A/N: I have a couple of scenes in mind for after the end of season 6, about how various pairs of people are going to relate to each other. It may add up to a larger story, or it may not. First up is Petyr and Sansa.

A less experienced man would have stopped dead, but Littlefinger only hesitated. Still - it was enough. It was just the slightest hitch in his step, and a quick darting glance to the men on either side of her... but it was enough to tell her that he was afraid.

"Lord Baelish," she said. "Thank you for joining us."

Her tone - calm - seemed to frighten him even more. His hands disappeared into his sleeves. "I will always come when you call me, my lady."

"Mm." She pressed her lips together, to show him what she thought of him. "I called you here because I have a question. About that... picture you described to me in the godswood."

"My lady..." He spread his hands like a man making a reasonable request. As if anything Littlefinger ever did was reasonable in the end! "I would think that that is a matter better discussed alone. Wouldn't you?"

"I trust Jon and I trust Ser Davos. And they are both men of few words," she added. "Our conversation is safe with them."

"My lady..."

"I will have your answer, my lord." As he himself had taught her, it was better not to threaten outright. But she put as much threat in her voice as she could.

He stood straighter. "Very well. My answer to what?"

"That picture," she said. "How long, exactly, have you been admiring it?"

She wished he were closer, so that she could read his expression. As it was she could just barely make out a slight lowering of his brows. "My lady?"

"How long exactly?" she repeated. "Was it since the first time you met me - when I was a child, and my mother was still alive?"

"Oh." He relaxed. Hid his hands again. "No, not at all. You were a child when I first met you."

"I just said that," she said sharply. He didn't answer. "You know what I'm asking you."

He sighed. Then came forward, slowly, with a crooked smile. "Will you really make me do this - in front of your brother? And this stranger?"

Ramsay would never have allowed someone to treat his requests with such disregard. She remembered his expression of wide-eyed earnest politeness, and summoned it to her face. "Would you rather do it in front of the whole castle?"

He sighed again, and then seemed to make his decision. "All right - have it your way. Sansa: I love you," he said. Harsh and tormented - nothing like the declarations of love she'd always been hoping for. The tone was off and even the words were plain and pathetic. But on the other hand, Joffrey and Tyrion and Ramsay had all had plenty of the right words at one time or another. And look how they had all turned out.

"I loved you from the moment I saw you," Petyr went on, "Because you were Cat's daughter, and in a better world you would have been mine. I wanted to be your uncle, your beloved uncle, I wanted to put a smile on your face because that would have put a smile on Cat's. That was all. The moment I saw you... that was all."

It was a quiet a moment. Jon and Davos didn't move. None of this was a surprise to them; she had told them everything already. "Go on. What then?"

"And then... it changed."

"When?"

"Later."

"When?"

"When-. When I saw-." He hissed at the ground - frustrated, it seemed. "When I saw Joffrey abusing you," he managed at last. "When I saw what he wanted. What the- the other men wanted. People looked at you and saw a woman, not a girl, and I began to see it too. I wanted to protect you from them."

How romantic. "And take me for yourself." She was impressed with her own coldness.

"Sansa." He spread his hands again. "I am giving you the truth."

He wasn't very good at begging. For a moment she wanted to tell Jon to jump over the table and make him do it better.

Then she took a deep breath. If they make me like them, she told herself firmly, They win. Even from the grave, they win. "Fine," she said, and set her anger aside. "I believe you. I believe you were a friend to my mother, and true to her in your heart."

"I was. I swear it." So hoarse she could barely hear him.

"And I believe you want to be true to me."

"I do." He sounded so relieved. "My lady, I swear to you, I will-"

"But. Listen to me." She held up a hand, and he stopped. "I am not interested in playing your game of thrones. It's a dangerous game that has scared and hurt me, and I was thrown into it before I even knew what side anybody was on. No more. Do you understand that? If you want me beside you - if you want me to leave Winterfell, where I'm safe among friends - then you are going to have to make it very easy for me."

His eyes had narrowed. "I'm listening." Much less romantic now!

"Come to me when you can promise me safety in the capitol. Come to me when our enemies are all dead. In short, Lord Baelish, you need to come to me with the game already won. Come as king, and then fine: I'll marry you."

He stared at her.

"Until then, I want you to leave me alone."

TBC.

Let me know what you think! Next up is probably some Tyrion or some Jon Snow.