In Daveth's chamber…
Daveth sat at his desk writing letters with his right hand whilst shuffling other documents with his left. Beside him stood Olyvar Frey who assisted by mostly keeping important documents filed and organized and ensured His Grace did not lack refreshments. It was his first time in King's Landing, yet already was thrust into the thick of it; Olyvar remained a squire, yet felt anxious of wanting to continue his formal training. "Patience" or "learn how to adapt to the capital" were the responses he'd be met with whenever Olyvar inquired.
"What do we have so far?" Daveth asked, his eyes still set on the letter he was writing.
Olyvar held up another piece of paper. "Ser Colbat of House Darry made another request of reviewing his port's charter; says House Harner keeps harassing his merchant vessels."
"Ser Colbat had been making one inquiry after another for years, yet only postures and still offers no evidence to support his claim… again. Refuse him, and should he try again Lord Tywin will simply send a singer to his halls. What else?"
"Lady Reina Fishport reports that her vineyard around Summerhall has brought in additional revenue and brought about significant wealth to her house, yet sadly tells us her husband succumbed to the fever."
'She was one of my best agents. The common girl I raised to nobility two years ago after she aided Lord Marbrand,' the Young Stag remembered. "I see. Please send her my condolences."
"As you wish, Your Grace," Olyvar said.
Daveth shuffled through more documents, reviewing them one by one—until he started examining a report from Wisdom Hallyne of the Alchemists' Guild. Earlier upon returning to King's Landing but before the Greyjoy trial started, the Young Stag had privately instructed his uncle Ser Jaime Lannister and some of his top agents with removing the wildfire caches stationed at several major boulevards which remained scattered throughout the capital. From beneath the Great Sept of Baelor, beneath the Dragonpit, the slums of Flea Bottom, beneath the Red Keep and from houses, stables, taverns to every one of the city's gates, Daveth was rather disturbed when he learned of the Mad King's wildfire plot from Jaime. Once he was told the caches were completely removed, the Young Stag felt a bit of relief pouring over him. His eyes re-read each word of Hallyne's complaining penmanship over and over again.
"And so the final curtain falls," Daveth whispered.
Olyvar swore he heard something. "Your Grace?"
"It's nothing. Anything on today's agenda I should know?"
"Father has extended you an invitation to attend the wedding of my sister Roslin and Lord Edmure Tully back home at the Twins, Your Grace."
"Only because I had to clean up my brother-in-law's mess, no doubt. Tell me, Olyvar, wasn't one of your relatives married off recently?"
Olyvar nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. My niece Walda married Lord Roose Bolton a couple of nights ago and now resides at the Dreadfort. Father offered her weight in silver as a dowry."
'Ah… the fat one,' the Young Stag shuddered at the thought. "So long as she keeps her distance from Lord Bolton's bastard son, then I wish her well."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Daveth set his quill down and lifted a fist to his chin. 'Which reminds me,' he thought deeply, 'I'll need to send a raven to Winterfell at some point. Have Ser Rodrik keep a close eye on Ramsay.'
"Your Grace?" spoke Olyvar.
"What else is there to discuss?" Daveth changed the subject.
The Frey squire sighed and examined the last document. "Lord Petyr Baelish has arrived in King's Landing from the Eyrie; says it's an urgent business."
Now THAT got Daveth's attention. 'Littlefinger? What's he doing here?' he thought as he raised a suspicious eyebrow. "I didn't call for him."
Olyvar looked confused. The tone of the King's voice was rather serious. "Note says you did, Your Grace. Are you sure you didn't—?"
"No, I did not."
"Should I send him away?"
"No. Not yet. Go find out who sent him and report back to me. Now."
Olyvar set down the documents and goblet to gather his wits before opening the door and rushing out into the main hall. As the Frey wandered off to carry out his King's instructions, Shireen Baratheon made her way into her cousin's room.
"Cousin!" she exclaimed with a smile.
Daveth's concentration broke as Shireen ran up to him and embraced him in a big hug. The Young Stag was taken by surprise for a few moments; his earlier thoughts of suspicion had died down when he returned the hug to the only cousin he has of the Baratheon bloodline.
"Shireen," he greeted. "You've grown since the last time I saw you. How long has it been?"
"About six years," Shireen replied as she pulled away. "I was hoping to have a private audience with you. Are you busy?"
Daveth shook his head. "I have time. What do you want?"
Shireen sat down. Her fingers twiddled slightly, but soon ceased as the younger female Baratheon assume a posture befitting someone of her status before looking her cousin in the eyes – never hesitating.
"Could you convince father to set Ser Onion Knight free?" Shireen asked.
Daveth raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard of Ser Davos since the end of the Iron Islands campaign, yet alone had no idea that he was recently imprisoned.
"Ser Davos Seaworth? Why is he in the cells in the first place?" he asked.
"Father said he was a traitor."
"That's a very serious accusation. What was the crime Lord Stannis accused him of?"
"He didn't say, and Ser Davos only said he disobeyed him. I think the red woman had something to do with it."
Daveth frowned. 'She must be referring to that red priestess, Melisandre. I heard she herself was on Great Wyk with Stannis, where the conflicting reports first arose…' he believed. 'I'll be certain to have a few words about it with him before they leave for Dragonstone tonight.'
"Could you free him? Please? He's my friend," Shireen asked again.
Daveth looked at his cousin momentarily before drawing out a blank piece of paper and taking his quill and ink once more. Dipping the quill three times, the Young Stag began writing a series of strokes on the paper. Shireen scooted somewhat closer and tilted her head at a certain angle to see what her royal cousin was writing, only to sit back down once he gave her a particular look with his eyes. She quietly rocked her chair back and forth, waiting impatiently for whatever her cousin's finishing. Finally Shireen noticed Daveth folding his paper in half and stamping a wax seal on the front end before rolling it up and handing it over.
"Give this to your father," he told her. "Tell him it's from me."
Shireen took the scroll, examining the wax seal bearing the sigil of House Baratheon – her cousin's faction: black wax with a golden stag. Once she was certain this was what she thought it was, Shireen got up from her seat.
"Thank you, cousin," she bowed.
Before Shireen could leave the room, to their great surprise, Lord Stannis Baratheon himself enters the room. Shireen paused; she hadn't expected her own father to make his presence known unannounced like this. It was hard to tell what thoughts were developing in Stannis's mind, his cold, hard and firm facial expression made interpretation rather difficult for some. Shireen wondered if her father overheard their conversation and presented the scroll to him, but Stannis looked at her before turning to his nephew as he took the parchment.
"It's not polite to disturb the King, Shireen," Stannis finally broke the silence.
'He hasn't overheard. Good,' Daveth shook his head. "It's no trouble at all, Lord Stannis."
Stannis huffed. "Go back to the Fury with your mother, Shireen," he told his daughter. "I'll be back shortly. Close the door behind you."
Shireen did as she was instructed, bowing once more and closing the door behind her. Now alone, it was Stannis and Daveth—the two Baratheons. The Young Stag rose up from his seat, not once breaking eye-contact with his uncle and vice versa. The stone-faced elder Baratheon kept a firm look as the youth retained a serious posture.
"I've heard some… disturbing reports about the events that took place on Great Wyk," Daveth informed him. "And most of them revolve around you, uncle. Care to explain to me what happened?"
Stannis snorted. "The enemy was put down. What does it matter?"
"Really? Burning men alive at the stake qualifies as a form of execution? If you mean to kill someone, just put them to the sword and be done with it."
"Never thought of you preferring a quick, clean death."
"And I never thought you as easily controlled, given a man of your experience," Daveth countered.
Stannis felt insulted by this barb coming from his only blood-related nephew. "In a real war, the side with the greater numbers wins nine times out of ten. The ironborn were not soldiers. They do not have discipline or unity, instead opting to fight for their own glory. And they are as barbaric as they are infidels."
"Is that what your red priestess calls them now? Oh, uncle, how I wish you could hear the words spewing out of your mouth right now. At least the Faith of the Seven doesn't burn people alive simply because they worship a different god."
"The Seven have never brought me so much as a sparrow," Stannis retorted. "Prattle at me of how all justice and goodness flowed from the Seven, but all I ever saw of either was made by men. The harsh cruelty caused the demise of your grandparents, Steffon and Cassana Baratheon."
"Such circumstances are beyond our ability to predict or control, Lord Stannis, but we both know you didn't come here just to debate religious philosophy. You came to speak to me about something. So what is it?"
"So be it then. The boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen and the girl Myrcella are not of your blood. Our blood. All three are bastards born of incest between your mother Cersei Lannister and Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer. They share no blood with us."
Daveth's face morphed into disgust before looking out the window, observing his youngest brother (in reality, half-brother) Tommen walking through the royal gardens with Lady Margaery Tyrell and a couple of guards. He frowned, shook his head and looked over his shoulder back at Stannis.
"I already know that," he said.
Stannis frowned. "And yet you continue protecting them?"
"I exiled Joffrey to the Wall when he continued to disobey me, not because of the truth regarding his true parentage but because he was a cruel, sadistic and evil little shit—by all accounts worse than the Mad King. I've neither forgiven nor forgotten that. But Tommen and Myrcella…" the Young Stag paused briefly, the thoughts and memories of his younger siblings and all the time he spent with them came back to him. Daveth shook his head again. "…Tommen and Myrcella are good, decent children, both of them."
"You need to make a decision regarding them. Such abominations can't continue waddling about like the Targaryens did."
Daveth shot him a long, hard death stare and felt his temper rise. How dare Stannis refer to the two children he cherishes as 'abominations'? Yes, Daveth knew the truth but he shared a close bond with Tommen and Myrcella and vice versa. He raised them, he protected them, he played with them… And for a while, Daveth felt something in his inner conscience snap.
"Now you listen to me very carefully, Lord Stannis," he warned with heat in his voice, "although Tommen, Myrcella and I do not share the same father, we still share the same mother. That makes them my blood. I've taken care of them myself since they were babes. Fed them, played with them, tutored them, protected them… I've raised them like they were my own. And I will not tolerate any kind of threat against them lightly."
"The Seven Kingdoms need to know the truth," Stannis insisted.
"And by doing so you'd put Tommen's and Myrcella's lives in grave danger!" Daveth almost screamed, his face red with fury. "I don't expect you to understand and I'm most certainly not looking for your approval. They are under my protection and I will not see either of them harmed. You will not lay so much as a finger on either of their heads or spread word of this to anyone. Should anything happen to them, I'll know about it. And I won't be as forgiving. You put Tommen or Myrcella at risk and I'll not only strip you of Storm's End but I'll come to Dragonstone and kill you myself."
Stannis and Daveth glared at each other, locked in a staring contest as each sized the other up. The nature of the Baratheon's sigil—the stag—was ever more evident in the room. If neither of them backed down they'd clash antlers until the other lay defeated. The only difference was the Young Stag was half lion, half stag. And Daveth was younger and just as capable, even proving to be battle-hardened like his father and uncles were despite his age.
"Now go," he ordered. "And one more thing: this… barbarism that fire priestess makes you practice? End it."
Stannis frowned deeply, almost as if his lips curled into a snarl. He stormed out of the room, leaving Daveth alone to massage his temples. He was having a bad day and already a headache formed. But he wasn't given a moment to rest as Arya Stark soon made her unannounced entrance known.
"Finally!" she exclaimed. "Been looking for you."
Daveth sighed irritatingly. "What do you want this time, Arya? I'm rather busy."
"Tell your mother to leave Sansa alone!" Arya demanded.
Daveth stopped in his tracks, looking down at the Stark she-wolf making 'demands' of him—especially with that tone of voice. Yet even so the Young Stag worked to regain his composure.
"You'll need to be a bit more specific than that," he replied.
Arya shook her head. "You know what I'm talking about, Young Stag. Your mother's been sending her lackeys to harass my sister non-stop while you were off fighting a war! And it's getting worse now that Sansa's having a baby! You're the King, tell her to stop! By the laws of gods and men, Baratheon and Stark are bound by blood."
'A very serious accusation; though the Starks are terrible liars and I wouldn't put anything past mother,' Daveth thought. "If it were anyone else who spoke to me like that they would've been flogged. But if anything you Starks are terrible liars. And Sansa's my wife, so I'll do whatever I can to end it."
Arya blinked, almost as if she didn't initially believe it. "That's it?" she inquired. "If these don't stop, I'll just handle it my—"
"HEY!" Daveth boomed. "You tell me what she did, I'll handle it. You don't do anything."
Arya Stark was fuming, curling her fists into a ball and stormed out the room—not even waiting for another response from her royal brother-in-law. In her mind, life at King's Landing would progress slowly. Arya and Sansa were daughters of the North, yet Arya was more impulsive and quick to react if she felt her family's well-being was at risk. She turned a corner and went down several flights of stairs, dipping to a darkened corner to meet a certain someone.
"A girl has decided on a name?" Jaqen H'ghar implored.
Arya nodded. "Osfryd and Osmund Kettleblack."
"Two names at once?" the Faceless Man assassin seemed amused. "Go on, girl. A man will take care of the rest."
######
At the Master of Coin's chambers…
Queen Sansa Stark sat with her direwolf Lady whilst listening to Bronn and Tyrion Lannister trading barbs back and forth for a while. They asked for a private audience with her, and the Wolf Queen agreed to meet with them but had mostly been annoyed with the sellsword Commander of the City's watch crude language from time to time. Sometimes Sansa had no idea why Tyrion kept Bronn around; she still did not trust Tyrion for the accusations against the Lannister dwarf for what happened with her brother Bran or Bronn since he is a mercenary for hire. Regardless, Sansa continued listening.
"And so with these sorry fucks disappearing left and right, no other gold cloak seems to have the faintest clue of where to look next," Bronn continued.
Tyrion listened closely, despite his role as Master of Coin. "Odd that so many in Flea Bottom would just vanish like that."
"Which brings me to the next question." Bronn turned to Sansa. "Your Royal Majestiness, I might need to ask for that pet of yours."
Sansa raised an eyebrow. "Lady? What do you need her for?" she asked.
"Tracking," Bronn answered. "Heard that a direwolf's sense of smell's more acute than that of a normal wolf. Your pet could help us track down the culprit. Wouldn't take too long. What do you say?"
Sansa massaged her temple and rubbed her pregnant belly, thinking closely of Bronn's request—sellsword or no, Bronn was still the Commander of the City Watch. And these suspicious activities at Flea Bottom were slowly spreading to other areas in King's Landing, causing quite a bit of a stir among the populace. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner normality would return.
Sansa petted Lady, scratching its ears. "Go on, Lady. Help Bronn and the City Watch."
Lady's ears perked up and raised itself up. The direwolf sniffed the piece of cloth from the recent crime scene Bronn was holding in his hand, backed away with its snout pointed in the air before letting out a small howl. Lady perked its ears back down and dug its paws into the stone tablets in the floor as Lady made its way out the door.
"Hmm. Smart animal," Bronn mused. "She must've picked up a scent."
Sansa watched Bronn leave the room with Lady and a few gold cloaks in tow. She was confident with her canine companion's keen sense of smell and intelligence; but at the same time Sansa worried about Lady—she already survived a near-death experience two years ago back at the Crossroads Inn back near the Trident of the Riverlands due to the early intervention of her husband's agents. To her surprise, not even Cersei Lannister knew until Lady defended her mistress.
"You worry too much," Tyrion noted.
Sansa looked at the Imp. "Why shouldn't I? Lady got lucky last time, and with these reports from the City Watch… how knows what'll happen."
"I'm sure that things will just blow over and the small folk return to their homes soon enough. Just try not to make a habit of it, Your Grace. I'm more used to Daveth being the one to juggle multiple tasks."
Tyrion remained sitting at his desk, flipping through each pages in the Master of Coin's old legers and books on the Iron Throne's financial records. His emerald green eyes examined each page until he eventually reached his predecessor's. Tyrion squinted closely at the recorded documents he read.
"What is it?" Sansa implored.
Tyrion hummed. "For years I've heard that Littlefinger is a magician. Whenever the crown needs money, he rubs his hands together and, poof, mountains of gold."
"The Master of Coin oversees the royal treasury and advises the King on financial matters, does he not?" the Stark Queen pointed out.
"True, but as it turns out… the money he gathered didn't come from where you thought it would be."
"What do you mean?"
Tyrion sighed, flipping another page. "Before Robert took the throne from the Mad King, the royal treasury was full to the brink. After that, he wasted it all away on tournaments and other 'luxuries' and left the realm with a rather enormous debt."
"Yes, Daveth has mentioned that a few times."
"And while his father gambled away all of the Iron Throne's money, borrowed 6,000,000 gold dragons from my father, and certain trade deals were negotiated and tariffs were imposed and lifted. All done so very quickly to replenish what the Crown had lost."
Sansa felt as if Tyrion was getting to the point of something. "But I thought Daveth had already repaid the Crown's debts to its creditors two years ago after he ascended the throne."
"He did," Tyrion nodded, "a rather great deal, in fact. Must've been planning it for years when Robert was still alive, otherwise the Iron Throne's coffers wouldn't be as full as it was before. Wars swallow gold, but they could be replenished all the same."
"Meaning?"
"As it turns out, it wasn't my father Littlefinger was borrowing money from. It's the Iron Bank of Braavos. Paying them back was not easy at all."
"How much?"
"Tens of millions, plus 500,000 to the Faith of the Seven."
Sansa blinked in surprise. "How did—?"
Tyrion shook his head. "I honestly don't know. Sometimes I can't understand what goes on in my nephew's head, but it was a relief to get the Iron Bank off our backs. If we failed to repay those loans, the bank would've funded our enemies. And one way or another, they always get their gold back."
"But what exactly is the Iron Bank? And why Braavos?" Sansa inquired.
Tyrion looked up. "Ah, I see Daveth forgot to mention that part. You see, Your Grace, the Iron Bank is the richest bank in the known world and arguable the most powerful financial institution of all time. Would-be kings and conquerors alike from Essos and Westeros turned to the Iron Bank for financial backing for their rebellions. 'The Iron Bank will have its due' was meant to remind their clients of the debts they owed them and should they refuse or fail, they would suffer the same fate as their predecessors."
To this, Sansa felt as if it were mind-boggling. How anyone could be under threat from a foreign institution and yet rely on it so much for conquests and other loans was beyond her. Despite having learned to adapt to court intrigue in King's Landing, apparently the Wolf Queen had more to learn. She watched as Tyrion flipped more pages, but suspicion became apparent as his face froze.
"Wait a moment…" he examined the recent leger.
Sansa sat up. "What is it?"
Tyrion didn't say anything, rather he instead closed the book and hopped off his seat. "Pardon me, Your Grace, but I need to inform the King at once."
"Wha—?"
Sansa couldn't even stop Tyrion as he hurried his way out of the door and to Daveth's personal chambers. But judging by the way the Imp hurriedly carried himself, Sansa speculated that something must be wrong—otherwise he wouldn't have departed so soon. Mood swings must also be apparent with her pregnancy, as Sansa cursed aloud and sat back in her seat in frustration.
"You look as if you're under stress, Sansa."
She stood back up upon her name being mentioned, by someone in particular who'd been watching her for quite some time. A man with a pointed chin beard, threads of silver in his hear and a silver mockingbird around his dark cloak looking at her with a sly smile.
"Lord Baelish…" Sansa acknowledged.
"Call me Petyr," he insisted.
"What brings you to King's Landing? I thought you were in the Vale."
"I was, Your Grace… but I figured it would have been more appropriate on my part to convey my condolences."
"Condolences?"
"Ah, so you haven't heard. I'm afraid to inform you that my wife, your aunt Lysa, has passed away."
Sansa froze, blinking a few times as she took in the news of the recent death of her aunt Lysa Arryn. "Aunt Lysa's… what, dead? But how?" she asked in disbelief, yet almost pleadingly.
'Such a great beauty; if anything her experiences only made her more beautiful than her mother,' Petyr thought. "The minstrel Marillion pushed her through the Moon Door, I'm afraid," he lied. "By the time I arrived, Lysa had already fallen. Do not fret, Sansa. The minstrel's been severely punished for his crimes."
Sansa glanced to the side, keeping one hand on her belly. The Greyjoy trial, audiences with petitioners, the investigation into the Flea Bottom disappearances, her mother-in-law's harassments… The Wolf Queen shook her head in disbelief; mental exhaustion feeling as if they were taking its toll on her for the day. Sansa gathered her wits and stood tall, having the societal protocol to carry herself. She is the Queen, after all. She had to be brave.
"And… what of my cousin, Robin? How is he… handling this?"
"Still having a hard time coping with his mother's death, Your Grace, but right now he's learning to further fit into his role as Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East," Petyr told her. "I know how hard it can be to lose both your parents at such a young age. For now, young Lord Robin heeds my advice… and I have always counseled loyalty to the throne."
Sansa Stark looked out the window, glancing down as she saw her sister Arya running around—carrying scrolls of documents, grumbling about Tywin Lannister and other members of the royal family. Her thoughts again as she felt her unborn child kick, a small 'oompf' escaping her lips that made Petyr Baelish raised a curious eyebrow.
"And might I ask how things are going between you and His Grace, King Daveth of the House Baratheon?" he asked.
Sansa raised an eyebrow. 'Why would he ask me about that?' she wondered. "We are doing well, Lord Baelish. Thank you for asking. The last war kept us apart for a long time. I was worried about what he might become, but I was relieved that Daveth exercised a great deal of restraint. I think he's finally learned to let go of the past and move forward."
"That is a relief to hear," Petyr nodded.
"Why are you asking me this so sudden?" she finally asked.
Petyr's face grew serious. "Sometimes, when I try to understand a person's motive, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What's the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say or doing what they do? Then I ask myself, 'how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do?'"
Sansa didn't like where this conversation was going. Inherently good people are trusting and forgiving even when they shouldn't be. They're always trying to find the good in people, and some people are simply not good, whether that's Littlefinger or that person down the hall who cannot help from doing the wrong thing. It didn't take long for the Wolf Queen to speculate that this lecture could be more useful to figure out when you cannot trust someone.
"There's also one other thing as well."
"What other thing?"
Petyr stepped closer. "It saddens me that your mother and I parted on bad terms. I loved her more than you could ever know. Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who've hurt the ones we love? In a better world, one where love could overcome strength and duty, you might have been my child."
Sansa frowned. Was Lord Baelish still lamenting about his failed duel against her uncle Brandon Stark and why was he telling her this now? She backed up slowly before feeling her back press against the wall as Petyr looked her in the eyes.
"But we don't live in that world," he continued. "You're more beautiful than Catelyn ever was. The thing that would please me more," he stepped closer, "is this."
Sansa felt Petyr cup her face and pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Taken by surprise, her eyes widened at this sudden act. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. When Daveth kissed her, Sansa felt only love, warmth and affection. But the one she felt Petyr gave her was of lust and desire for her. Finally regaining her senses, Sansa wrenched free and pushed Petyr away.
"L-Lord Baelish!" Sansa exclaimed, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "What do you think you're doing?!"
Petyr straightened his cloak. 'She's just as Catelyn was back then,' he mused. "Kissing a snow maid."
Sansa spat, flushed and angry. "I am a married woman, the Queen! Y-you shouldn't have done that to me!" she was making quite a ruckus.
"Is it wrong for an uncle to want to—" Petyr tried to justify his actions, only to be met with a sharp sting to his cheek.
*SLAP!*
Flushed and upset, Queen Sansa Stark had slapped Petyr Baelish across the face, not letting him finish the sentence. The collision of flesh against flesh made a sound like a cracked whip. Petyr touched his cheek, now bright red and stung fiercely as he watched Sansa run from the room. A small, satisfied grin spread across his face as Brienne of Tarth and Ariyana Dayne came running in after they heard the commotion.
"What in Seven hells is going on in here?" Brienne demanded.
Ariyana eyed Petyr closely. "Why did Her Grace leave the room in such a hurry?" she pressed.
Petyr waived them aside. "Sometimes a death in the family is hard for one to accept," he deceived. "Give Her Grace a moment to gather her wits, and send my regards to the Queen Mother."
Brienne and Ariyana didn't reply as Petyr also left the room, accompanied by his hired guards as he traversed the Red Keep—both the women Kingsguard knights had a suspicious feeling about the Lord Protector of the Vale. Officially they couldn't do anything, not without a say so from either the King or Queen. As Petyr soon left earshot, Ariyana leaned towards Brienne.
"You make sure Her Grace is well," she whispered. "I'll be keeping a close eye on that little man."
Chapter End
######
Author's Note: Another chapter done. Investigations, secrets and scandals within the halls of the Red Keep. What was your interpretation of each character's actions? What was your take on Daveth's interaction with Stannis? Or Sansa with Petyr's? That last bit has made the Stark girl rather repulsive in comparison to the film or the books; and if Daveth finds out he's going to be BEYOND PISSED. Thoughts? Let me know.
Just a Guest: Oh I can't wait to see Littefinger's head on a spike, also can't wait to see the showdown between Daveth and Cersei. Poor Daveth just can't seem to catch a break. While I don't see Sansa returning Littefinger's affections I can see how others are. When you say "She felt lust and desire with Littefinger's kiss" it is very vague as to which of them is feeling lustful, it almost sounds as if Sanda is saying she feels lust and desire. Just my two cents though, keep up the good work.
―I suspect that's causing a lot of misinterpretation, and any re-editing perhaps still causes more. Just to make it clear: Sansa learned the differences between Daveth and Littlefinger's kisses and is utterly repulsed by Littlefinger. Sansa is always the ever faithful and loyal wife.
Guest #2: Littlefinger inadvertently did the worst thing he could've done, talk about ironic
Hear My Fury: Ok, i just wanted to give my own input to the reviews that say that Daveth is okay with his mother and his uncle's relationship. And that he's going to be incestuous himself by having sex with his mother or his sister. Okay, first of all. Daveth specifically said, he is not going to act like his father by cheating on his wife. He's going to be faithful to Sansa! And furthermore it's clear he was disgusted by that fact! He's not interested in that! And he's not weak for confronting them about it. Well guess what? Oh I don't know, there was a little thing happening. A sort of Rebellion? Oh yeah! THEY! WERE! AT! WAR! You can't just stop in the middle of it and have him tell Jaime, "I know what's been going on between you and mom. And I'm just gonna put the whole war on hold to tell you about it! That's right, I'm putting aside my hatred for the people who tortured me for a year and I'm gonna make a huge scene about this!" I believe you will have Daveth confront both Jaime and Cersei in time. Might be the next chapter, considering he just found out that his mom has been harassing Sansa ever since he left. Oh, one last thing. To the people who said that Sansa is now interested in Littlefinger? Um, no. It was surprising to her, that's why it lasted a bit longer. And from what I read, she's not kissing him back. And if she's interested then why would she wipe her mouth with her sleeve, disgusted by this act and slap him across the face? It's clear she's not interested, she's been in love with Daveth, just because he's acted differently doesn't mean that she's turned off by him and is gonna go for the creepy guy who was in love with her mother! Ugh, I had to get that off my chest and kind of get my opinion on this. It's really irritating me.
―Ah! It's such a relief to hear someone else say that out loud.
Guest #1: great story
―Thanks.
Nemesis: I like the plot of this story, but I hate the main character, Daveth Baratheon. He is weak, does not have much intelligence (Well, he confronts Stannis, who proved to be loyal, while trusting Jaime, who already made it clear that he would kill him if King Daveth tried to separate him from Cersei), and he is also cuckold. In addition, his mother's madness is in his genetics, and I would not be surprised if he had sex with Cersei too, until poque, he showed that he accepted the incestuous relationship between his mother Cersei and his uncle Jaime. It also seems that he does not satisfy Sansa in bed, it was clear in this chapter that Sansa liked Petyr's kiss, as you described "She felt lust and desire with Littlefinger's kiss." Daveth must be a Beta male.
―Hmm. Lemme see... Judges? ERRRR! Wrong answer, bud!
12345678910: Amazing work love it so much
―Thanks.
Shrednector15: Great chapter. I hope Daveth finds out about the kiss and knows that Sansa enjoyed. It would be some spicy drama between the two. Keep up the great work.
―Will do. And FYI, Sansa never enjoyed that moment whatsoever as you could see she wrenched herself free and pushed Petyr away.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
Moshi: So, Stannis has been warned, Littlefinger has fucked up, Tyrion has found something, and Arya is taking matters into her own hands.
Though, I'm still peeved about the apparent ass kissing of the Freys. The North mobilised on the King's orders, Lord Frey has NO RIGHT to hold them up for a marriage agreement that Eddard Stark would never agree to. This is the only part in the story that I truly despise. Robb should be raked over for not marrying in the North not for pissing on Lord Frey. I also don't get why you had Robb marry Talisa anyway, this is the one ripple that should have been excise from narrative.
Other than that, I enjoy the story a great deal.
The Last Kenpachi: Ugh, what's Baelish's game this time?
―Looks as if he has a rather unhealthy obsession with Catelyn and her daughter Sansa.
Blizzard dragon7777: How about poisoning the littler finger so he suffers a little before he dies just an idea.
Hail King Cerion: Petyr's fucked up, attempting such a thing like that is a quick way to end up with a severing of the head, I hope that happens but it could also implicate things with Sansa.
If he gets caught doing what he did to Sansa, Cersei could easily turn this into a scandal, "The Queen with the Lord Protector of the Vale" Sansa's enemies could orchestrate rumors that she's been bedding Petyr and that her child could be illegitimate.
I liked this update, write on, fellow author.
Hear My Fury: Well, That was something. I liked the Argument between Daveth and Stannis, I know you said that he is not going to rebel against Daveth, but I'm not so sure about Melisdandre. Finally someone told Daveth what his mom's been doing to Sansa! I'm glad it's Arya, and taking care of the rest of the Kettleblack brothers, not bad, but I still would have Cersei, but that's just me. Littlefinger, are you just begging to be killed? Because you've just given not only Sansa but Daveth more than enough just cause to have your head on a spike. This really wasn't a smart move on his part, I don't think he would be bold enough to do that. Anyway, great job and I look forward to the next chapter.
mpowers045: Now that was intense with him and Stannis and Littlefinger better be going down
―Daveth cares about Myrcella and Tommen. No one dare stand in the way of their big brother! And don't worry, Littlefinger's moment will come soon.
ZabuzasGirl: Stannis has been warned. Off with Littlefinger's head!