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There were many golden things that could have caught Petyr's eye. The blazing summer sun, the curls flowing from the heads of Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon, a school of fish whos scales occasionally surfaced upon the Blackwater Bay. But nothing commanded his attention more than the golden strands that were weaved into Sansa Stark's red locks. How had he never noticed that before? The gold that highlighted her hair was more beautiful than any stupid school of fish that Varys was currently fascinated by.
"Look at those colours, Lord Baelish," Petyr heard the eunuch praise, "truly I've never seen such beauty upon the Blackwater Bay."
But really, the Spider could be entranced by ridiculous fish for as long as liked, it wouldn't distract Petyr's attention from the golden highlights in his new wife's hair. Perhaps it was the sun that was shining down, causing everything below it to glitter, that brought out the previously unnoticed colour intertwined in her curls. Either way it was a true thing of beauty, the way it seemed to glisten, and Petyr could not tear his eyes away.
It was the afternoon of a hot day, the middle of summer for Kings Landing, and most of the city were outdoors, enjoying the warmth. Members of the court were no exception, so it seemed. Varys had insisted that Lord Baelish join him for a stroll down to Blackwater Bay to discuss matters of the King's wedding from the last council meeting. The Lannisters had a specific little nook of the bay reserved for their family's use only, and as members of the King's council, Baelish and Varys were permitted to make use of the area. It had been Varys who had suggested the use of the Lannister's private corner of the bay, to discuss more intimate matters regarding the feuds between certain houses, and how to keep order for the King's wedding. It was best, for such delicate matters to be discussed away from potential prying ears from particular houses.
What hadn't been anticipated though, was that the youngest Baratheon children would have wanted to make use of the secluded area of the Blackwater Bay. Which should have been foreseen really, but the idea of people using a place to have fun was not one that crossed Petyr's mind often. Unsure of what to do next, Lord Petyr and Varys stood on a small stony ledge behind the bay, remaining still unnoticed by the younger court members below.
Myrcella was swimming elegantly between rocks with Alla Tyrell whilst Margaery and Elinor sat at the waters edge, only their feet actually entering the water, talking (or most likely, gossiping) about whatever young ladies talked about. Probably their husbands-to-be. Sansa however, stood further in the water with Tommen Baratheon and Megga Tyrell, laughing loudly, shouting and splashing water all over each other. She looked happy and relaxed, as a young girl should. Next to Petry, she was always stiff and quiet, wanting to please her husband but not realising that her happiness would bring him more pleasure than she could know. He smiled as he watched his young wife play in the water, clearly the most beautiful girl of them all, and Baelish wished that he could see this youthful version of his wife more often.
Despite the childish game that she was playing, Petyr couldn't help finding himself getting slightly aroused at his wife's appearance. Dress, corset, stockings and slippers had been tossed off and discarded on the sand, away from the reach of gentle waves. Being only in her shift would tease Baelish enough, but the awful girl had had the idea to tie the thin garment in a knot just below her breasts, with only her smallclothes covering the pale skin below that. Every bit of exposed skin drove Petyr crazy, and he wondered if it would be too cruel to ask his wife to accompany him back to their chambers.
"Lord Petyr?" Baelish heard a voice next to him sigh, and he realised that Varys had been addressing him.
"Oh, my apologies Lord Varys," Petyr cleared his throat awkwardly, "I'm afraid the heat is making it a little hard for me to focus,"
"Yes, the heat." Varys agreed sarcastically, "I was suggesting that we might continue our discussion another day. Clearly the bay is in use, and I don't quite fancy discussing the Royal wedding in one of your brothels."
"Of course, that sounds reasonable," Petyr glanced over to the bay, where his wife was kicking water at the young prince. "In that case, if you'll excuse me my Lord, I'm going to check upon my wife,"
Baelish saw the fucker roll his eyes as he turned away to make his way back into the city. "Give Lady Sansa my well wishes," he dismissed with a wave, violet robes brushing the floor as Littlefinger watched Varys walk away and immerse himself into the crowds of the capital's streets.
He looked at his wife one more time with a fond smile before making his way back down and around the ledge to walk across the bay. Baelish was naturally quite light footed and so didn't make much sound when walking (especially upon sand), but he didn't expect to take so long to be noticed. It was the queen-to-be Margaery who noticed him strolling across the sand first, after at least a minute. She had tipped her head backwards to bask in the sun when she noticed the Lord behind them.
"Lord Baelish!" She greeted with a wave and a smile, which Petyr returned.
The others started to notice him then, with varying reactions, but the only one Petyr cared about was Sansa. She turned her head at the sound of Margaery's greeting, and her beautiful face turned pink with embarrassment.
"L-Lord Baelish!" She stammered, hastily untying the knot at her chest so that the shift flowed downwards to float upon the water at her knees. The young Lady Baelish stood awkwardly in the water, wringing her hands together nervously at her waist.
"Apologies for the intrusion my ladies, my prince," he nodded towards the young Tommen who smiled back, "I was wondering if I may be so bold as to steal my lady away for the evening? We've been invited to sup with Lord Tyrion and I wish to give her ample time to prepare."
It wasn't a complete lie. They had been invited to sup with Tyrion Lannister, but the imp had approached Baelish that morn and informed him that lunch tomorrow would better suit him.
"Of course, we were about to return to the Red Keep soon anyway. I'm sure Sansa won't mind leaving a few moments earlier," Margaery answered for the girl, who was steadily treading towards the shore, as to not fall over and embarrass herself further in front of not only her highborn friends, but also her husband.
Even if Petyr did not take notice of his wife's wardrobe, then he would still be able to tell which pile of clothes belonged to Sansa Baelish. She was the only one who had taken care to fold up her garments in a neat pile on a rock. Even Lady Margaery and her pretentious cousin Elinor had left their clothes strewn around on the sand. Petyr picked up the garments and helped Sansa dress when she arrived at his side, the bottom of her shift dripping wet but her hair completely dry, the gold in it even shinier and prettier up close. She slipped on her corset underneath the shift, not bothering to tie it up, and slipped her stockings onto her wet feet. Petyr helped her get into her dress, which was purple with golden accents (which complimented the golden streaks in her hair very nicely actually), and laced up the back for her. After slipping on her shoes, she turned to give a small wave goodbye to her companions, before dutifully taking Petyr's arm that he offered to her.
As they walked off the bay, Petyr heard the wretched Elinor Tyrell snicker before 'whispering' to Margaery.
"He's so old!" She said between harsh laughs, "I don't envy her at all I must say. Perhaps I'd feel bad for her if she acted maturely around him though- I mean she acts more like his daughter than his wife." More giggles ensued, mostly from Elinor but their future queen definitely wasn't silent. "He's close to her father's age isn't he? Ooh, and he loved her mother once I hear- perhaps she really is his daughter!"
"Elinor, hush!" The older Tyrell urged, but it didn't mask the fact that she was beginning to laugh almost as profusely as her cousin.
Such comments didn't bother Petyr, naturally (growing up as a lowborn he had learned to ignore such pathetic jabs) but as he looked over to his young wife, he knew that she definitely had heard, and it bothered her. She said nothing, never one to speak ill of others, but in the way she bit her lip and her gaze dropped to the floor, Petyr knew Elinor's words cut her as sharp as a knife.
"Do you enjoy the company of the Tyrell girls?" Petyr asked her, as they made their way into the main streets of the busy capital.
"Of course," Sansa answered a little too quickly, "the Tyrell girls are ever so kind to invite a girl with traitor's blood to join them in their daily activities. They treat me as if I were a sister to them,"
They had been married for two weeks now, and as much as Petyr tried to coax her into being more comfortable and genuine with him, Sansa would stick to repeating those same songs that she had been taught to sing whenever questioned. That the Lannisters and Tyrells were good, that the Starks were traitors and that she was worthless aside from her claim on the North. He couldn't blame her really. She knew him as the Lannister's man, a member of King Joffrey's own council, he should be Sansa's enemy, yet here she was sharing a bed with him.
Much to Petyr's dismay they had only made love once, on their wedding night. And by the gods had it been sweet and perfect. But of course Petyr must remember that she was still a young girl who mistrusted him, and so he tried not to bring up the subject of sex too often around her. His need to touch the beautiful girl he called his wife only fuelled his efforts to get her to trust him.
"I heard what Elinor just said sweetling, that was hardly very kind of her. It might not be wise to speak of it here, out in the crowded streets, but you know that in the privacy of our own rooms you can be honest with me about your feelings,"
Sansa only nodded and kept her eyes fixed on the ground as they walked through the streets of Kings Landing. It was a city difficult to voyage through to be sure, but Baelish was a quick learner and had soon memorised all the streets, alleys and hidden passageways, and knew the quickest way to get to everywhere he would ever need to go. After many years of being in the city, Littlefinger had become a master of navigation.
Which came in handy in the seedy streets of the capital, especially when one had a pretty young girl on his arm. Even the streets that were filled with merchants selling expensive spices and jewellery from the furthest corners of Essos, had thieves and murderers and rapists lurking in the shadows. And the overwhelming smells one had to endure whilst walking thorough the streets of Kings Landing were almost unbearable. Scents of dung and dirt, spices and sewage, pastries and piss bombarding ones nose all at once was enough to drive you crazy if you had to smell all of that everyday of your life... Perhaps that's why some of the smallfolk of Kings Landing seemed a little mad.
"I... I apologise my Lord," Sansa said as they began to ascend Aegon's High Hill to return to the Red Keep.
"For what, sweetling? You've done nothing that demands an apology," Petyr replied, confused at his wife's downcast expression.
"For- for shaming you of course!" The young girl blurted out.
"Shaming me?" Baelish couldn't help but chuckle comfortingly, "I don't believe you've shamed me in any way my lady,"
"But I have!" She insisted, "Earlier on, that was not how a lady should have acted my Lord. I'm a child no longer yet I still acted like one, fooling around in my undergarments as if I were still Rickon's age-" at the mention of her dead brother her breath hitched a little and sadness swept over her eyes, but she continued anyway, "it- it was not becoming of a lady who is married to a member of the king's council. It won't happen again my Lord, I beg your forgiveness,"
"Sansa, my dearest girl. You still have your youth no matter whom you are married to. It made me happy to see you enjoying yourself and I want you to be as happy as you can be in this wretched city. When I was your age I was forced to grow up far too quickly, to face the harsh realities of the world. I had no youthfulness left in me but you, sweet Sansa, you do. I want you to do whatever makes you happy, my wife, no matter if you think it's unbecoming of you or not."
The young girl looked a little stunned, likely expecting a lecture on how immature she had behaved.
"M-my Lord-"
"Petyr, sweetling. Call me Petyr." He corrected softly.
"Petyr," she echoed. "You... You're words are too kind for my traitors blood,"
"Sansa," he said firmly, "I must request that you stop saying such things about yourself. At least to me. I am your husband and I know that your blood is as pure as can be. I will not have my wife sully her good name with such falsehoods."
His little wife was again at a loss for words. Her mouth hung open a little as he looked at her, as if she was trying to find the correct words to say but she didn't know what to say. She hadn't been taught a song for such situations. Instead she closed her mouth and looked back to the floor. Perhaps she thought this was a test, that if she were to say a word against the Lannisters to him then he would run straight to Cersei, telling her of Sansa's treason.
"I'm going to get you out of this city," Peter whispered into her ear, "hopefully before the royal wedding. I'll take you to Harrenhall and you'll be safe and away from the Lannisters. I swear it,"
Sansa looked at him again, Tully blue eyes flicking over his face. Trying to read his expression, he assumed. If he was being Littlefinger in that moment then she would not have been able to find any expression on his mask, but right now he was not Littlefinger. He was Petyr, her husband, and he let his expression show all the genuine affection that he felt towards her.
If she was going to reply to him, then Petyr may never know, as a pair of red cloaks strode past them, on their way into the city. Sansa hastily changed the subject as to not seem suspicious, although Petyr doubted whether the red cloaks would really be paying attention to what Littlefinger and his young wife were discussing. Regardless, it wasn't a stupid move in the slightest.
"What do you suggest I wear to our meal with Lord Tyrion, my Lord?" She asked.
"I must confess, my lady, that we're not to be supping with Tyrion Lannister tonight. That was originally what had been planned, but this morning he asked me to reschedule for tomorrow lunch,"
"But... Why would you ask me to accompany you back to the Red Keep then?" His wife questioned, her brow furrowing a little.
"I do beg your forgiveness my Lady. It was for a very selfish reason,"
"Go on," she prompted, looking at him with curiosity.
"I wished to appreciate your beauty up close, my sweet wife," Petyr smirked as his wife blushed, "I thought you looked quite stunning down on the Blackwater Bay and I simply couldn't help but want you all to myself. It was awful of me, I know. Would you forgive me Lady Sansa?"
"Um, o-of course my Lord Petyr, I am flattered by your words, truly," she faltered.
"Did you know, my lady, that you have gold in your hair? I hadn't noticed until today, with the sun illuminating you. It's very lovely,"
He stopped to skim a hand through her hair, before grasping a handful lightly and bringing it to his lips, never breaking eye contact with his wife. She was quiet as usual, but instead of simply shying away like she normally did, she stepped closer to him. And to Petyr's surprise she took the lead and kissed him on the lips. It wasn't a deep kiss, she was still rather new to kissing, but her soft, wet, unmoving lips stirred up his arousal in his stomach.
Petyr couldn't help but smirk to himself. Perhaps he would get bedded tonight, but even if he didn't, he didn't care. She was becoming more comfortable with him and that was key. Of course he needed her trust to win the North, but Petyr found himself becoming fonder of his new wife every day that passed. Wanting to please her, to give her whatever she wanted. Who knew that a few golden strands in a girl's hair would become the source of his weakness.