Little Wolf (Sansa/Petyr)

Ruined Plans

Sansa had almost finished the plate of lemon cakes when Lord Tyrion wandered past. He noticed her, sat in her pastel blue gown, looking very glum, sipping on a goblet of wine.
"My dear, whatever is the matter?" He asked her, alerting her attention.
"I made arrangements with Lord Baelish, those of which he has so rudely ignored." She sighed, pushing the plate away from her.
"Well perhaps I could join you? I have not eaten yet and apart from a few lemon cakes, neither have you, it seems." He smiled and she agreed, simply wanting some company. Podric appeared upon Tyrion's request. Sansa had brought him, along with Brienne, to King's Landing, where he was released from Brienne's charge and returned to the position of Tyrion's squire.
"He really is one of the finest young men I have met. Thank you for bringing him back, he truly is indispensable to me." Tyrion stated after sending him off for meats and bread.
"I do not know where Pe- Lord Baelish could be. Especially because it was he who invited me." She huffed, rather angry with him for leaving her in such an embarrassing position.
"I did hear the Queen ask him if he would stay after the Small Council meeting. Perhaps she has kept him too long." Sansa pouted, hoping that this was the case, but still tingling with anger.
"I am sure he shall be here soon. Then, he may join us." Sansa smiled, knowing that it would anger Petyr very much to have to share her with another, especially Lord Tyrion.

Petyr slowed his breath as he approached the Red Keep. It had been so long since he had agreed to meet Sansa that he was sure that she would have left. However, he arrived to find her sat, at their table, accompanied by Tyrion Lannister. Petyr sighed but supposed it was natural that she should not dine alone.
"Lord Baelish, you are here! Come and join us." Sansa called over and her brilliant smile, combined with her melodic voice calling out brought a smile to his face.
"Yes, I am here. The Queen asked me to tour her around the city." He sighed, pulling over a chair.
"What a privilege. It must have been exciting for her, seeing new parts of the city." Sansa smiled up at Petyr, appearing very sincere. However, Petyr saw in her eyes that she knew exactly what she was talking about. He thought back to Daenerys, examining his brothel and had to fight the urge to shudder.
"Yes, she seemed very excited." Was all he said in reply.
"Lord Tyrion and I were speaking about the new court. Of who her highness will choose for her consorts. Did she give any indication as to who she was fond of?" Sansa asked, as if twisting the knife. He was sorry, but he could not apologise in front of Tyrion Lannister.
"No, she did not speak of her court." He replied, pouring himself a glass of wine.
"I suppose she had more personal worries to speak of with you." She smiled up at Petyr, before standing.
"I am sorry, I have a meeting with Lord Florent. Good day." She curtsied before turning to leave. Petyr stared as she left. He wanted to follow her but knew that following would be a mistake.
"She is not happy." Tyrion informed Petyr.
"It could not be avoided." He replied, aggravated by the situation, not wanting to be informed by Tyrion about his Sansa.
"Perhaps, perhaps." Tyrion mumbled as he left Petyr. He let his head fall into his hands, knowing that Sansa had the upper hand. In a fit of frustration, he slapped the goblet of wine from the table, wine staining the patio.

Sansa sat across from Lord Florent.
"I am willing to pledge my allegiance to House Stark." He said frankly, brushing the curls away from his face.
"I am glad to hear so, Lord Florent." She smiled up at him, glad that she could get such a wealthy allegiance.
"However, my friendship does not come free." He smiled up at her and she could feel her eyes roll.
"If you wish for support, then our houses must be joined." He stated simply. Sansa felt her jaw fall open, but consciously closed it. She could have openly refused him. However, she was smarter than that.
"I thank you for your offer, Lord Florent. However, I fear your marriage proposal is wasted on me when our Queen remains without a husband. I would not feel comfortable becoming attached to you knowing that the Queen remains alone." He bowed his head.
"I respect you for your love of the Queen. I have not felt myself worthy of her greatness." Sansa felt wounded by his remark, belittling her "greatness" compared to Daenerys. She stood and looked down at him.
"Oh no, my Lord. I daresay your charms are of the standard to please any woman. Even the Queen herself. We may speak of alliances another time. Good day." She bid him goodbye before leaving the room.

Sansa walked about the castle, until she found herself in the Throne Room. She looked up at the Iron Throne and sighed. At one point, she had been so close to sitting beside the magnificent chair, but at no point had her occupying the throne crossed anyone's mind. She had always been the accessory, to Joffrey and then to Tyrion. She was nothing without a man. However, Daenerys had no man and she had taken the Throne. Perhaps she was a superior woman to herself. She cocked her head to the side and wondered if she herself could even imagine sitting on the Throne.
"It is magnificent, isn't it?" She heard Varys from behind her.
"Yes, yes it is." She agreed, looking down as he approached her.
"However, so many people you hate have sat upon it." He remarked. And when she thought about it, he was right. Both Joffery and Cersei had sat upon the Iron Throne and she detested them both.
"Do not feel envious of the Queen, my dear. It is we who are the lucky ones." He whispered, leaning in towards her." Sansa looked up to his knowing face questioningly.
"How so?" She asked.
"We enjoy the power and its advantages. Yet, we very rarely deal with the pressure of true power. The expectation can be crippling if one does not prepare themselves." He informed her and she was sure he was right, Varys usually was. He leant in even closer and whispered:
"It's awfully uncomfortable as well." When Sansa looked up at him with wide eyes, he winked and began to wander off. She watched him leave, wondering if he had always been such good company.

Petyr sat in the gardens as the sun began to set. He knew he had to make things up to Sansa. He had pondered on the events of the day after Tyrion left. He could have refused the Queen's tour and offered a different day. He could have informed her of his plans. Petyr was sure if he had that she would have pardoned his leave. But he had done nothing and he understood that this was unacceptable. So, in order to make things right, he had written a note to Tyrion, informing him that he and Sansa would not be at dinner and had prepared a dinner for her in a secluded part of the gardens.

Sansa had received a note, asking her to come to the gardens at dusk. She could not withhold her curiosity and found herself walking to the gardens, alone. When she saw Petyr, stood by a table of food and a tall candle burning brightly she chuckled to herself, placing a hand over her smile.
"Please, come and sit with me? Allow me to dine with you as I should have." He asked her. She did not reply with any words, rather she walked so close to him, to gently brush her hand across his, she heard his breath hitch, to which she smiled, before taking her seat.
"I apologise, Sansa, for leaving you alone. That was never my intention." Petyr apologised, his eyes, filled with sincerity, illuminated by the candleglow. Sansa cocked her head, wondering how to reply. Part of her wished to mock him and speak about how she enjoyed Lord Tyrion's company. But no, she could not. He was finally making an honest gesture and she could not waste it.
"Lord Florent asked me to join houses this afternoon." She changed the subject, not wanting to embarrass him any further.
"And might I ask how you replied?" He asked, his eyes boring into her own.
"I refused him." She replied in whispers. Once again his breath hitched.
"You surprise me, my Lady. Lord Florent appears to be a version of Sir Loras, without his obvious quirks." Petyr's voice wobbled whilst attempting to be witty. Sansa began to sip on her soup, which was just the right temperature.
"I could not accept him." She stated, hoping he would not ask for a reason, not wanting to feel the embarrassment that would come along with her reply.
"Why?" He whispered huskily. Sansa attempted to focus on the soup for a moment, clearing her mind of any thought.
"Sansa." He urged her on, not touching his food.
"There is a person whom prevents me from becoming engaged to Lord Florent." She whispered, looking down at her soup.
"Sansa-" He took her hand and Sansa could not think straight. Her mind flew in twenty different directions and she had to get some air.
"I'm sorry." She apologised huskily, before getting up. However, before she could leave, Petyr stood and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Sansa was unsure why, but she began to cry. It was as if everything that she had never cried about was being brought to the surface. She was so young and she had been dragged through so much that trusting that he would not hurt her was simply too much. He pulled her into an embrace and smoothed her hair as she cried. He understood completely. The wounds of Ramsey, her Brothers and her parents were still fresh, never truly healing. So he held her, knowing that in that moment that was the best thing that he could do: stand and hold her, to let her know that he was not going to leave.