WARNING - this chapter contains sexual content not suitable for readers sensitive to explicit material
Sir Jorah made his way to meet the Queen. Daario had disappeared without a sound and he wondered if Daenerys knew. He would so hate to have to be the one to relay the information to her. She was sat away from him when he entered her quarters. She did not stand and she did not address him in any way. He sat beside her and waited for her to address him.
"He is gone, isn't he?" She asked, not taking her eyes away from the view of King's Landing.
"Yes, your Highness. He left yesterday." Jorah informed her. Daenerys nodded her head, her posture poised.
"I see. I spoke with him yesterday. I told him that I could not have him in King's Landing if he was going to indulge in the idea of being my lover." Jorah nodded, knowing that she had made the right choice.
"If he could not love you without love in return, then I do not think that this is genuine love." Jorah stated, knowing that he could love the Khaleesi, with the knowledge that she would probably never reciprocate.
"I know that you are right. I feel like a fool, indulging him for so long." She shook her head and Jorah was unsure how to reply.
"I miss Drogo, my Khal. The times when things had been easier." Daenerys sighed, remembering back to her first marriage.
"He was a great man." Jorah agreed.
"This is all he had ever wanted for me, all that we had strived for. He married a child and made me a woman. He is the reason I have my dragons." She paused and turned to Jorah now.
"I, I just feel as if I have let him down, as if I am not the Queen he wanted me to be." Jorah stopped her now, shaking his head.
"He loved you more than I have ever seen a Dothraki man love a woman. He is so proud of you, Khaleesi. You had nothing, only the small Khalasar that stayed with you. And now look at you, Queen of Westeros, leader of the Westerosi people." His speech rang true and passionate. Daenerys took his scarred hand and looked up at him.
"I do not think I shall love again, but I care for you, Sir Jorah and Drogo cared for you. Would you be my companion? Your company comforts me in a way that I can not tell you. I daresay we shall never marry and I will never bare your children, but you would be my closest friend." Daenerys asked, hoping that Jorah would settle for such a deal.
"Of course, Khaleesi, it would be my pleasure." He felt his heart strain as he agreed to never be loved in the way he wished. But it was something, a chance to be with the person he loved, if only as a friend.
Sansa was curious of the new man in the court. He was not seen all so often and when he was, he kept to himself.
"Who is he?" Sansa asked Varys as they walked in the garden.
"Ah, you are asking about Sir Jorah Mormont. He is the Queen closest companion. That is why we do not see him very often, as he is with the Queen." Varys informed her.
"I see. I did not know that the Queen had such consorts." Sansa mused aloud.
"Oh, I do not think that he is that kind of consort, my dear. He is merely her friend." Sansa nodded, understanding completely.
"I hear that Lady Olenna Tyrell is to come to us soon." Varys changed the subject of conversation.
"I can not imagine what kind of pain she has had to suffer." Sansa thought reverently.
"I dare say that she turns that pain into vengeful rage and that has helped her." Sansa thought of Margaery and Loras and their terrible deaths.
"Please, do not dwell on such things, it is done, there is no use thinking back into the past." Varys begged her and Sansa nodded, smiling up at him.
"So, tell me. How are you fairing in King's Landing? You do not long for the North, I hope." He asked, sitting down upon a bench in the gardens.
"No, I do not miss the North so much. It was far colder and harsher without my family there. I enjoy the company and the climate of King's Landing and I feel as if my life is richer in the capitol." Sansa smiled, but Varys could see that there was a sadness behind her eyes. He wondered how to draw it out and confront it. However, it seemed it did that itself. She watched as Petyr and Tyrion walked together. She wished she could be open about their arrangement, be able to show him affection. Varys noticed this and smiled down at Sansa.
"If it helps, I know and I think that you have made the right decision." Varys whispered down to her and it comforted Sansa that her secret was not hers alone to keep, and also that someone had validated her choice.
Sansa sat in the garden after Varys left for an engagement. She was bored. She looked out at the flowers and wondered how many times she could gaze at their splendor, or smell their delicious scent. She wondered if she should begin reading, or perhaps study history, or take to songwriting. But, she did not have an interest, nor a passion for these things. She wished that she could sit and sew needlepoint and design dresses. It was then that the question dawned on her: what is stopping me? Her abilities were as good, if not better than they had been when she was a child and she was sure that many fine ladies would pay for her dresses, if not the Queen herself. Her only obstacle was her finances, or lack thereof. Her house was not as rich as it once had been, and Sansa understood that John needed all of the earnings to fund his army. Perhaps the Queen would help fund her. She was unsure who to speak to, but she thought the Hand of the Queen might not be a bad place to start.
Tyrion was very glad to speak with Sansa after dinner. He found her so agreeable that his time with her was a distraction from the political world.
"I wish to make fine dresses, for the women of Westeros." Sansa declared as they walked together.
"I think that is a wonderful idea. The dress you made for the Queen is quite wonderful." Tyrion agreed to her plan.
"There is an issue." She stated and he stopped, looking up at her with questioning eyes.
"A finance issue." She whispered and Tyrion smiled, understanding completely.
"Say no more. I shall raise the issue in our small council meeting tomorrow. I am sure that the crown has more than enough to start your new venture." And with that, they parted ways. Tyrion wondered why, it being a finance issue, that Sansa did not go to Baelish.
The next morning, Petyr sat in the small council meeting, feeling rather proud of himself. His personal income was very fine indeed and the debt of the crown was shrinking by the day, it being smaller than it had been in his lifetime.
"I would like to request a budget for Lady Sansa Stark." Tyrion stood and announced. Petyr was unsure if he had heard correctly. However, Tyrion continued before he could ask for clarification.
"She would like to begin a recreation of dress making, for the ladies of the court, when we have them." Tyrion explained and Petyr felt his brows furrow. Why would she have not spoken to him about such a matter? He could have privately funded her recreation. However, for the moment, it was all business.
"She may have a small budget, to make a dress or two, and we shall see who shall buy them and at what price." Petyr wrote down the information in his book, before slouching back into his chair.
Sansa was delighted when Tyrion had told her that Baelish had allowed her the money.
"Why did you not ask him yourself?" Tyrion asked, wondering why she used him as a kind of middleman.
"I do not want him to think that I am seeking his fortune or that of the Queen. I am not, after all." She explained herself and Tyrion understood very well. He respected her for wanting to keep her intentions with Petyr pure. However, he was unsure if Baelish quite saw it that way.
Petyr watched as Sansa, accompanied by Gretchen, wondered off to the markets. She seemed positively gleeful. Petyr felt as if she had laughed at him, as if he were not a man who could provide for his bride to be. The brothel business was always in profit, far in profit. Petyr could look after Sansa in a way that he doubted she could imagine of him. He could buy her the finest silks from the furthest lands. He could shower her in pearls and emeralds, let alone pay for the fabric for a dress or two. He felt she did not respect him, that she did not view him as a man and this enraged him.
Sansa bought fine lilac fabric, for a dress for the Queen. She was so excited that she could design and sew and create once again. She knew the proportions of the Queen well and she knew that she could make her a fine dress, one like the fine gowns Lady Margaery would wear, Sansa could never wear the style, but she knew that it would suit the Queen well.
As she began cutting her panels, the door swung open. Sansa's head darted up, to see Petyr stood at the door, perfectly composed.
"Lord Baelish, what a surprise." She commented. He did not reply as he entered her room. He circled her as she knelt on the floor in a way that she found slightly menacing. She decided to quit her work for the time being and pay him her full attention.
"How are you today?" She asked, as he continued to circle her.
"I am not doing so well. I see you have begun your project." His circling worked like cement, making Sansa unable to move.
"Yes, my Lord. You are very generous for allowing me my funding." Sansa replied, feeling slightly nervous now.
"You are correct that it was I who gave you the funding. But it was not I who you asked." He paused behind her. She could feel his stare on the nape of her neck.
"Did you not think I could give you the money, Sansa? Do you not think that I have the finances to take care of you?" His voice hissed as he stood painfully close behind her.
"Perhaps you do not think I am a real man. Perhaps I am just Little Finger to you." He hissed. Sansa was so in shock that she could not reply and could not call after him as he stormed away from her. He had misunderstood completely. But so had she. It seemed, he wanted her to spend his money. She did not understand this. But, she did not want him to be angry or upset. So, she ventured once again into the town, this time without Gretchen.
Sansa did think that Petyr was a man. But, she had to admit that she wished she could see the angry, possessive side of him more. So, she decided to do some research and make him pay for something she had wanted to make for a long time.
The whores at Petyr's brothels were not used to seeing fine noblewomen. So, when they saw the ginger girl that they had seen so many times walk with a bodyguard enter the establishment without any supervision, everyone paid half an ear to hear what her business was.
Sansa was terrified. She had never been in such as establishment before and the noises and smells were so foreign to her. The ladies stared at her questioningly, as she stood in the threshold.
"Hello, I would like a private audience with one of your ladies." Sansa stated, understanding the strange nature of her request. The lady looked down at Sansa with strange probing eyes, before assigning a girl for her. Sansa walked through, keeping her head down, in order not to be seen by the clientele. As the girl began to remove her clothing, Sansa placed a hand over her eyes.
"I do not wish to do what most of your clients wish to do. I wish to see your small clothes." Sansa lowered her hand as the girl stood in shock. The girl nodded her head, before walking over to a box and placing items on the bed. Sansa looked at the string like pieces and the chains that she shivered at the thought of on her skin. Then, the girl placed down a sheer, short dress and Sansa stopped her.
"This one, could you wear it for me?" She asked and the girl changed, laughing as Sansa turned away. When she turned back, she placed a hand over her mouth. It was soft and light, made of a seemingly soft fabric and it flowed over the woman's curves, brushing against the tops of her thighs. Sansa knew what she had to do.
"What colour, for me?" She asked and worked to keep her breath slow and constant as the girl approached her.
"Black, for your ivory skin." She traced her fingers across Sansa's cheek.
"And hair long and loose." She caught a curl in her fingers. Sansa was thankful for the advice, but was glad when the girl finally let go of her.
"Thank you. Here, for your trouble." Sansa placed three coins in the girl's hand and she smiled widely in response. She had given Sansa great advice. Petyr wanted to be a man, then Sansa would let him be a man.
The merchant was confused to see her again.
"I forgot some things." She informed him, smiling.
"Should I charge it to the Queen once again, my Lady?" He asked and Sansa shook her head.
"No, charge it to the personal account of Lord Petyr Baelish." He wanted to play for her dresses, then he could pay.
"Very good, my Lady."
Sansa worked tirelessly that afternoon, making the new underclothes, she pictured the girl in the brothel and how confident she had been. Sansa made her small clothes slightly longer than the girls, but, when she looked in the looking glass, she felt the same shock and confidence she was sure the girl felt. She let her hair fall around her shoulders, completing the look and stared at herself for a long while. She felt a power she had never felt before, a sexual energy surged through her and she felt every hair on her body stand on edge. After a while, she turned away from the looking glass, dressed her hair and pulled on her gown.
Sansa knew in order for her plan to work, that she would have to eat her meal early, so that she could go and undress in Petyr's quarters whilst he dined with the others. She sat alone and pondered in silence what she had unlocked in Petyr. It was definitely more than just the dresses that he was angry about. There were deep rooted issues, ones that she had not seen him become angry over before. She knew how important it was for a man to feel appreciated, and she understood that she might not have been appreciating Petyr as much as she should. Underneath all of his good manners, Petyr was a dominant male and Sansa craved to see that side of him. It had shown itself earlier in the day, but she wanted to see it in all of its gritty, aggressive glory.
Petyr noticed Sansa's absence at dinner. He had not meant to hurt her feelings and he knew now that he should not have gone to her when he was in such a rage. He was sure that he had frightened her into isolation. He ate quickly, before walking slowly back to his quarters. He wondered if he should go to her, or perhaps give her her space. He knew it was not her fault and that her experience with Ramsey probably made her fear that part of men. He wished that he could go back and tell himself to calm down before talking to her.
Sansa knew that she did not have much time. She stripped down to her new smallclothes and let her hair down. She sat in his large leather chair, grateful for the heat of the fire and waited, wondering now if this was all one terrible mistake. However, before she could redress and return to her quarters, the door creaked open and Petyr was there.
When she stood, it was out of shock. Petyr also was paralysed by the situation. She stood, eyes wide, hair loose, in an outfit he would have never dreamt of seeing her in. But, she did not look like a whore, he decided as he gazed upon her, his mouth watering. But, before he let his mind become overrun with lust, there were a few questions he had to ask.
"Sansa," But, it seemed, when he opened his mouth, that he could not find a way to phrase his sentence. But Sansa understood perfectly well.
"I felt very guilty earlier. You were right, I should have come to you. But I did not want you to think I was greedy. I was wrong and I wanted to redeem myself after making you so angry." Her voice was low, embarrassed by the situation. Petyr smiled, he understood now. No doubt, her Father had taught her that a woman who spent her husband's fortunes was of ill repute. However, this still did not explain where she found such a garment, one that a Lady would never be seen in.
"I visited one of your establishments and had one of the girls try on her outfits, until I found one I wanted to make." She blushed a deep shade of scarlet, admitting that she had visited a brothel. However, the thought of her being there, being in his environment, excited him immensely.
He approached her slowly, not wanting to scare her after his previous behaviour.
"I told the merchant to bill you for the fabric. I hope you don't mind." She whispered and he smiled down at her, sin in his eyes.
"I do not think that you are little finger, I never could see you in such a way." She whispered, looking down at her bare feet. Petyr placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her head to meet his gaze. Sansa quivered under his intense gaze. She knew then, in that moment, that she would submit to anything that he wanted, anything that he asked she would do. It was a dangerous position to be in, one that she could only experience with him.
Petyr wondered what he should do with his fragile little doll. He knew, of course, that she was not as fragile as she seemed. But looking up at him now, with eyes as large as saucers, lips parted in expectation, he knew that he had the upper hand. But, he did not want to abuse this power, she had entrusted him, shown him the most intimate parts of herself, hoping to not be hurt. And he not hurt her, he would use this power that she had given him to support and love her. He encircled her waist and pulled her close, claiming one side of her throat with his hand and the other with his mouth, he kissed her tenderly.
"You are mine, Sansa Stark." He whispered and there was a moment of liberation for Sansa, as if for a time, she could release the responsibility she felt and simply let him take over.
They remained this way, Petyr whispering in her ear between open mouth kisses to her neck, before Sansa became gold. Petyr noticed the prickling of her skin and slight shiver down her spine. So, he released her, taking her hand and leading her to the bed.
"Warm yourself under the covers, my love." He insisted. Sansa wriggled under the covers, glad for the sudden warmth. He watched her as he undressed, wanting to see her reaction. Her eyes widened when they fell upon his scar once more, he expected this. However, what he did not expect was for her gaze to travel south, towards a part of himself that was very improper for a woman to be gazing at. Her gaze tempted him to remove his breeches, but he knew, if he were to do that, that he would not be able to contain himself. So, for the time being, they remained on.
Sansa wondered why he did not disrobe completely, but did not dwell on the fact for too long. He approached the bed, eyes dark and filled with lust. The feel of his body hovering above hers, almost touching, was unlike anything Sansa had experienced. His kisses were light at first, peppering her face, until he reached her lips. Then, his kisses became deeper and longer. He savoured her like a man's first cup of wine after a long journey. His hands stroked her, as opposed to groping her. She was so soft that Petyr felt his mouth water. The fabric of her smallclothes was so soft, it felt like water in his hands. His fingers ghosted over the swells of her breasts and he heard a faint moan leave her mouth.
"Sansa," He began, but felt himself drawn in for another kiss.
"Please." She whispered against his wanton lips. He knew he would not take her before their wedding night, but he would ensure that he showed Sansa a part of what real love making was like.
Sansa felt her senses overload. She felt as if she was feeling everything at once and yet she wanted more. As Petyr's hands travelled towards the part of Sansa that had never been touched lovingly by a man before, her breath hitched and he paused. She understood, after her past, he would be cautious with her and she was glad of this and she knew that she might have to spur him on a little.
"Please." She whispered into the nape of his neck before placing an open mouthed kiss there. It was Petyr now that let out a kind of moan, before allowing his fingers to continue their journey. She felt his fingers brush against her curls and she then heard him moan when he found her centre. She was sweeter and softer than any woman he had seen or touched before. Feeling how aroused he had made her aroused Petyr further and he wondered whether Sansa could feel his manhood pressed against her thigh, her blush suggested that she did.
He did not move too quickly, not wanting to shock her. His fingers worked slowly, stroking her in motions that made her quiver under his touch. When he found her nub, Sansa gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. After a few moments though, she let the hand fall from her mouth and wrap around Petyr's neck. She was so sensitive, purring and moaning lightly as he continued to touch her. In this moment, he realised how much he loved her. So many people had hurt her in the past, hurt her with this thing that was supposed to be beautiful and the fact that she was trusting him, after everything that she had endured, made the very centre of himself feel warm.
Sansa could feel something she had never felt before, something that she had heard maids and ladies of the court whisper about, but never experienced herself. She had tried, fumbling around by herself. But it had never quite felt like this. Her breath quickened, as she clung onto Petyr, panting and purring into his neck. She could feel his manhood against her and blushed at the thought of the situation. As she wound and wound, like a spring, she wondered what would happen when the tension was released. And just like that it happened, her body became stiff, sa she clung to Petyr and she cried softly into Petyr's neck. She now understood what all of the fuss was about and why people would risk marriages, and even their lives for such a thing. She felt as if she had been freed from the constraints of royal life, as if she had been granted a moment of pure bliss and once it was over, she slumped into Petyr's embrace, only now hearing his soft whispers.
Petyr was overcome with joy, love and arousal. He was so proud of Sansa, that she had allowed herself the freedom to understand what pleasure was and he was so grateful that he was the first to show her that wonderful side of life. He began to reposition Sansa, so that he could hold her and she could sleep, but her hand came to his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
"Sansa?" He asked, as she laid him down on his back and began unlacing his breeches.
"Sansa, you don't have to-"
"I want you." She insisted and he could not argue with the look in her eye. So, he removed what clothing he had left on and now felt like the vulnerable one.
Sansa was sure she looked very much like a silly girl as she stared at his manhood, eyes wide. She had never seen one so close, never having seen Ramsey's in such detail. It seemed larger than she imagined, and she wondered if all men were the same size and presumed that they were probably not. Petyr sat in disbelief and delight, watching her inspect him in such detail. Sansa had heard women speak of how to pleasure a man and remembered one of the women saying:
"If you run your thumbs over the veins, he will enjoy it." So, now faced with protruding veins, Sansa encircled Petyr's manhood in her hands and ran her thumbs along the veins gently. She wondered if she was still being too rough when Petyr hissed and bared his teeth. However, she continued when she heard a growl leave his chest. Once the moans came and she saw Petyr, laid back, with his eyes closed, lost in pleasure, Sansa gained the courage to attempt something that every woman said was a simple way to please a man.
Petyr's eyes flew open when he felt Sansa's tongue come into contact with his skin. Her tongue was so warm and wet that he thought he might explode as it did its laps over his manhood.
"Oh, Sansa." He encouraged her, placing a firm hand on her backside. Sansa smiled internally, glad that she was pleasing him well. When she saw the clear liquid ooze from the tip, she cautiously licked at it, wondering what it was. When Petyr's hips bucked and he shuddered, she decided that this was something he liked, so she continued to pass her tongue over the small opening, causing him to shudder. She thought doing such a thing might make her feel like a whore, as she had before, but she felt rather liberated, pleasuring the man she loved. She was not being paid, they were not strangers and she realised that that made all the difference.
Petyr feared that he could not hold himself much longer, and he feared that Sansa would not be prepared for what was going to follow. However, when her lips closed down over the tip of his manhood, he could not help it, they were so soft and so wet and her tongue was so skilled for being so inexperienced. He bucked a few times, wailing out and gripping at the skin of her backside. Sansa had to admit that she was not wholly prepared for what had happened, but she took it in her stride and swallowed his seed and as she had been told to in the past. She was surprised that she had been so successful and she was proud of herself for opening herself in such a way. She pressed herself against Petyr, who now brought the covers over them both and he held her and although no words were spoken, she knew that all was forgiven and that he loved her.