Game of Thrones Imagines Book Two

In the heat of the night - Part 1 - Petyr x Reader

It may have just turned winter here in the southern hemisphere, but I know that for a lot of you it has just become summer. So, I thought that I would turn up the heat a little for Petyr, who just happens to be one of my personal favourites. Hope you enjoy.

The city was stifling. The heat of the summer had already hit with full force. And Petyr felt as though he was cooking in his own skin. The air in his rooms was thick and heavy, and must be, to his imagination anyway, what it was like to be in an oven. The whoremonger sure that he was self-basting in his own sweat. And this was the dead of night.

The days were proving even worse. Even though the sun, and good weather in general, seemed to make people happier in one sense. And certainly, had them spending more gold in his brothels, on the ale and wine that he provided. Which always made him happy. It also made them worse in another. The rising temperature, appearing to be in direct correlation with the rise of tempers. Petyr sure that since the sun had shown its face in all its glory, there had been more fights in an around his premises than normal. A fact that didn't make him so happy.

Turning over in the bed for what felt like the hundredth time that minute, Petyr knew that there was no way he was going to get any sleep. No matter how much he tried. After a long running small council meeting, he had decided to remain at the Red Keep for the night. Yet it was something he was beginning to regret. He had thought about going to the bath house in hopes that he could have a cold bath, but remembered that he had already had two. Yet he needed to do something. Something that would take his mind off the oppressive heat. Something that could get him out of the furnace, that was his room. But what? He couldn't sit at the desk and work, he knew that he would never be able to concentrate. There was no way that he was going to leave the safe haven of the Keep, and go for a walk. Kings Landing was dangerous enough during the day, never mind the night. Ruffians didn't stop being ruffians when the temperature rose. And he really wasn't in the mood to meet a cutthroat, that may not only take his purse, but might actually cut his throat. Plus, the close confines of the city streets and buildings, would be no better than the Keep. So, what else was there? Then it came to him. The highest tower. It wasn't much, just a small room that led out onto the broad battlements. But maybe at the top of the building there could be a wisp of air. A slight breeze. Anything. But even if there wasn't, it couldn't be any worse than staying in the oven of his room. Petyr sure that the thin sheet that covered his naked flesh, was getting damper even with him just lying there.

With a heavy sigh, he peeled off the wet sheet. Using it to wipe his brow, before pulling on his thin gown. In truth, he wished that he could just make his way up to the top of the Keep in nothing but his bare skin. But even at this time of the night, he had a feeling that there would be someone that would still be spying on him. Ready to use his nakedness against him at a later date. Petyr sure that if he did, Varys would know all about it before he had even made it to the tower.

Petyr groaned as he opened the door to his apartments. He had thought that his humble rooms were bad enough. But the halls and stairwells of the great castle seemed to be storing the heat. As if the bricks and ancient stones of the building were trying to suck up as much of the warmth as possible, so that they could save it for when the weather turned inclement once again.

He momentarily had second thoughts about taking the many stairs up to the tower. The Master of Coin wondering whether the effort of climbing the steps was preferable to being confined for the rest of the night in his room. But as he turned to look at his bed, the damp sheet hanging heavily off the frame, he had decided that the little exercise was preferable.

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With a heavy, relieved sigh, Petyr finally reached the entry to the highest tower. His damp palm pushing on the small door that led to the room and its battlements. His skin suddenly kissed by the slightest breath of a breeze. A soft, rare, genuine smile gracing his lips as he felt a sense of relief from the oppression within the building's walls.

As he made his way out of the room, and over to the ramparts of the turret, his eyes fell on the silhouette of another figure. A being that sat, perched on the wall overlooking the city, like an ever vigilant sentinel watching over the metropolis for any sign of danger. Really, he had hoped to have the tower to himself, yet he should have guessed that he wouldn't be the only one to have the need to escape the confines of the great fortification built by Aegon Targaryen. And when he saw who the figure was, Petyr decided that he didn't mind having the company.

Oh (Y/n) Baratheon. Petyr was sure that he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Even the statues of the goddesses themselves, in the corridors of the greatest castles in the Seven Kingdoms, and the Sept of Baelor, paled in comparison to the exquisite features of (Y/n) Baratheon. No painting. No sculpture. No work of art created by even the greatest of the masters, could compete with the woman that was currently sat on the wall. Her eyes firmly fixed on the flickering torches that lit the vast expanse of the metropolis. And not only was she beautiful, but she was cool, cunning and charismatic too. Just his kind of woman.

They had spoken a few times in passing. A few times in the gardens. A few times in the courtyard, and anywhere else he could possibly accidentally bump into her. Petyr realizing that she was actually one of the few people whom he truly enjoyed conversing with. Also finding that the youngest Baratheon had a quite wicked sense of humour, and a sharp mind and tongue. The Master of Coin quite shocked when she had joined him in one of his arguments with his rival. (Y/n) sending the Master of Whispers away with a flea, though be it a pleasant sounding and well worded flea, in his ear. The lady seemingly angered by the eunuch's presence. The whoremonger finding that he was liking her more and more as he thought of new ways to try and get close to her, without the king, or anyone else, becoming suspicious of his intentions.

And now, now in the dead of the night. With hopefully no one else to watch, or eavesdropping. He knew that he finally had the chance to really talk to (Y/n). To try and get to know her better. To ask if he could get to know her better. And that despite his not so sparkling reputation, that she would actually agree to a possible friendship. And with any luck, much more. So, if he could get his stubborn legs to make their way over to her, he might at least get to say, hello.