Littlefinger tries to kiss Sansa and Jon beats him up.
CHECK IT OUT IT’S MY AESTHETIC WHAT UP
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Behind his back, Littlefinger has gained the name ‘Littleshadow’. He is rarely away from Sansa’s side for long, and he always seems to be able to find her, even in a crowded hall or courtyard. He is her near constant companion and it makes Jon’s stomach churn.
Sansa has told him of the way Littlefinger’s hands would wander over her skin, of the things he has said to her, of the way he looks at her when he thinks she can’t notice. What shocked Jon more than hearing all of this was the way Sansa told him. She was calm and matter-of-fact, as if she was reciting a passage from an old book. She spoke of it as if it had happened to someone else and it was more than a little unsettling. Jon had wanted to take her hand, to tell her that as long as there was breath in his chest and blood in his body Littlefinger will never touch her again. He remembers Gilly and her sisters, the way their father had treated them and Jon almost brings up his breakfast. Instead, he puts a hand on her shoulder and says “It will never have to be that way ever again.”
She smiles at him and it doesn’t reach her eyes. He can see she doesn’t believe him and it feels like having a White Walker’s fingers piercing his throat.
-
‘I’m not here.’ She thinks to herself when she feels Littlefinger’s hand on her waist (she knows it’s his hand, she saw him out of the corner of her eye and she knows the weight of the rings on his hand. She would know his hand anywhere.). ‘I’m not here.’ It was a mantra she had first developed when she was still married to Joffrey. She would pretend that she wasn’t in King’s Landing, she was back in Winterfell, in her mother’s arms, warm and safe. It was how she managed to keep herself together and survive with her mind intact. ‘I’m not here.’
His hand is trailing up from her waist and she is not here.
His fingers push her hair away from her neck and she is not here.
His hand is on her face, tilting it towards her and she is not here.
His mouth is about to touch hers, his eyes glinting the way Joffrey’s used to and she is not here she is not here she is not here she is not-
The sound of hard leather colliding with skin could be heard all across the courtyard, even above the loud voices and the clanging of swords and shields. But it was the bang of Littlefinger’s head against the hard stone that made everyone freeze.
Jon had somehow materialized beside her when she was not looking and Sansa watched as his fist crashed against Littlefinger’s face again and again and again and-
“Jon!”
Sansa grabs the pulled back arm, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and she stares at him, wide eyed. “Jon stop!”
He looks back at her, his own eyes like the Wildfire that had consumed Stannis’s ships; blazing and inhuman.
For a moment, Sansa’s heart is gripped by fear. She lets go, an apology already forming on her tongue, when she sees him change. He lowers his arm, his face softens, and his eyes are calm again, like the Godswood.
“Please.” Her voice is low and soft, but it carries across the courtyard and she’s sure that even someone at the far end of Winterfell can hear her.
Jon appears to come back to himself as he rises from his knees to his feet, the knuckles of his gloves dripping with blood.
Littlefinger’s hand was covering his red stained face, teeth gritted but refusing to give any other response.
Without waiting for him to rise, Jon takes Sansa by the arm, gently, with his clean hand, and leads her away.
“He will never do that again.” His breath is hot against her ear and her eyes flick over to the men, women, and children that had witnessed the spectacle, but they didn’t seem to have heard Jon. “He will never touch you again, not while I’m here.”
Sansa’s skin has formed goosebumps and she feels like she has been set ablaze from within and all she can do is nod.
‘I’m here.’ She thinks. ‘I’m here. With him.’