I know that you are all going to roll your eyes and groan that I am giving you another Petyr imagine, but I can't help myself. 😁 I hope that you all enjoy.

Petyr knew he shouldn't. He knew that it would be his downfall, but try as he may to dissuade himself, there was no fighting the fact that he had to have her. He had to have (Y/n) Baratheon.

(Y/n) was the oldest child of Robert and Cersei, but unlike her siblings who took after their Lannister mother, (Y/n) was every inch a Baratheon. She was darker than the other children, with glorious obsidian black hair and perfect piercing blue eyes that showed her every emotion.

Like her father in his prime, (Y/n) was elegant and statuesque, looking every inch a queen in the making. And Petyr was obsessed.

To many she may have still been a child, but (Y/n) had had to grow up quickly in the shadow of her brothers and sister, maturing before her time and becoming quick, intelligent and cunning in the face of her mother's hatred, hatred that only Cersei seemed to know the reason for.

(Y/n) had become an outcast in the family, and even though she was the apple of her father's eye, the fact that Robert was either drunk or in the arms of one of his legion of whores, meant that the young Baratheon had led a life very much like that of her beloved uncle Tyrion's, finding herself treated as little more than a despised bastard that was abused by her mother, and bullied and belittled by her brother Joffrey.

Despite her exquisite beauty, and peerless intellect, (Y/n) had few friends in court, most people scared off by the Queen who had no intention of letting her daughter know any kind of happiness. But try as Cersei might, (Y/n) had found her friends, spending most of her time in the company of her uncle Tyrion, Bronn and Sandor. The Hound in particular seeming to show the younger woman the little known or seen caring side of his nature whenever he was in the presence of the beautiful doe.

And this was where Petyr once again spied his obsession, walking through the gardens with the Hound firmly by her side.

Seeing (Y/n) with any other man always angered Petyr, but a man that may be vying for the hand of (Y/n) made the usually calm Master of Coins blood boil, even though he would never let this weakness be seen by another living soul.

He had made light work of the few young lords that had managed to get past the protective eyes of her three guardians, her uncle as well as the sellsword and Hound always keeping a watchful gaze over the dark beauty. Petyr's threats had sent most suitors scurrying back to whatever small House they came from with their tail tucked firmly between their legs. Others that could appreciate what a true prize (Y/n) was, had proved a little more difficult, yet Petyr had his ways, and sooner or later every suitor, every man that might compete with him for (Y/n)'s hand had eventually disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.

Petyr's head shot up, the sound of (Y/n) giggling happily, the glorious sound bringing him back from his thoughts. He couldn't help but growl underneath his breath as he watched the usually rough and gruff Sandor, gently place a deep pink rose into (Y/n)'s hair. The large man's big hands gently brushing lose soft tendrils of jet black curls away from (Y/n)'s face.

Petyr gripped onto the wall next to him, his fingers holding so tightly to the ancient stones that his nails began to break, blood dripping from his fingertips. The crimson liquid smearing over the skeletal building blocks of the Red Keep as he continued to watch (Y/n) and the Hound.

How dare that scarred animal touch what was his. How dare the Hound think that he was good enough to be anywhere near his doe. Sandor wasn't good enough, he would never be good enough, and as Petyr watched (Y/n) blushing softly at Sandor's kind gesture, he couldn't help but want to rush out from his hiding place, pulling (Y/n) away from the big man so that he could whisk her off to an ivory tower, where no one but he would be able to be with her. He had already lost one woman he loved, and he was determined that he would never let it happen again.

"Who told you that you could be out here?" A voice called out, shattering the beauty and calm that fallen over the scene. Petyr moving back into the shadows as he watched an irate Cersei appear as if from nowhere.

"You are to protect the king, Joffrey, not this........this......creature." Cersei growled disdainfully as she looked between Sandor and her daughter.

"She doesn't need protecting. She is worth nothing. Get back to what you should be doing." Cersei hissed, watching as Sandor looked between her and the doe that was more than accustomed to her mother's hateful words.

"Its alright Sandor. You go and watch over my brother." (Y/n) said quietly, standing on her tiptoes so that she could place a gentle kiss on the big man's cheek. Sandor reluctantly leaving (Y/n) with her mother, the Hound knowing all to well what was to come.

"You think that you're something special, don't you?" Cersei asked, walking up to (Y/n) and ripping the rose from her daughter's head.

"You think that you are more beautiful than I, don't you? You think that you are cleverer, quicker, stronger than I, don't you?" Cersei continued, Petyr wondering what was going on in (Y/n)'s mind as a subtle smile creeped across her lips.

"No mother. I don't think any of those things. I know all those things." (Y/n) chuckled, the younger woman continuing to smile as her mother slapped her hard across the face.

"The sooner your grandfather finds you a suitor that will actually lower himself enough to marry you, the better. But until then, you will stay out of my sight, and away from your brothers and sister. I don't want a creature such as you corrupting my beautiful children." Cersei almost screamed, hating the fact that no matter what she threw at her daughter, (Y/n) always faced it without turning a hair, or losing any of her regal dignity.

"As you wish. Mother." (Y/n) replied condescendingly as she watched the older woman disappear back into the Red Keep.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Petyr asked softly, startling (Y/n) who spun on her heels so that she came face to face with the Master of Coins.

(Y/n) knew all about the whoremonger's reputation as a snake, a man that could not be trusted. She had been warned so many times about him by her uncle. Yet there was something mysterious about his calculated smile, something about that knowing twinkle in his eyes that (Y/n) couldn't help but find herself attracted to.

"I suppose you saw all that? Of course you did. You see everything don't you my Lord Baelish? I swear that between you and Varys there is not a secret that is that is not known in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms." (Y/n) declared, an exquisite shiver pulsating through her body as Petyr carefully touched her bright red cheek.

"Your hand!" (Y/n) gasped as she few the man's bloody fingertips. Petyr closing his eyes and savouring the moment as (Y/n) gently examined his injured hand.

"Come with me. I need to clean this for you." (Y/n) told him, leading Petyr back into the Keep. The young doe ignoring the looks of others around them as she escorted the Master of Coin through the corridors and into her chambers.

This was one of the reasons that Petyr had found himself falling for the younger woman. Despite everything that she had been through, despite how she was treated and abused, (Y/n) always put others before herself, always coming to the aid of those less fortunate, jumping to their defence even if it meant that she would be punished for it later.

"Why do you let her talk to you like that?" Petyr asked, fighting back the anger that had built up inside him. He prided himself on being cool and calm, on his ability to bury any real feeling of emotion, deep down. But (Y/n) had a habit of being able to break down the walls that he had built up since he had lost Catelyn, and he couldn't help but want to wrap his fingers around Cersei's throat, and squeeze until the vile woman could do no more damage.

"She is my mother. I might wish that she wasn't, but there is nothing I can do about it. She hates me because the people love me, because she is growing old and her looks are fading, because even her own husband would rather bed a whore than her. Plus, by now I think that I have heard every insult, every belittling word and comment that that feeble minded evil witch can come up with. After all these years I am used to it, and the more I laugh at her, the more time I spend in the Red Keep, the angrier, and more bitter she gets. Two facts that make me incredibly happy." (Y/n) chuckled as she sat Petyr down, and carefully dabbed at his bloody fingers with a damp cloth.

"She's also been threatening to sell me into marriage for years, just like grandfather did to her. But unfortunately for her, every suitor that the old man has managed to find has ended up vanishing as quickly as they arrived." (Y/n) told Petyr, a sad smile on her lips as she continued to care for him.

"So, I will take a leaf out of my uncle Tyrion's book, and I shall continue to act like a thorn in the Lannister's side. I might end up being one of those unfulfilled old maids, but if it means that Cersei suffers, it will all be worth it in the end." (Y/n) said, as she finished cleaning the blood from Petyr's hand. Her fingers making deft work of the bandages that she placed carefully on his skin.

"Your very good at that." Petyr replied as he looked at his hand. The care taken greater than any he had received from any Maester.

"Mother won't let Maester Pycelle look after me if I become unwell, so Uncle Tyrion payed him to show me a few things so that I can take care of myself." (Y/n) explained, as she poured two glasses of wine, offering Petyr one before sitting in the chair across from him.

"Don't worry. The wine is the best. My mother won't allow me to be supplied with anything good, so I steal what I want and need from the kitchens. This wine is from her own personal store." (Y/n) giggled, raising her glass to Petyr in salute before bringing the golden liquid to her lips.

Petyr couldn't help but feel a strange sense of guilt. He was the reason that (Y/n) wasn't already married off and out of the clutches of her mother. The reason that all those suitors had disappeared. And as (Y/n) turned to look into the flickering flames of the fire, the wine in her glass catching the light and reflecting jewels of twinkling colour onto her skin, Petyr knew that the time had come to do something about his obsession.