[ There is little pleasure to be taken from tokens given unwillingly — in this sort of instance, at least — but there is no use in being ungrateful and Petyr had learned long ago to glean pleasure where he could. Under the paper-thin guise of duty, he had gently pulled this and that from her hands, in exchanges not nearly as polished or refined as those through which he had engineered her place by his side. (And the lie is bare-faced, indeed; each time, the name upon his lips is Sansa, Sansa, not that of his daughter. A bird in a gilded cage, loved — if it could be called that — in all the wrong ways, kept there by a song.)
He leans in, then, head crooking to one side as he keeps watching her, his eyes bright. ] The game was never played through to completion, [ he notes, although not as any sort of reprimand. It's a simple statement of the fact — the plans that he had set for the immediate future, at least, had not spooled out. She had not yet married Harrold, nor had she yet reclaimed the identity of Sansa Stark. (Part of him now doubts that she ever will, in as far as he recognizes the difference.)
Though close enough that he can see the different colors that make up her eyes, he doesn't yet close the gap. Instead, he simply hovers there, as if in expectation, watching her, filing away the slightest movement and wondering exactly what it is that goes through her mind. Her hand stills and her breath hangs in the air and he watches her, his fingers still there upon the line of her jaw. (And yes, yes, it is a horrible thing to wield such power over anyone at all.) ]
( ACTION )
He leans in, then, head crooking to one side as he keeps watching her, his eyes bright. ] The game was never played through to completion, [ he notes, although not as any sort of reprimand. It's a simple statement of the fact — the plans that he had set for the immediate future, at least, had not spooled out. She had not yet married Harrold, nor had she yet reclaimed the identity of Sansa Stark. (Part of him now doubts that she ever will, in as far as he recognizes the difference.)
Though close enough that he can see the different colors that make up her eyes, he doesn't yet close the gap. Instead, he simply hovers there, as if in expectation, watching her, filing away the slightest movement and wondering exactly what it is that goes through her mind. Her hand stills and her breath hangs in the air and he watches her, his fingers still there upon the line of her jaw. (And yes, yes, it is a horrible thing to wield such power over anyone at all.) ]