Lord Petyr Baelish strode into Renly Baratheon's solar whistling. As the Master of Coin seated himself, the youngest Baratheon sibling turned from the window, his typical smile seeming a tad more forced than usual. Renly was wearing a dark cloak, appropriate for the death of the Hand, yet quite well-made and fashionable.
"Ah, good, Lord Baelish, you've arrived."
Petyr looked up at Renly with a politely bemused expression. He of course knew what this was about, but Renly didn't have to know that. He hadn't expected such quick developments from the Lord Arryn's death, but it was gratifying to see a plan come to fruition.
"Lord Baelish, in light of recent events… a certain… situation has arisen that needs to be dealt with." It was amusing to see Renly, normally so confident, fumbling for words. "It would be of great help to myself and others if the Red Keep were secured later tonight. Rest assured I have the King's support in this matter."
"Lord Renly, I'm afraid you're going to have to be a bit clearer as to what you wish me to do. I am merely the Master of Coin from a small house of no standing. I cannot command armies with a mere word unlike some." Petyr smiled to himself. He already had this information, but it wouldn't hurt for Renly to confirm it for him.
Renly sighed, "I need you to deliver the Gold Cloaks to me by this evening. They are needed for important…security reasons." Renly looked strained; he was obviously unused to this sort of conspiratorial work. Poor boy, he has no idea what he's dealing with, time for some fun.
"Now, what could King Robert possibly want with the City Watch?" Petyr queried innocently. "Could it be because he fears for his safety in his own castle? No, surely the Kingsguard will protect him. Perhaps he wishes for more pikes on the walls? But there are plenty of Lannister guardsmen for that. Or maybe the King needs some important people…taken care of, shall we say?" At this Renly visibly paled. "Yes I think I may have found the reason."
"Lord Baelish, I can assure you-"
"Yes, I am quite assured thank you Lord Renly. But why have you come to me? What services can the Master of Coin perform that the Master of Laws cannot? It is you, not I, who commands the City Watch. Or do I have it backwards?"
Petyr saw a flicker of anger in Renly's eyes, the likeness to his eldest brother became uncanny. Then it was gone, replaced by the usual genial expression. "Lord Baelish, we both know that the Gold Cloaks are no better than sellswords. I'm asking you to make sure they sell their swords to the King."
And there it was. The true reason that they needed Petyr Baelish. He had long ago learned that he who held the purse, held the power. And Littlefinger was the one with the purse. They thought they were using him, but they were the true pieces, being manipulated by the player in the shadows.
"Very good, I believe I can get you what you need." Petyr stood and made to leave, but stopped one hand on the door. "Half the City Watch will report to the Red Keep at sundown."
"Half?!" came the startled response behind him.
"Of course, the other half will need to man the city walls to see no news escapes of the Queen's arrest." And with that, Lord Petyr Baelish exited the room and closed the door behind him.
How simple it had been, he reflected. Soon the Lannisters would be discredited and he would have played an integral part on behalf of the King. He could expect handsome rewards for his leal service. Chaos was coming, and Petyr Baelish would use that chaos to climb higher.
He would meet with Janos Slynt in one of his brothels, near the Iron Gate. Slynt was a greedy, arrogant and frog-faced man. But he was also the Commander of the City Watch and very open to the occasional bribe. And that made Slynt Littlefinger's man. Petyr had sent word to the Commander to be ready for something big. Soon, very soon, the nest of hornets that was King's Landing would erupt. And Littlefinger would be in the center of it.
The others all spoke of laws of succession and the sizes of levies, but Petyr knew the truth. True power came not from crowns or from bannermen, but gold. They could have their precious honor, that was not what made them powerful. A man would sell his own mother for enough coin, and as the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish had more than any of them. He who held the purse, held the power. Let the high lords smash each other to bits. He would be backstage, quietly making his own moves.