Unbetitelt

You stood behind the doors in a rather austere gown, wrapped in northern furs. You were a Stark, through and through. And here you were, about to marry the conveniently widowed Lord of the Vale before the many lords and ladies of the North. Even the Boltons and the Freys were in attendance, despite your earlier betrothal to Ramsay Bolton in exchange for Winterfell. It was an affair to remember.

“You don’t have to do this,” your brother Robb implored. “You don’t have to marry that weasel.”

“I’m a grown woman, Robb.”

“You’re nothing of the sort,” he argued. “You have no business marrying that whoremonger.”

You frowned, reminding yourself no one, not even your family, knew anything of your affairs. Not even your mother.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this with that little rat,” Catelyn Stark hissed. “Say the word, Y/n, and we leave this sordid affair as your father would have wanted.”

“Father isn’t here, Mother,” you sighed emptily. “Life is for the living. And I intend on surviving. If marrying Lord Baelish is what I must do, then so be it.”

Your mother looked at you, conflicted. “You remind me eerily of your father sometimes.”

She held your hand, and you squeezed it back. Then the doors opened, and even across the room, you saw your intended.

Petyr stood at the altar already, dark, beady eyes fixed on his bride. You’d seen that look in his eyes before; the cold winter night he’d first slipped into your chambers to keep you warm. Your mother, brother, and the rest of the Tullys all watched your slow descent, an elegant beauty as you stifled your grin, which only Petyr could divine. He shared in your smugness as well, although he seemed not to priorities his subtlety as much. He wanted to marry you.

“You are my destiny.”

Your mother scowled in his direction as the two of you faced on another. Petyr continued to look down at you with absolute reverence, as well as possession.

“Come here often, dearest?” he whispered a joke before the ceremony commenced.

You murmured slyly, “Are you referring to this altar, or yourself?”

“You are what you are to me.”

Petyr revealed a snarky grin. “I would slit every throat in this room just to marry you one minute sooner.”

“You are my happiness.”

“You’ll have another slit waiting for you soon enough, my dove,” you promised.

Petyr chortled as the ceremony began, “Behave.”

“That’s what you are. You’re my destiny.”

“Only for you,” you whispered to his satisfaction.

“I think you’ll find, what shall be done tonight is something entirely for you.”

“You have my sweet caress.”

You looked up at your husband-to-be with adoration. He grinned shamelessly, pleased with himself as the proceedings began. You joined hands, anointed with the cloth, eyes never leaving each other. You didn’t care about Robb’s disgust, or Catelyn’s sorrow.

“You share my loneliness.”

All that mattered was your happiness, an intimate moment between bride and groom before the very last of tonight’s proceedings. The two of you spoke your wedding vows together, clear as you gazed upon each other, joined for eternity. Forever was a fickle thing, unless it came to Petyr Baelish. You knew his actions were swift and final.

“You are my dream come true.”

As the two of you looked upon each other with nothing but childlike excitement, your mother and brother seemed ready to weep. Or pillage. Or both. But all you could see was the way Petyr looked down at you like something precious. His eyes nearly filled with glassiness as he realized he truly was marrying the love of his life, the Stark he was truly meant to wed. He gently brushed your cheek as you were given permission.

“That’s what you are. You’re my destiny.”

“My heart,” he looked down at you, close to tears.

“My happiness,” you whispered back as the two of you concluded your vows.

No longer willing to wait, Petyr took you in his arms, dipping you as he firmly planted a kiss on your lips. He panted into it, breathing life into your kiss and marriage. Rob glared, your mother looked away in despair. But you were living for it, for him, your hand snaking up into his hair as your fingernails massaged his scalp. Petyr practically purred at the sensation, propping you back up as you both savored the ceremonial kiss. His strong arms rested on your back as you cradled his face roughly in your hands, refusing to let your husband go. Ramsay and the other Boltons seemed to sneer at your happiness, and Petyr’s victory. The two of you were jolted back into reality by the final announcement.

“I love you,” you whispered, holding Petyr close.

“I love you infinitely more,” he promised in a whisper, a certain darkness in his eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything that makes me a man.”

“Never leave me,” you warned.

“Not even in death, my sweet,” he said with a wicked grin, his true vow.

“Heaven, and Heaven alone. Can take your love from me.”

“…The Lord Petyr Baelish, and the Lady Y/n Baelish!”

Gasps washed over the Robb, Catelyn, and the Tully camp. Robb gripped his sword, and your mother nearly wailed as the new names were called. You hadn’t told anyone that you had taken Petyr’s name. Even worse than you’d predicted, Robb himself charged the altar, drawing his sword. The room fell silent, as Catelyn rushed to his side, the voice of reason.

“Robb!” she boomed.

But he ignored her.

“You disgusting leech,” Robb accused Petyr, “My sister isn’t yours to infect!”

Petyr met his gaze with only a little smirk as he turned to you, letting you dictate.

“Y/n?!” Robb demanded. “You want to be married to him? Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“Have care how you speak to the Lady of the Vale,” Petyr said almost in amusement.

“‘Cause I’d be a fool. To ever leave you dear.”

“You little worm,” Catelyn hissed at him.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” you said truthfully. “But my husband is Lord Protector of the Vale. And King in the North.”

“King In North?” Catelyn echoed incredulously. “Have you both lost your minds?!”

“No,” Petyr replied, even-tempered, “But you will.”

Before anyone could move an inch, the Knights of the Vale bolted the doors shut. A wave of panic washed over the room as Catelyn turned to Petyr in fear.

“No!”

Your jaw clenched as a sword sunk itself into Robb. His form lay nearly in halves on the floor. Your mother wailed as the knights acted on their orders from long before, slashing their way through the room. Every Tully man, dead. Then the Boltons. Then Walder Frey. You watched as Petyr merely took your hand in his, squeezing. You stood alongside your husband, not saying a word. Catelyn Stark was the last of the Tullys, and Robb’s reign, left. She beheld you and Petyr in horror, screaming something that sounded nothing like any language.

“And a fool I’d never be.”

“Sorry, Cat,” Petyr absolutely lied.

You hid behind your hand over your mouth, tearing up as you directed with a wave of your hand. Petyr understood automatically, giving the order. Now none of the Tullys remained.

“You are my destiny.”

You watched tearful, saying goodbye to the last of your childhood, your innocence. In an act of deranged service, Petyr covered your eyes for you.

You slowly pushed his hand away, looking upon the carnage for yourself.

“My Lord,” a knight said, paving the way for both of you.

You held to Petyr’s arm as he led you, inspecting the scene as the screaming and panicking continued.

Petyr smiled down upon Ramsay Bolton’s head, picking it up by the hair.

“Would you like to do consummate this union, sweetheart?” Petyr asked with perverse tenderness.

“With pleasure,” you glared at what remained of Ramsay Bolton. “You always did like an audience.”

“You share my reverie.”

Amused, Petyr dropped the head like a hunting dog. He spun you around with the romantic flourish of a prince, and the barbarism of a lover.

“I love you much too truly for my own good,” he said in a raw rasp.

“I would do anything for you,” you told him.

“And yet I would have none of it,” he insisted, brushing back a strand of your hair. “You are all you need to be to make me happy. I would rot in Seven Hells just for a taste of the heaven between your legs. I would burn down this whole world just to breathe in your ashes. I have found someone who truly shares in my love, and my hatred. You’ll feel my love for you long after I’m gone.”

“You are my happiness.”

You stare in bewilderment. You’d won this game of thrones just by marrying.

“You are my life,” you promise in tears, “You are all that’s left for me.”

“That’s what you are. My destiny.”

My friend shares that in real life he is much more open, sociable, kind, and sweet. He also seems taller. Aidan felt pure, sincere, and warm.

Gillen is warm-hearted, he starts a dialogue himself, keeps up the conversation and goes to the meeting!

I will share with you some of their meetings and his remarks that he said to my friend:

he was polite to her request to hug him, squeezed her tightly in his arms, and for the photo he first put his hand on her waist, but then put his arm around her shoulder.

he happily gave a second autograph when he came to pick it up a little later. "Of course, no problem" he said.

at the Master Class, he saw my friend again (she sat down on the floor in front of him to get good shoots and not disturb others on the chairs) . He looked at her camera many times, and after the end, he remarked, "I think we've seen each other before." To my friend's answer that seeing you once is not enough, he said: "Oh, I can understand"

after yesterday's last ceremony, he also recognized my friend, and told her "let's move away, it's too noisy and crowded here", gently leading her by the waist. They were standing aside from the departing crowd, he said "think it's better for me to take a photo better take a photo? Your hands are shaking." he did the first thing, losing camera focus on his face. "Oh, think I should repeat, the focus should be on me, right?"

my friend wanted to ask him a question. Answering it, he shared that he wants to visit Ukraine, after the filming of a Ukrainian film, he is thinking about it. And most likely it will be in this country next year!

he's also noticed that my friend had confused his water bottle, wanting to take it with her (she did it on purpose) "think this is my bottle?" he said.