After the door was closed behind Sansa Stark, Tysha let out an irritable sigh. "Am I supposed to deal with this so early in the morning?" she demanded from thin air.
Another door was opened, and a man stepped out from behind it, smiling in a most engaging manner. "That was an extraordinarily early visit," he remarked.
"I ought to dismiss that maid," Tysha went on. "Had she brought the Stark girl in a moment earlier, she would have seen you."
"She would have, but she did not. I'm lucky that way, I have noticed it often. Although I confess, I would have expected them to have gone by now. Tyrion Lannister is not one to neglect saving his own skin." A tiny frown creased Tysha's smooth brow, and her guest must have noticed that, because he let go of the matter at once.
"I thought you would arrive on board of Lady Delena, but she had come and gone a fortnight ago," said Tysha. "What kept you so long? I have other sources of news, of course, but none as reliable as you."
"I wish I could have escaped King's Landing earlier, but it was impossible to leave the queen with her grief so soon. Cersei relied upon me. And furthermore..." he paused for a moment. "I have been entrusted with another task," he finished enigmatically.
"Which task?" Tysha's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Not a very pleasant one, I fear."
"You aren't being sent to Harrenhal, are you?" despite being away from Westeros for many years now, Tysha knew all the major castles, rivers and roads. In Braavos, she pored over maps of her lost homeland during her leisure hours.
"No, no," her guest shook his head. "I'm afraid to say it is even worse, and it doesn't make matters much easier that I volunteered for it myself. The circumstances demanded it, you see. I am going to win Lysa Arryn's hand in marriage, and thus become Lord Protector of the Vale."
Despite the horror of this prospect, an amused smile twisted his thin lips, and a slight twinkle could be noticed in his green-grey eyes. He was a short man of slender build, and nothing about his features was striking at first glance. The mockingbird that usually clasped his cloak was left behind in Westeros, but this sigil was so insignificant that few would have recognized it anyway.
"Lady Lysa Arryn," mused Tysha, slightly raising her eyebrows. "She was a famous beauty in her day. What is she like now?"
Petyr Baelish laughed easily. "Lysa was sweet enough, as all young girls are. Now she is thick of waist and narrow of mind, fears everything and everyone, and trusts no man in the Seven Kingdoms but your humble servant," he made a small bow.
"And I assume you are going to maintain that trust for as long as possible."
"Until the last moment," he confirmed, "which, I hope, will not tarry in presenting itself. I wish I could bypass the role of devoted husband and step into the shoes of a grieving widower straightaway."
"And then what? What does King's Landing expect from the Lord Protector of the Vale?"
"Mainly to maintain the Vale's allegiance with the Iron Throne. But if everything goes according to our plan, it will soon cease to matter what the Lannisters expect. They will all be gone, and the Lord Protector will be a powerful man in his own right, with no strings attached. Then I will be free to follow my heart's desire." The expression of his face became keener, and the color of his eyes was green as the lagoon as they rested upon Tysha's face. "I will make my final journey to Braavos, and bring back my bride, a gentlewoman of the city, a lady of beauty and refinement such as few men in the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen. It is fortunate, truly, that masks are so popular here. As renowned as you are, few Braavosi have caught a glimpse of your uncovered face, and in Westeros no one would know you. Not even Tywin Lannister himself, but he will be long dead by the time you arrive."
"Tyrion recognized me," Tysha pointed out. Littlefinger stepped closer to her and took her by the shoulders.
"One word from you, and he will be dead as well," he said in a tempting voice, but Tysha shook her head.
"Leave him. No harm will come to me from Tyrion now, especially as he has this child wife of his in tow."
Baelish gave a sigh that sounded mocking. "Poor Sansa. From the moment Tywin Lannister made the decision to marry her to Tyrion, it was clear she will come to no good. Now the most she can hope for is to stay alive, and even that chance is growing slimmer by the day."
"Does that bother you?" Tysha asked mildly. Rumours reached her that Petyr once made an offer at court to marry Sansa Stark himself, but she didn't know what to make of that. She never brought it up during his visits to Braavos.
"For her mother's sake, I would have Sansa spared if possible," said Littlefinger. This was another matter she set at rest. Catelyn Tully was Petyr's ghost, just as Tyrion was hers. Only her ghost was alive. But soon he will be gone, and then she can continue pretending that he is no more, she told herself. He is gone. Tysha, too. Once back in Westeros, she will pick a new name for herself.
Petyr must have sensed those comforting thoughts, because his hands slid from her shoulders to her arms and subtly caressed, moving up and down. Then one hand shifted to the back of her neck, resting just under her hair. "Soon, my love, you will be my wife - and my worthy partner in this game of thrones." His lips found hers, and his tongue explored her mouth, tasting it anew after months of absence. "Together, we will rule the Seven Kingdoms," he murmured. "None of us will sit in that ugly iron chair, certainly, but we shall decide which royal ass graces it. We will have it all. All you want and more."
Tysha allowed herself to get lost in his touch. Petyr Baelish might not have looked like a very impressive man, but there was something in his kisses that brought back to life the senses she thought were long dead. Mild and easygoing and courteous, he was dangerous as a sword wrapped in silk, and it was this danger that sent tingles of excitement down her back. It has to work, all of it. Otherwise, gods, why allow me to rise so high and get so close? Do not send me tumbling down. Crush the Lannisters instead.