Little Wolf (Sansa/Petyr)

Knowledge is Power

Jon noticed that Sansa had been spending more time with Petyr Baelish. He didn't disapprove as such. But when he saw them talking low at dinners or when he watched Sansa lead him into one of the closed quarters, he felt a strange protective nature over her. Baelish had saved them against Ramsey, but was he good enough for his sister? Jon wasn't so sure. They sat in their meeting, the two men. He had been eager to be alone in the company of Lord Baelish, hearing much about his character, not all good, but nothing to slander his name past redemption.
"What is it that you want, Jon Snow?" Baelish asked, setting a foundation for their conversation.
"I wish to remain King of the North and protect my people." He replied, his voice filled with honour and truth.
"I see. And you do not wish for more? You are a fine young man, a claim to the iron throne would not be out of your reach." Baelish complimented the King, wanting to make out his character, to discover if he was a greedy man or not.
"No, I do not. The North is my home. I desire nothing less than to sit on that sword throne, waiting for someone to kill me again. My people need me here, not in King's Landing." Jon replied. Petyr was impressed, Jon might have been the first honest man he had ever met who deemed himself happy with his lot. But he had died and been resurrected, perhaps life itself was enough for Jon Snow.

Petyr asked him further questions, mostly about his strategies and his plan when it came to the future of the North.
"I shall prepare my people for battle, for the true war that shall rise this winter. I want my people to be safe, to not worry about their children or their wives. They are good people and they deserve that at least." Petyr nodded, furrowing his brow. It was a true shame that he did not desire to become king, for Jon had all of the amiable qualities that a ruler should possess.
"And what is it that you want, Lord Baelish?" Jon asked, cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrows.
"I want what any man wants: a loving wife, healthy children and for the future of my house to be secure." Petyr paraphrased how he had confessed to Sansa, knowing that as the head of the Stark house, he would have to receive Jon's blessing to marry Sansa if he were so lucky to win her affections.
"I think you have your eyes on a specific woman to become your wife, to bear your children, my Lord." Jon toyed with him, enjoying having the famous manipulator in the palm of his hand.
"Your sister is a fine woman, my King. Any man would become the luckiest in the seven kingdoms were he to gain her affections." He looked down to his hands, feeling embarrassed and nervous for the first time since the last winter.
"You sound like a poet, Lord Baelish. My sister likes poetry." He stated, as if he were winding the screw in Baelish's mind.
"I do not object the match. If you are Sansa's choice then it is you that she shall have. She has never had a happy marriage, first with the Lannister and then with Bolton the torturer, her idea of marriage is shrouded in violence and humiliation. If you can change that then I give you every blessing." Jon concluded, grinning down at Baelish.
"I shall try my best, my King." He bowed his head, a weight having been lifted from his shoulders. Jon would not get in the way of his courting Sansa, and this was a great relief.
"I think it is time for food, come, we shall dine together." Jon called to Baelish, leading him to the dining hall.

Sansa had worked tirelessly through the night, sewing and stitching in tones of grey and blue. She was unaware quite what she was creating, until she looked at her final stencil, before beginning the product. The image depicted a mockingbird, sat upon the shoulder of a direwolf. To some it would merely be a pretty piece of art. But to those knowing few, her needlework was a statement, Sansa saying loud and clear that the Baelish and Stark houses could be one in the future. After finishing, she was exhausted, so she covered herself in her creation and planned to sleep until noon.

Petyr sat with Jon and his subjects at luncheon, but couldn't help noticing the absence of a particular Stark. He did not want to say anything, out of fear of drawing attention to himself and the affection he felt for Sansa. So, instead, he merely slipped away after he had finished with his meal and made his way to her room, to ensure she was in good health.