Work Text:
Many who try to climb it fail.
It had been true of others. Others but not him. He had seen so many foolish men making foolish mistakes only to be broken as they fell.
When had he become one of them.
He stood in the shadows, in the great hall of Winterfell, watching as his plans were torn apart. And he must be a fool if these so-called honourable, Northern men – stupid men – was all it took to toss him down.
The men were naming the bastard King in the North. A poor move. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when, would some other House try to take Winterfell from a man with no true claim. It would take a small mistake on his part for these men, their fervent cheers now echoing off the stone walls, to remember his true parentage. They needed a Stark, a true Stark… they needed Sansa…
My love.
She was beautiful at the head of the hall, all solemn grace and well timed smiles. Gods, she had played him out in the snow, and he worried now he had given too much. He could see her thinking on his words as the men declared their loyalty to her brother – her half-brother. He could see her concern in her furrowed brow as he was credited with avenging, with saving, her family name.
Her smile to Jon as he rose beside her held truth, to be sure. But truth made the best masks – she had learned that lesson well.
It was then, when the cheers rose higher amongst the rafters, that she looked over to him. His face was all bitterness, he knew. A lost opportunity. A lost dream.
A pretty picture.
----------------------
She noticed him cloaked in shadows, the one grim face where all others were, for now, united in purpose. He was bitter – oh so bitter. For despite the victory that led them to this hall he had lost this battle.
That never stopped you from serving yourself.
She had trusted him once. Trusted him enough to let him teach her. But she had realized he never truly expected her to become a player. She was still a piece of his dream, a piece to be moved.
But today the tables had turned. It was him who had trusted in her, trusted her with his hopes and fantasies. And it was her who had torn those dreams to shreds.
Life is not a song, sweetling.
Some part of her was truly happy for Jon, as he stood beside her, that his words and his honour could inspire such loyalty from men who had until now been divided. She had gotten her vengeance. She had thought that would be enough.
But as she looked at Petyr, she could feel his bitterness reflected somewhere inside of her as well…
And I only act if the answer is yes.
She knew the game wasn’t over. She wasn’t done playing.