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Warpath Prompt

Prompt from @queeenpersephone reads as follows:  

 if you’re still doing prompts: someone hurts sansa and petyr goes on the warpath?? ty love! 💕

________________________________________________________________!!!!Trigger Warning!!!! 

Vulgarity, Violence, Murder, Rape, Miscarriage, Mutilation. 

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I abhorred my wife, loathed her very existence. I knew that such hatred wasn’t exactly par for the course, but figured it wasn’t that far off from normal. I have not observed love and marriage to go hand in hand, typically. I’d have felt lucky just to tolerate the woman, but our long standing history guaranteed that I wouldn’t. I had to brace myself for her affection, every muscle in my body tightening, rejecting her touch.

I would fight my gag reflex, listening to her banshee wail above my retching, her man-hands dragging my face repeatedly across her fishy cunt. Often, I closed my eyes, and refused to speak, trying to keep myself from such an obvious shudder. So oblivious to her own disgusting nature, she thought I was too overcome with passion to form words. Embroiled with disgust would be more accurate.

I whored myself to my rapist because I valued money and position more than myself. I wanted power more than I wanted pride or self-respect. I thought it would fix all the times life screwed me. When it didn’t, I had gone too far to turn back. I know you understand that, my old friend.

My days were hollow, the only joy I derived from them were the times I was able to best someone else. It didn’t matter who or what, exactly, only that I was better. That was until I crossed paths with Sansa, the little girl I’d let sit on my knee when she was but a child. She’d been sent off to an all girl school for the majority of my marriage to Lysa, only to return a woman, and betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, no less.

You were there for the announcement, tell me she wasn’t a breath of fresh air. You can’t. She was kindness in a life with only pain and injury. She radiated warmth and acceptance, a sense of regrowth and renewal in a completely barren world filled with people like you and me. Schemers, backstabbers, and liars, all of us. She was simply too pure, too good to ever pay someone like me any mind. Or so, I thought.

I was Uncle Petyr to her, but she knew instinctively by the way our eyes met that there was more between us, instantly. It was natural, primal, unavoidable. We were alone in her parents kitchen, the garden party carrying on outside, as I gripped the counter around her, inhaling the scent of her hair. She shivered beneath me, and I saw myself for the predator I was. About to recoil away from the girl I was meant to uncle, I stopped when I noticed her nipples erect against the thin material of her sundress. She was not meek and mild prey, terrified of being devoured by me, but instead anxiously waiting in anticipation for me to touch her.

Say what you will, old friend, but I tell you this truth. I warned her, let her set the pace. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

She didn’t, chewing her lip nervously as I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to her soft skin. She gasped at the contact, but she didn’t run. I trailed kisses up her neck to her ear, ecstatic that she was allowing me such liberties. I let my hand pick up from the counter, and clutch her side, careful not to push her too much. I just wanted to feel more of her under my fingertips. At that extra point of contact, she gripped my hair and pulled my face to hers, claiming my mouth. I couldn’t stifle the moan that I breathed into her, and she broke our kiss giggling. I felt the spell breaking, knew she’d go back to the innocent schoolgirl promised to Joffrey, and I would go back to the dark decaying life that I’d risen to.

Yet again, she surprised me. The party was over, people were collecting their things. We’d spent the entirety of it looking at each other when we thought for certain the other had no knowledge of it. Lysa waved her hand dismissively at me to get the coats. I’m sure you remember, you got a good chuckle out of it at the time. I don’t remember what I said to you exactly, my mind so wrapped up in the sweet smell and soft skin I’d left in the kitchen a couple hours before. I’m sure it was something biting though, as is typically our way.

When I walked into the Stark’s coat room, I heard the door click shut behind me. Low and behold, the beautiful Sansa Stark that I’d tasted on my lips, smiled before she leaned forward and kissed me again. I brought my hands to her arms, minding my urge to grip more intimate places. She pulled away from me and pressed a piece of paper into my hand. She smiled to one side, a dimple accenting her happiness as she said, “Here’s my number. Call me.”

This is no fabrication. She pursued me. I took the first step, but it was she that followed it up. I didn’t need her to give me her number, as you well know. I can find anyone I want to, or you wouldn’t be in the predicament you’re in now. Receiving that small crinkled up paper was the biggest thrill I’d had in a long time. It was permission, approval, an invitation. A physical note was careless, to be sure, but I adored it all the same. I programmed it in my phone under an associate’s name so Lysa wouldn’t suspect, and then I chewed and swallowed the small scrap to avoid it getting caught in the trash.

As you well know, things only evolved from there. I don’t know how or when you found out, and as we find ourselves here, it doesn’t matter. I won’t remove the gag to allow your gloat, plead with your eyes as you might.

I was with Lysa when she got the call from her sister. Were you there when Catelyn made it? Ever the support… No, I imagine not. Best to keep your hands clean. Lysa turned to me, horrified as she exclaimed, “We need to go to the hospital. Sansa’s been attacked!”

Attacked.

My body moved mechanically as I processed that one word and its weight. How? Who? When? Ned stopped us at the elevator, face flushed with a need for fatherly vengeance, hands wringing to find the person to exact it on. “What the hell was she doing in that part of town anyway?”

I had left her side that morning, in the apartment I’d purchased for us to be together in whenever the rest of the world wasn’t paying attention. She sighed on the bed and said, “I’m going to stay for another hour before Joffrey gets out of class and starts looking for me.” I allowed it, always finding it difficult to deny her anything. It made sense for us to leave at different times anyway.

Lysa put her hand on Ned’s shoulder, and empty gesture of comfort as she softened her voice. “Can we see her?”

Ned nodded his head, unable to speak. Panic rose in the back of my throat as I imagined how battered her beautiful body would be. If the great Ned Stark was unable to find words, how useless would I be rendered? Lysa wrapped her arm around me, and guided me into the room.

Sansa laid unconscious on the bed, wrapped in splints and bandages, oxygen piping through tubes to her nose. Her skin was so dark, much too dark for the ivory I’d felt smooth across mine. Bruising. So much bruising. Catelyn was sitting in the corner, but ran to Lysa as soon as she’d seen her. I stared down at my love, shattered as I listened to Lysa coo to her sister.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, cataloguing every bump and abrasion. Someone would pay for this. You, my creepy crawly friend, will know my wrath for what happened to her. I didn’t know it was you at the time, but I followed the trail.

Catelyn’s voice faltered as she cried into Lysa’s shoulder, “They said she lost the baby. Joffrey’s going to be so disappointed. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

Neither did I.

I know now, that you did. The room was suddenly warm and spinning as red hot fury coursed through my veins as I thought of nothing else but murder.

Lysa’s icy cold fingertips traced the back of my hand, caught in it’s white-knuckle grip on the bed rail. Her whispered words slithered in my ear. “I couldn’t let that little slut carry my husband’s child.”

Slowly, I craned my neck to look at her. The surprise and worry gone from her features, replaced by smug satisfaction. She smirked as she said, “Let this be a lesson to you, Petyr.”

My teeth hurt from the pressure of my clenching, though I barely noticed. I felt as though I could rip the railing off the bed and beat her with it. She reached for the blanket that covered Sansa, pulling it down at the same time she tugged at her hospital gown. I didn’t recognize my own voice as I growled, “What are you doing?”

She shrugged her shoulders lightly and said, “Checking to make sure that my little lesson has been delivered. It’s important for aunts to teach their nieces things.”

Dark blue and purple skin peeked out from the pool of fabric around her waist. Bright auburn curls that I’d seen intimately more than a few times before, stood in contrast against all the bruised flesh. I was outraged at her for exposing Sansa to the cold sterile hospital room. She ignored me, giggling as she said, “Oh, it’s perfect! Petyr look.”

I leaned over further, wondering what awful thing Lysa would deem perfect. Carved into my love’s delicate ivory flesh were the following words, Littlefinger’s Whore-Hole. The beast broke from his cage and I flew at her in a frenzy. My hands settled on her throat, squeezing as hard as I could, listening to her rasp as I crushed her windpipe. Only when I realized my muscles were flexed to hold her heavy sagging lifeless form, rather than fight it, did I look around me.

Catelyn had gone off to see to her husband, fortunately leaving Lysa and I alone. I ran to the door and propped a chair under it to keep anyone from entering. Each hospital room was equipped with a tall locker-like cupboard to hang a coat and bag in. Sansa’s was empty, except for a tote of her mother’s knitting. I removed it and tossed it in the top cupboard before dragging Lysa’s wretched body across the hospital tile and crammed her into the cupboard.

Getting the door shut was the hardest part, she’d grown a bit wide in the hips over the years. Somehow I managed, and then I ran for the door, moving the chair out of the way to avoid any suspicion should someone try to visit at that moment and find the door barricaded. I heard a whimper behind me and I whipped around to see my love coming to consciousness. Her eyes blinked open, the white of her eyes colored a dark red from the burst blood vessels. Tears streaked her cheeks as her trembling arms fought to cover herself from me.

She didn’t want me to see what they had done to her, what you had done to her! My hands flew to her, straightening her gown and tucking the blanket over her. I blinked back my own tears as I smiled down to her. “It’s alright, sweetling,” I told her. “You’re still the most beautiful woman. They didn’t take that from you,” I promised her. “You will heal and be strong again,” I prayed.

Her hand squeezed mine and she pressed her cracked and swollen lips together, a horse rasp sounded, “Trrr-ant.”

Trant. The man who did this. At least, it was his knuckles that snapped her delicate bones. It made sense that it would be him. He was was Joffrey’s muscle. If Lysa knew about their affair, then it made sense that Joffrey knew too. He would send his man after my woman, and teach her who she belonged to. I shook my head and told her to rest, smiling warmly as I kissed her fists. I noticed for the first time just how abraded they were, some of her fingernails torn and missing.

She fought.

My beautiful girl fought back, unwilling to be taken. I felt my heart beating loudly against my chest, a rogue tear rolled down my cheek, refusing to let me blink it away as I promised her retribution.

I called you at the time, do you remember? Of course you do. I asked you to use your connections on the force to bury details of Sansa’s attack, not wanting the Starks to know the awful details of their daughter’s mutilation. I knew she wouldn’t want them to know. I realize now that I didn’t need to ask you to cover this up, you already were. The Starks were there an hour before we were, plenty of time to learn the extent of things. They hadn’t, however, because if Catelyn knew, she would have said something. I forget sometimes, how far your reach is. Was.    

After I called to have Lysa cleaned up–it’s amazing the connections I’ve made over the years, I called some associates: Oswell and Brune. Trant wasn’t hard to locate, his strength and position leaving him overconfident. I stood over him as the boys gave him bruise for bruise, cut for cut to match Sansa. He tried to be tough at first, but soon his grunts turned to screams. As he faded in and out of consciousness, his blood a lake around my feet, I had them flip him over and pull his pants down. You’re going to like this, I carved, Littlefinger’s Whore-Hole above his ass and then rammed the dagger deep in his rectum, leaving him to gargle his last breath in the blood lake he drowned in. I took my phone out and snapped a quick photo.

Joffrey was next. Too drunk and high to notice that the club had cleared out as my boys closed in on him, Joffrey squealed when their meaty hands clamped down on his arms. I smiled, because it felt good to have the scrawny little shit trapped. “You had to expect that I’d come.”

“It was mother’s idea! I only did it because she told me to!” He squawked. Can you believe, I was actually more offended by that? Sansa was supposed to be his, though she never was. If he had any appreciation for the beauty that we both called ours, he would have been the one to act out so violently, motivated by a broken heart, hurt ego, something. Instead, his mother had to remind him to take action, to be so moved. Seeing how pointless he was, I had the boys hold his hands on the club table and I lifted each and every one of his fingers till they snapped. I want to tell you, my friend, that the sound of his screams were music to my ears, but they weren’t. He’s always talked in such a high pitched screech, that his wailing wasn’t that much different. Extremely unsatisfying. I said as much and then shot him twice in the chest before I pulled my phone out and captured his image.  

Cersei had anticipated my arrival. She sent her man the Mountain after me, but Lothor was quicker than the big hulking oaf, and gave him a hotshot in his neck with the hypodermic needle he tended to carry. I may not have taken such pleasure in watching the man convulse to his knees, if he hadn’t dared to stand between me and the bitch that ordered such brutality against my sweetling. They carried her to her bed and pinned her arms and legs down. I crawled on top of her, straddling her as I looked down at her. “Hello Cersei.”

Spit flew from her mouth as she cursed up at me, “Jaime’s going to murder you, you son of a bitch!”

“I welcome him to try,” I sneered at her, and pressed the barrel of my gun into her chest.

Her breath was heavy and forced as she asked, after a couple of seconds of silence, “What are you doing?”

I stared down at her forehead, her mouth, her heart, and kept my voice calm as I replied, “Trying to decide where I want to shoot you.”

She laughed, attempting to sound courageous. “I doubt you have the balls. Lysa told me all about you, how you couldn’t keep your dick up.”

I didn’t fight the sick laugh that slipped out as I pictured Lysa’s crumpled and decaying form hidden away in a cupboard. Cersei was trying to goad me, emasculate me. Too bad that she didn’t realize, an inability to obtain or sustain an erection around Lysa Arryn wasn’t exactly an insult, but instead, an understandable state of being.

She opened her mouth to speak again and I let the pistol find it’s home. Even with the barrel of a gun filling her mouth, she stared back at me as if I were boring her somehow, as if I wouldn’t do it. I squeezed the trigger, and watched her brains spray against her pillow.

I bet she doesn’t doubt me now! I took the picture to prove it.

I looked into her eyes, noting with satisfaction how they had changed. Instead of boredom, they held nothing but a vast emptiness incapable of ever harming my love again.

I told my men to stay back and clean up the loose end, finish Jaime once he arrived. I was on my way back to the hospital, planning how I would get Sansa and start over, when something finally occurred to me. Lysa and Cersei were not close. In all the years I’d been with Lysa, they’d never formed any relationship, barely sharing a few sentences at social events. Who would have bridged the gap between them? I was so careful. Who could have possibly known?

I whipped the car around and called Brune. Oswell didn’t survive Jaime. I knew there would be some casualties, and was glad it was only Oswell. In truth, I’ve always preferred Brune anyway, he knows how to keep to himself better. Besides, my friend, you’ve never been much of a fighter. Brune was plenty to subdue you, wasn’t he?

Did you know about the special request Lysa made of Cersei? The message Trant was instructed to carve? Don’t answer that! Of course you did. I’ve known you for a long time Varys. You always do what needs to be done, nothing more. I can’t only assume you felt this was justified by some greater purpose. What I’m trying to understand is, what would have warranted this level of depravity from you. Was it the baby? An innocent unborn child. My child. I know without any doubts that it was. Were you certain as well?

While I waited for you to wake up, I made some calls. Even the Hound wouldn’t take this job, said he didn’t get off on beating helpless women. So I asked him what he did get off on. Would you believe, he said he enjoyed a good hunt? I offered him some cash and the chance of a chase.

For you, my friend, I will offer you a choice. You can tell me now why you would do such a thing and get a single bullet to your brain, ending it all for you so quickly. Or, you can keep another secret to yourself, and start running. It’s okay, Brune, remove the gag and let him go.

Oh Varys, do stop your pleading. You have until the count of three to spill or sprint. One…two…

Oh good, he ran. I hoped he would. Brune, call the Hound, let him know his target is loose in the warehouse. Don’t forget the camera. I want to add his picture to the collection I give my love once she wakes up again.