Chapter Text
When Sansa finally awoke sometime around eight the next morning, it was to the familiar buzz of her phone signaling the arrival of a text. She lifted her head from where it had been resting on the chest of the man lying beneath her. His arms were still tight around her, but the sharp features of his face were relaxed in sleep, the lines around his eyes and mouth lessened. His short hair was soft and wavy when released from the neat styling he favored, and she wondered how curly it would get if he let it grow out. She was pondering how to escape his secure grip when the phone buzzed again, waking him as well this time.
“Good morning.” Petyr’s eyes were dark as he beheld her.
And she’d been worried this would be awkward. She swallowed. “Good morning.” The phone hummed a third time, and he let her shuffle out of his embrace. She reached across the bed, rifling through her discarded clothes before finding the phone. A few swipes later revealed several texts of escalating concern from Jeyne.
“It’s my flat mate. She’s wondering where I am. I’ve got to go.” She thought he might protest again, but he only smiled.
“Go get cleaned up. I’ll make breakfast. We have much to discuss.” He rose from the bed with an unabashed stretch of his nude form. He chuckled when he noticed her watching him. She tried not to blush under his returning stare as she made her way into his well-appointed bathroom.
When she’d gotten out of the bath, her clothes were gone, replaced by a simple outfit of jeans and a shirt folded neatly on the made bed. She didn’t know if he regularly provided morning-after attire for guests or if she was a special case. Any gratitude she might have felt at being spared a walk of shame in her rumpled dress was cancelled out by the inherent presumption and the fact that he had guessed her size exactly without asking. The less time spent dwelling on the very high probability he had bought her underwear in preparation for their encounter the better; she dressed as quickly as she’d showered.
She followed the sounds and smells of food frying down the hall and stepped into a large, multi-level open-plan room, walled on three sides in glass that offered a stunning view of the city. He hadn’t given her much opportunity to look around last night as they’d stumbled from the elevator to his bedroom, stopping a few times only for him press her into the nearest wall. Fittingly, he’d built the most visible symbol of his empire on the border between the financial and political centers of the city and its most disreputable borough. Looking right, she could see the glass towers surrounding the sturdy stone of the Great Sept. Straight ahead, the ancient, forbidding structure of the Red Keep dominated the view of the bay, looming over the modern trappings of government built around it. To her left lay the shambolic architecture of Flea Bottom in various stages of disrepair and new construction. Much of the recent development could be attributed to Littlefinger’s efforts to revitalize the area, though she supposed many would disapprove of his methods.
She made her way over to the man himself standing by the stove in the kitchen area of the room. He was dressed casually in jeans and a dark t-shirt, and it was a departure from the norm almost more shocking than seeing him naked had been last night. He had shaved, but his hair was still mussed. He looked up from the food to smile at her, and gestured behind himself toward the set table. “Won’t be a minute. Have a seat.”
She did so, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of her as she watched him ladle the contents of the pans onto the plates waiting on the counter. Oh good, she thought, they could talk treason over eggs and bacon. She waited until he set a plate in front of her before speaking.
“So how do we do this? Secret handshakes? Exchange blood oaths?” she asked as he sat at the seat across from her.
“I was quite satisfied with the accord we reached last night.” His smile was filthy, and she fought a blush.
“Sorry, I’ve never been part of a conspiracy before.” She scooped up a forkful of the fluffy eggs, taking a portion of fried tomato with it.
Green eyes flashed at her. “We both know that’s not entirely true,” he drawled, “though we could count this as the first one you weren’t born into.”
She took a bite of food, pretending she wasn’t avoiding an answer. When she had been old enough, her father and mother had taken her aside to explain that their family was different to others of their acquaintance. How there seemed to be a separate set of rules for some, why they used the title ‘king’ for her father’s loud friend only in private. Her father believed the grand deception to be necessary; he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the liberties taken by some members of the nobility, but was convinced the old traditions were required to guide and shape their world. Her mother held a more skeptical view of it, but largely kept it to herself. As Sansa grew older she became less and less comfortable with the way things were; how power seemed to be only used for selfish reasons, and never resolved the deep inequalities and injustices apparent to her.
He seemed to take pity on her, and continued, “How about we start with some information?”
She nodded, swallowing the mouthful.
“You’re aware that Lady Baratheon and her brother are, shall we say, close.”
“Yes.” It was difficult to miss how the de facto queen preferred the company of her equally golden twin. Jaime Lannister was a regular presence in the Baratheon household. He’d followed his father into the military before he’d lost his hand in combat, and was now the head of a private security firm with many lucrative government contracts.
“Something which you probably do not know, as few do and live to tell it, is that our beloved king has no true heirs.”
She blinked. He seemed to be implying something horrible, beyond thinking. “You mean Joffrey…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, but didn’t need to, as he said it for her. “And his siblings, all three, are the product of incest.”
She felt ill suddenly. The things she had let that monster do to her, had wanted him to do, at first, were now so much worse. She felt disgusted, even more ruined than she already did, and withdrew into herself. Her tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by a warm hand covering her own clasping the fork tightly. Her eyes were drawn upward; his expression was empathetic, a look she had never thought to picture on his face. She refused to acknowledge the strength she drew from his offered comfort.
“There is another thing…” He seemed almost reluctant to tell her, but what could be more shocking than what he’d already revealed?
“What is it?” Her expression hardened.
“Your brother, Bran.” He swallowed, and she watched the movement of his Adam’s apple up and down before meeting his eyes again. “I suspect his fall was no accident. It is likely he caught Cersei and her brother, and was pushed by one of them to prevent the revelation of their shameful secret.”
“How do you know?” She’d suspected as much, but to have it confirmed stoked the fires of her hatred anew.
“I have my ways,” he demurred, his appearance sly.
She would press him on this later, but let it lie for now. “What do we need to do?”
He seemed impressed with her quick assimilation of information, and looked almost proud of the bloodthirsty expression she now wore.
“Our first order of business is unshackling you from Joffrey.”
She scoffed. “I don’t see how it’s possible. He doesn’t like giving up his toys. I would have broken it off long before now if I were willing to risk what he would do in retaliation.”
“Which is why we’ll make it his idea.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“By turning his attention elsewhere.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than your prostitute, no matter how good she is.”
“You’re right, of course. It’ll have to be a match at least as politically and financially advantageous.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You already have someone in mind?”
“Margaery Tyrell.”
Sansa was baffled. “She would never be so stupid; she knows what he’s like—”
“Yes, as does Olenna Tyrell. They know him for the impetuous, brainless child he is, and think he can be controlled. They’re on a mission to collect Baratheon’s, it seems. Loras’s marriage to Renly will be just the beginning.”
She took a moment to absorb the idea, and he watched her carefully. “So what’s our next move?”
He finally tucked into the plate in front of him, his expression hungry as he eyed her. “We wait, and let our enemies dig their own graves.”
It sounded impressive, but she hoped he would have more details for her at some point. And return her damn dress.
************
Thanks for reading. As always, any feedback would be appreciated.