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“Every time I’m faced with a decision, I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action, I ask myself, will this help make this picture a reality? Pull it out of my mind? Into the world? I only act if the answer is yes.”
Sansa felt her heart skip the beat as he closed the distance between them. Despite the Northern frost she felt the heat emanating from his body, mixed with the familiar scent of a mint and sandal wood, engulfing her senses.
“The picture of me, on the Iron Throne…and you by my side.”
She wasn’t sure whether it was the pressing urgency resonating in his coarse voice, the intimate closeness or the magnitude of his confession that made her shiver. She felt dizzy as her now racing heart spread the heat through her veins like a liquid fire setting her core ablaze. She didn't dare to move.
It wasn't his confession that shocked her. It was the look in his eyes that paralysed her. His emerald eyes were stone-hard, darkened with desire. Yet as those, at other times impenetrable, eyes were piercing hers, she realised that for the very first time the master of lies stood in front of her bare of any mask. For the first time he let her truly see him, glimpse deep into his aching heart. Without the slightest attempt to disguise or embellish it, he let her see the raw darkness that had settled in his soul revealing his true ambitions without any effort to make them seem more noble than they were. The man putting his life into her hands by confessing his darkest secrets was Petyr - the little naive boy whose dreams nearly cost him his life. A low-born boy mercilessly hurt by those who held the power shattering his fantasies of a better world. A boy who became the master of deception, hardened by his quest for revenge. A man who would burn the entire world only to become the king of the ashes. A man who despite this all still resembled the little naive boy more than he realised - he still dreamed, he still loved. But no matter how foolish or remote his fantasies might have seemed, Sansa knew the man standing in front of her was ready to destroy to make them real.
She knew she should be appalled, disgusted, but instead she felt her heart ache for that little boy - for he was so much like the girl she once used to be. They were alike, both mocked, humiliated and gravely underestimated by those who thought themselves better, bigger players.
Instead of being repelled by seeing his true self, she was drawn to the darkness that reigned his heart. She craved that darkness, she craved being devoured by it, to submit herself fully to that blissful sensation of acknowledging that the same darkness was already rooting deep inside her own soul. And in that world of eternal darkness he was her guide, her mentor. If he was to become the king of ashes, she wished to be his queen of chaos.
As he leaned closer to kiss her, for a split second she was tempted to yield, let him claim her lips, crush her body into his tight embrace and drown in the ocean of passion that was inviting her. She found herself leaning in, feeling aching need, burning desire centred in her core. It wasn't rejection that gently, yet firmly placed her palm onto his chest stopping him from breaking the invisible barrier between them. It was fear. She wasn't ready to give herself to him completely. For although she loved Petyr, she was still wary of Littlefinger. She needed more time to put his loyalty to a test before making that last irreversible step and fall into the abyss.
She was trembling with excitement as she was gently toying with the hem of his coat, barely breathing, suffocating with that excruciating tension hovering between them. She didn't stop him from reaching for her arm, letting him nearly close their embrace. She felt his heart pounding hard beneath her hand as she was struggling to resist, wondering what it would feel like to make him moan her name. Despite her clenched throat she finally managed to say: "It is a nice picture."
He couldn't help to feel a bitter disappointment when she slowly slipped out from his embrace. A cold emptiness replaced her radiating warmth, the frosty breeze crawled underneath his heavy coat bitting in his flesh heated by her closeness. However, in the matter of seconds, the disappointment was quickly being replaced by another, much stronger feeling - a triumph. In the brief magical moment when she was resting in his embrace he felt it all - her hesitation, her struggle, her desire, her temptation.
A confident smirk crawled onto his face as he called her "my love." The charade between them was over. She was his, no longer his sweetling, but his love.