arms are around her pulling her to him briskly, and she is fully aware of his body. Sansa is so surprised (and repulsed) by his advances that by the time she remembers to respond he's pulled away, leaving her feeling more cold and alone than ever.

It feels as if they've been riding for days, and Sansa sits in her saddle pouting like a child. The sun has tucked itself away behind the mountains, but the sky is still dimly burning on the edge of its black peaks. She turns her face up to the atmosphere and stares as the rest of the sky fades to red, and then purple, and then blue. The stars are starting to appear, and with each time she faces upwards, more dot the sky blinking at her in greeting. The frogs and the crickets are singing their nighttime song, happy for the dampness left over from the rains a few days past. Even with the warmth of the afternoon, the air is muggy and cool, and she can feel a slight chill in her toes. I wish I wore warmer socks, she thinks feeling the cold creep into her boots, and up her thighs.

Petyr rides in front of her, his back straight in his saddle. His body gracefully sways with the movements of his horse, and he hasn't spoken a word since they've left King's Landing. Nor has he turned his head back at her to even see if she still rides with him. Just behind her, she can hear the gentle rolling of the wagon wheels. Two servants man the front, and their luggage is piled high secured by heavy rope. Sansa aches for Shae's presence, and she is saddened for having to leave her behind, the reasons unknown to her. She would have been a great comfort to her in the dreary Eyrie, and she could always count on her advice. She always warned her about Petyr and Sansa finally understands why. Now that she's without it she will have to find her way completely on her own.

Petyr stops his horse, and her stately white mare stops instinctively behind him, lulling her from her thoughts.

He turns in his saddle looking very weary and says, " It is getting too dark. There's a tavern not far up this road with rooms. We'll stay there tonight, and continue our journey at first light."

He doesn't wait for a response, and slaps his reins leading the horse on. She had hoped they would ride though the night, but she knows that it's too dangerous. With all the goods they're carrying they couldn't hope to get much further without being robbed on the road to the Eyrie. It's just that she can already feel the close confines of the inn room, with it's small mattress and even smaller living quarters. There will be no escaping his heat,his eyes, or his hands. She'll have to pass water in front of him, she'll have to dress and undress, and bathe in the morning. Fear springs up into her heart.

They continue on slowly, and Sansa loses track of the hour. The woods surround them engulfing their horses in darkness, and the frogs are so deafening she can't hear her mare's hoof prints. The trees rustle in the wind, and she stares blankly into the black forest. Her eyes are playing tricks on her, and she startles as she sees movement in the brush, but when she looks again nothing is there.

Finally, in the distance she can see lights shimmering. As they approach an uproarious song can be heard from inside. After dismounting her horse, she looks up at the sign. It's called The Wolf's Den and she smiles inwardly. A gold carving of a wolf holding a pheasant is mortared to the wood. The bird's head hangs limply in its jaws. Maybe this is an omen for good things to come, she thinks happily.

Though, as soon as they enter the doorway of the rotting place her courage leaves with the wind blowing her skirts around her legs. It's dark, and has a putrid smell from the rancid beer on the floor, and sticks to her shoes as she walks. In the center of the room there's a huge hearth, a fire the size of a pregnant sow cracking loudly. The tables are crowded with men, some sitting fireside for warmth, others with women on their laps grabbing intimately at their thighs. Their singing starts to fade as they notice her, and Sansa can feel their eyes scorch into her skin. It's so obvious they are from King's Landing, and she feels she should have changed into a simpler dress. Petyr motions for her to sit in a chair far away from the crowd against the wall, and she is glad it will allow her to sit near the door.

"Stay here." He says, and motions off before she can ask any questions.

She watches him walk over to the bar, a stocky man with a receding hairline shaved close to his head is tending to the dirty tankards, and looking at him suspiciously. Petyr leans across the bar, and they speak for a moment. He curtly nods, and then motions towards stairs at the back of the room.

Satisfied, Petyr returns to her, "He has a room available, and he says the servants can sleep in the loft in the stables."

He grabs her arm gently helping her from her chair, and leads her to the staircase, never letting his hand leave her back. It's as if he wishes to have her away from these people as soon as possible. Part of her is thankful, They would eat me alive.

They head up the claustrophobic, rickety stairwell and around a tight bend to an even tighter hall. One lantern at the end of the hall is the only light, and she can hear the intimate sounds no one should hear come from the doors on either side of her. Some women let out cries, others soft mews, and others violent screams which terrify her. She blushes fiercely, and she is glad she walks behind Petyr so he can't see her. The last door is theirs, and he fiddles with the lock for a moment. Sansa is jittery, and she wants to shove him into the door if it will get her out of this hall. Finally, he has freed the lock.

Sansa is relieved for the room is not as horrible as she imagined. It smells musty with the hint of something fouler, and it's dim. The candle he holds is the only flickering light, casting ghoulish shadows against the walls. But there's a window (which Petyr immediately opens), and a dressing table with a clean chamber pot and bathing pitcher. The fresh air climbs slowly into the room, and she sits facing the wall on the small and low wood-framed bed removing the boots from her aching feet. Straw sticks into her backside uncomfortably, but she is happily surprised to find the linens are clean (clean enough anyway). The floorboards creak as she hears Petyr cross the room towards the bed. He sits on the other side of it and places the candle at his bedside table. She hears his boot hit the floor with a thud, and then another. Not a word. The air is thick with their silence, and she clears her throat just to make sure her ears are working.

Sansa sighs, and stands. She removes her summer's cloak and then unhooks the front of her gown. It's such a relief as the damp, heavy fabric falls from her shoulders. She is left in her shift, and it sticks to her, wet with sweat and the ghastly humidity that still clings to the earth even after the storm rolled north days ago. The realization she has to sleep next to him stops her in her tracks, and she stands stupidly next to the bed. She can't decide what to do. Either she gets into bed wearing her damp tunic or removes it. She can't make up her mind, so she still stands, weighing her options. She's so caught up in her decision, she doesn't even notice Petyr hasn't moved since removing his boots and heavy socks.

"Are you just going to stand there all night, my girl?" he asks still facing away from her. His voice is hoarse with weariness, and colder than the blades of ice that hang from Winterfell's walls.

She's can't move. Her nerves cause her fists to clench and unclench in anticipation. Her mind is racing, and she can't force herself to make a decision.

He unclasps his dagger and holster from around his waist setting it carefully next to the candle. I wonder if I could step over there in the night smoothly enough as not to wake him. An image forces itself into her mind, Petyr still in the position he sleeps, but his scar now formed into a T, his throat is exposed, and a deep crimson pool of blood cascades around him like a cloak. She revels again in the thought of his eyes looking out at her, dull with lifelessness.

Still she watches him. He's calmly pulling off his doublet, and she hears the movement of cloth as he undoes each lace and clasp. His tunic is just as wet as hers and she can see the pale skin of his back tightly stretch across the points of his shoulder blades. They roll up forming sharp peaks as he lifts his arms to pull it over his head.

The plains of his back spread out as he stretches to remove it. She watches the trail of his shoulders, down to his ribs which sway in waves as he moves, and follows it to the narrowness of his hips. The intimacies of marriage are just as new to her now as the previous night, and she feels the burn return to her cheeks immediately. Hot, angry tears stream down her face, and she wipes them away quickly when he finally turns to her. Her eyes instinctively move up and down the scar at his chest, and his body glimmers from the sweat and oppressiveness of the air. They stare intently at each other across the bay of snowy sheets, but even this cannot fill the void that is present between them now. Neither will surrender in this silent duel.

The flicker of the candlelight causes his green eyes to light up like the sea had been lit aflame by wildfire. He was impenetrable, his features never displaying any emotion one way or the other. She feels fatuous trying to face him, and knows her face reveals everything. She remembers his words that day he had caught her rejoicing in being cast aside by Joffrey, Look around you. We're all liars here, and everyone one of us is better than you.

The memory fully reminds her how far she's out of her depth. Sansa's heart beats rapidly as she musters up her courage speaking out into the silence,

"Tell me how you got that scar?" His eyes linger on hers, his body still as ever, but his lips curve into that boyish smile she liked so much...before.

"And that's the question that has kept you so quiet, my sweetling?" Petyr asks, his voice smooth and hushed. Her eyes drop to the floor, He knows I am hiding, and then she gazes back up at him stubbornly questioning.

"Well, Sansa," he growls her name, " 'Tis a tale of woe to be sure." He saunters around the edge of the bed towards her. Instinctively, she backs up, but there's nowhere to go. She feels the chill of the plaster wall against her back. He's upon her now, and her senses are overtaken with the polarity of his heat and her cold fighting against each other.

"Tell me the story." She says again firmly staring up at him, never folding under his scrutiny.

He pauses to find the words and then says very quietly, "I once told you your mother was my queen of beauty." She remembers now the fist time she saw him, when she noticed his green eyes that never reflected his smile. He sat too closely to her, their arms touching indecently, and she remembers her father's lips forming into a hard line staring at him with distaste. While it was happening she never realized in her naivety the undertones. Petyr was testing him.

"Yes." She replies.

"Well," his hand is over her shoulder now resting on the plaster, and he leans in so close she can see the gold specks glowing in the inner circles of his irises, their noses almost touching.

"When I was a boy, you see, I was her greatest companion, she told me all her secrets, all her dreams." his voice is barely a whisper now. "We'd play in the woods from sunup till sundown. I was always in love with Cat since the day I set eyes on her. I realize that now." His eyes leave hers and settle on her lips and to her chin whilst his finger graze down the trail of her jaw, and then settle at her neck. He clasps her gently with his hand. "And when we grew a little older, when she was promised to another. Now I know you've never met this strong and brave uncle, but he was surely a brutal man. And do you know what I did, my sweetling?"

Her breath has quickened, and she's staring up at him, a look of fear and anticipation spread across her face. She nods slightly urging him on, in spite of her want to kick at him, and scream out.

"You know my sweetling. You've read all the stories, same as I. And in the stories, the little man always defeats the big one doesn't he? I challenged him to a duel, and when I was on the ground with a sword to my throat, she looked at me, a sincere look of pity pouring out of those big Tully eyes, "He's just a boy, Please don't kill him" she said. So he gave me a warning so that I would always remember what I am, and who I would never be." He's motioning to his scar, the bitterness dripping off his words. He moves into her even more now, the hard burning of his frame melting against her, and her knees quiver.

Sansa feels like she is being torn in two, one part of her wants to slit his throat, and get the revenge on the man that caused her father's downfall. The other is pulsing inside of her, refusing to be kept caged, and she's overcome with a sense of urgency to know the meaning behind this man's game.

Her face contorts into an anguished sneer, and the tears fall freely. She is weary, and can't bear the thought of not knowing anymore. Her voice disdainfully cracks as she asks, " So this is why you did it? Because a man who never harmed you had a brother that taught you a lesson?"

His eyes change now into full understanding, and his grip loosens from her neck, but doesn't leave it. He's still as close as before, but he brings his face down to fully look into her eyes. She recedes further from him (if she can), wishing she could fade into the wall.

"Your father was too righteous for his own good." He says, "I tried to warn him what would happen if he didn't play the game. I begged him. He brought on his own misfortunes. If it wasn't me who pulled the dagger it would have been another. His fate would have been the same." She shoves him off of her with a mangled cry, and to her surprise he yields, stepping away. His lean shoulders are limp, and his brow presses into uneasy creases.

'But I couldn't go down with that ship, Sansa. I chose to live another day, and if that met choosing the Lannister's, so be it. Nobody thought that Joffrey would release his wrath so strongly on your father."

Without thinking, she suddenly and viscously slaps him across his cheek. She can feel her hand tingle after with the contact, and an angry flaming mark appears on his face. For a moment, he holds his hand to his cheek in surprise, and then he's gently cupping her face in his hands.

"But I fought for you, Sansa. I made it possible for you to leave King's Landing forever, and you refused me. Did you really think I didn't know this would happen? You think I'm blind enough to believe Cersei would give me what I had wanted so badly without a price to pay?" His hands clench into fists at her hair, and he's got her strongly in his grips. She pulls at his arms, but he's unrelenting.

And then it dawns on her as his words sink in deeply.

She relaxes under his grip, "I'm trapped." she says pleadingly, more to herself than him, and he notes the defeat in her eyes. Then he's on her more passionately than ever, kissing her fully, his tongue greedily trying to connect with hers. She can taste the mint on him, and the smell of incense lingers on his skin. She can feel the familiar drumming in the deepest part of her, and this causes a rage to take hold. She fights him, her fists pounding at his chest and shoulders violently, a wretched, "No!" leaves her lips, her cheeks now drenched and glistening with tears.

His hands defensively grab her wrists tearing them from him, the skin at his chest red and raw. Then he shoves her arms up against the wall, "But don't you see it, Sansa?" he gasps heavily, his hot breath cascading over her face. She looks up at him searching the meaning in his eyes. They are as serious and honest as she's ever known them to be, "This is your freedom."

"How can that be?" She spits vehemently up at him. "How am I to survive Queen Cersei, and the entire Lannister family when you are still alive?" Her anger is overwhelming, and she begins to struggle as she sees those thin lips turn up into that familiar, artful grin,

"Aah, my sweet, but how can I kill the Queen Reagent if I am dead?"

She relaxes into him, "You?" she asks in shock.

"What?" he says as his lips brush hers, " You think I, of all people, accepted this marriage, solely because I loved you?"

Love? This stops her a moment as the steam of her anger leaves her, and she stares up at him obtusely. She wants him to stop. She wants to push him away, and demand an explanation. A part of her still wishes to slit his throat for playing her like a piece, for aiding the Lannister's in her father's demise, for plotting, and scheming, and whoring, and all the other unsavory things that make him Littlefinger.

But his body crashes into hers ferociously, and he's grabbing her hair, and kissing her lips, and pulls her at the backs of her thighs wrapping her legs around him, and she's overcome with such desire that she can't think of anything but his hot skin as he presses against her. Her nipples form into hard peaks as they brush against the starched cotton of her shift, and she wishes to be free of it. She rips it over her head in one swift motion, and then wraps her arms around his neck pulling him violently closer to her, her mouth crashing into his, their tongues dancing.

She feels the hardness of his cock against her soft swell, and moan's longingly into his ear. Her hips buck into his, and he returns the gesture.

Suddenly, she's away from the wall. He turns her around and fluidly throws her onto the bed. It creaks and groans with her weight, the hay sticking into her back, but she doesn't care because her need is so strong it overpowers her every thought. All that is in this moment is him.

He is free of his breaches, grabs her from behind her knees, and abruptly pulls her to meet him, his fingers digging into her skin. Without warning, he drives his firm flesh deep within her letting out an uninhibited cry of satisfaction. The pain of his intrusion subsides more quickly this time, and as he penetrates deeper, it gives way to an extreme rhythmic pleasure. She arches up to meet each possessive thrust, and grabs at his back. He writhes into her with a frenzy she hadn't experienced before, and she's overcome with pleasure and hatred, a push and pull she can't contain.

Her hand violently comes up to his face thrashing against his skin for a second time. She's surprised by her actions, and freezes up for a moment not knowing what to expect. He stares down at her, but his eyes grow blacker than ever, and she shrieks as he emphatically turns her over and grabs at her hips forcefully. She moans at his touch, and realizes it sends vibrations of pleasure through the course of her entire body. He pulls her to him, and she can feel his hardness brushing between her thighs, her rear rubbing against his pelvis pleasurably. She feels his fingers clutch at the soft doughiness of her of hips, and he's delved himself deep inside her, his hardness pressing at the most sensitive spot within her walls. His strokes increase, violent and thundering at first, and erratic, heavy moans leave her with each violent thrust. Then she feels his hand leave her side, and crash down loudly on her backside with a ringing slap!

The air is forced out of her lungs at the shock, pain, and pleasure which forms itself into one pulsating burn that races to her nub, and she cries out a scream as she convulses around him. He moans deeply when he feels her overwhelming spasms, and his arm flies around her front, pulling her back to him. He's kissing her neck, thrusting himself deeply within her until he let's out a harsh groan, his cock pulsating into a shattering release. They collapse on their sides, arms and legs entangled, and sleep captures Sansa before her bitterness overwhelms their desire.

Notes:

Not really sure about it. They kinda just did what they wanted, and it wasn't really where I had planned on taking the plot, but OH WELL!

Let me know how you like. Thanks again for reading!

Enjoy!

**I kinda reiterated Petyr's backstory from the show. I take no writing credits.