Chapter 5: Reunion - II

Lord Tywin had just returned from his son's chambers. Tyrion had awoken not hours ago, and Tywin, accompanied by the Grand Maester had gone to visit him. Tyrion's attendant, a Lannister of Lannisport had used a technique he had learned from a woodswitch to fix Tyrion's nose, and the man had seemed disappointed when Tywin had not shown any enthusiasm for his work. Why a Lannister expected to be congratulated on doing a barber's job, Tywin couldn't fathom. Mayhaps Petyr Lannister was better suited to being a maester than a lord.

It was typical of Tyrion to inconvenience him, Lord Tywin thought. To awaken a day after the wedding of Sansa Stark was surely another way his misshapen son was mocking him again. Just two days ago, there were no Lannisters for Lady Sansa to wed. Now there were two, if one counted Hareld Frey. If the wedding was unconsummated, the marriage could still be set aside. Tywin would make it so that Severus Martell would bear the brunt and the shame. It wouldn't be difficult. Most people did not like the man. He had never been associated with any woman, and had never been spotted at a whorehouse, and it was not as if Martell was Stannis, all self-righteous and prudish. It would not be difficult for people to believe that there was something wrong with the Dornishman. Half the court thought him unmanly anyway. If the wedding had been consummated though...

Lord Tywin was waiting for the report on the bedding from the servants.

Even as he waited for news, there was another wedding that Lord Tywin was thinking about. With Joffrey's wedding and investiture just a week away, the distasteful rumours of incest and bastardry needed to be extinguished. There was no other way to do it: Cersei needed to be wed again, and produce a child in wedlock. Lord Tywin had breached the issue with Mace Tyrell, who had been agreeable to wed his son Willas to Cersei at first. Unfortunately his harridan mother had destroyed that little scheme. There was news, however that Lord Sirius, Willas's younger twin was in King's Landing to see his sister wed the King. A younger son, Cersei's hand could not be rejected without insulting House Lannister and Baratheon. It was rumoured that Lord Sirius was wilful and kept low company (he was particularly fond of Clegane's brother), but he was a Tyrell, and as long as he put a child in Cersei's belly (it could even be a girl), Lord Sirius's activities were of no concern to Lord Tywin. Robert hadn't been any better after all...

There was a knock on the door, and Hareld Frey entered Lord Tywin's solar. He carried a missive sealed with the Frey crest, sent by raven by the size of it. Lord Tywin broke open the seal and unrolled the parchment.

Rains of Castamere will play! Tywin smiled.

So the plan was finalised and agreed upon. Lord Robb Stark was an idiot and as good as dead, though it didn't do to count one's chickens before they hatched. Lord Tywin lit a candle and burnt the missive in its flames. It would not do for the plan to get out. Opportunities like this came only once.

Another knock on the door, and a servant arrived with tidings of the Sansa Stark's bedding. There were stains on the sheets. A bit of blood, and some other spots. The wedding had been consummated.

Hareld Frey gasped. Lord Tywin was taken aback at the fury in Hareld's eyes. Good he thought. At least he knows the implications of this, unless of course the boy was foolish enough to desire the girl himself. She was a pretty little thing after all, and boys, in Lord Tywin's experience, preferred to listen to their loins rather than their heads.

"This news upsets you, Hareld?" inquired Lord Tywin.

"Lady Stark deserved better. I can't believe he did it! The greasy snake!"

"I hope you don't voice your opinion so cavalierly, Hareld." Tywin admonished. "The walls have ears."

"I am sorry my lord. I shall keep my opinions to myself."

Hareld Frey was no idiot, but he did broadcast his thoughts and opinions too easily. It wouldn't do. But at least the boy knew when to apologise. He could be taught.

"Who do you think would have been an appropriate match for Sansa Stark?"

"Not Severus Martell" Hareld said stubbornly.

"Someone like yourself?"

"Not necessarily." Good. The boy knew his place, thought Tywin. "But I would still be better than Prince Severus Martell!" Hareld spat out the Prince's name as if it were particularly distasteful. "He is completely inappropriate!"

"Why? He is a prince of Dorne, she is a daughter of Winterfell. By birth, they are well matched, better than you would be, I daresay."

"They may be well matched on paper, but he has obviously taken advantage of her. I had hoped..." Hareld trailed off unable to complete his sentence, but his thoughts clearly writ on his face.

"Are you in love with the girl? Do you desire her?"

"NO" answered Hareld vehemently, "I hadn't even seen her before yesterday. I barely know her. But he will use her, I know it! The sheets prove it!"

Lord Tywin could see that Hareld was still seething. Lord Tywin couldn't really blame him, but the boy needed to learn. He was seething himself, but was just much better at masking it. It was obvious, especially after the missive that Lord Tywin had just burnt, that Sansa Stark was now practically the Lady of Winterfell, and the key to the north now belonged to Severus Martell.

Just one day! Damn Tyrion!

Instead, Lord Tywin replied coldly, "Control your emotions. That said, you are not incorrect in your assessment of the situation. It is unfortunate...I had hoped that the wedding, if unconsummated, could be set aside. There were certainly better matches for Lady, well, Princess Sansa, now. Unfortunately Severus Martell is not as big a fool as...nevermind..."

Lord Tywin regarded the boy in front of him. Would emotion overwhelm commonsense in Hareld Frey, like it often did in Tyrion? Lord Tywin would rather pass on the boy to squire for Kevan if such were the case. Lord Tywin's flecked green eyes met Hareld's emerald green.

"I have a conundrum for you, and there will be several more that you will face. If you had the option to end a war immediately with little loss of life, but through lies and deceit - dishonour some might say - as against stretching a war for a year, with a loss of a thousand lives. As a ruler of your own lands, what would you choose?"

"I rather think it depends on what you mean by dishonour," replied the young man.

"Lies, deceit, false pretenses..."

"It depends on context, doesn't it? In war, lies and deceit against an enemy is hardly dishonourable. Allowing the deaths of thousands and the starvation of more when it is in one's power to prevent it, one can argue, is dishonourable as well. That said, I don't think the ends always justify the means."

Lord Tywin smiled and nodded. "You will make a good Lord, Hareld. I believe that there is a keep in my gift that should be coming to...you will be a lord in your own right very soon"


Peter was underwhelmed by Lord Tywin's response. By the standards of the living conditions he saw around him, Peter knew that he had pulled off a miraculous feat of surgery, and had expected a reward commensurate with his achievement. Lord Tywin had instead looked angry, almost disappointed. He had asked a few cursory questions to him regarding his son, consulted the maester (who at least looked somewhat impressed), and left shortly after. The maester had left shortly after that, and that had been the end of all visitors.

At least Lord Tyrion had seemed grateful, even though he remained quite weak, and was not able to speak much. That Lord Tyrion was able to speak at all was a testament to Peter's potion making skills (unacknowledged as always).

The only positive outcome from the visit that Peter could gather was that Peter at least had a little more context as to the current circumstances:

1. The Lannisters had won an important battle, and the war was nearly won
2. Someone named Sansa Stark had married a Martell prince and it was Tyrion's fault for some reason
3. The King was to wed in a week, an alliance that would bring much stability to the realm
4. That Peter was to accompany Tyrion to receive the Dornish party who were expected the next day (it didn't matter how Tyrion felt, he looked good enough)
5. Peter Pettigrew was Peter Lannister of Lannisport, a minor noble from the cadet branch of a great line

Well as far as the last point was concerned, Peter would have been happier if he were a minor lord in a distant castle far away from his former friends. Peter had hoped curing Lord Tyrion would allow him some capital to flee far away and become untraceable for Sirius and Remus. No reward seemed forthcoming, and Peter hoped that they wouldn't find a way to access the holdfast. Sirius, Peter had noted, had been denied entry earlier.

While the dwarf lord slept, Peter decided to explore and gather as much information as he could.

The main library was in the rookery, a building sitting adjascent to the holdfast. Would Sirius have access there? Going to the library for gathering information would be the first thing on his mind as well. The main library was too much of a risk. That plan would have to be eliminated. Any trips outside the holdfast would needed to be undertaken with the greatest of caution.

There was certain to be a smaller library here, for the royal children for one, and as lord of some sort, at least the more common books Peter would be allowed to borrow. Maybe something quite basic like the history of where he was, the events of the last few years, a genealogy or two would bring him upto speed. The Royal Apartments were on the floor above, and the school room was likely there.

Keeping a tray of water, figs and a vial of pain draught next to Lord Tyrion's bed (should he wake up during Peter's absence), Peter walked quietly to the door, and closed it gently behind him.

Peter was on the landing, about to climb up when he saw him on the landing below. Unusually in Orange, stood a gobsmacked Snape. The man had obviously seen him and was staring at him in shocked disbelief. Before Snape could respond, Peter turned on the spot and ran. He ran as fast as he could, back to Tyrion's room, guarded with armed men outside.

He could hear Snape coming up the stairs; he was taking them two at a time by the sound of it. Just a few feet more - he was at the door. Snape had reached the landing - the door opened and Peter slammed the door shut, and prayed that Snape didn't have a wand.

Voices were coming through the door. The guards had denied Snape entry: Only Lannisters, my lord, or guests

Thank God!

Peter could hear Snape's voice (he sounded out of breath) say something indistinct in reply. There was laughter, and Peter tensed, readying himself for a fight.

Then a new voice said, "Mayhaps you will have better luck with an invitation if you bring your lady wife. I daresay the King will be happy to see her..." More laughter...and angry retreating footsteps...

Peter let out a deep breath in (momentary) relief. Peter needed to get out. Fast. Snape was here as well, and he had murder in his eyes. Even the holdfast was not safe. How long Peter could remain safe in just this particular room, was difficult to know. Not long, was the obvious answer. How would he get out. It was possible only under very heavy guard.

I need a miracle!

"You look as if you've seen a ghost" a raspy voice pulled Peter out of his panic.

"Only my death, my lord" answered Peter with complete honesty. Peter's face was white, and his hand was shaking, as he swept the sweat from his brow.

"You are not joking. Who would dare to harm you here? Why?"

"They seek revenge. They hold me responsible for their misfortune...it is a long story, and years old. I do not have all the threads either. They know where I am now, and they will kill me. There are at least three of them. Two in the red keep, and one with access to Maegor's holdfast."

"Not only do I owe you a debt, but you are also a Lannister. Killing you will mean a direct attack on us. No one would dare."

"Then they will make it look like an accident."

"Why are you so certain?"

"He chased me. If it hadn't been for the guards, he'd have killed me. I am certain. Please help me get out of here. I just need to go far away, nothing else..." Peter knew he looked like a weak fool, begging of a dwarf with a bandaged nose, but there was nothing else that Peter could think of. He was a mere step away from sobbing.

Lord Tyrion was looking at him strangely, as if re-assessing him.

"Summon one of the guards..."

Peter bowed, opened the door, peeked out, and asked one of the guards to come in. He hadn't spotted Snape in the corridor.

"My lord?" the guard bowed and asked Lord Tyrion.

"Who dared threaten our cousin in this castle? Lord Petyr tells me that he was compelled to flee into these rooms for safety..."

"Prince Severus did chase Lord Petyr, but we refused to let him in. We do not perceive him as a threat to the safety of Lord Petyr or yourself, my lord."

"Very well. You may leave."

The guard bowed and exited the room, leaving Peter alone with the pensive dwarf.

"A matter over years old you say...what matter?"

What could Peter say? Snape's motive for wanting Peter dead was probably just school-yard malice. Sirius though, Peter shuddered at the thought. What could he tell Tyrion that would be convincing, unverifiable and at the same time something that would underline the danger that Peter found himself in? As Peter thought hard, he was hit by a barrage of memories, faint, but unmistakably his. Or rather his avatar's here, for lack of a better term. Letters exchanged...Peter shook himself.

He was a dead man anyway. Lord Tyrion might as well hear his confession. How could he explain the Potters, the Dark Lord, his own circumstances? No names, then, just the facts.

"I was sent away for education as a child. Not the noblest born, nor the brightest, my nobler, wealthier, better looking and more charming playmates treated me like a stooge. Then the war started. They expected me to fight on their side. I chose neutrality. They insulted me for my stand, and mocked my lack of martial prowess. They did not consider my stand, and they did not consider what was plainly in front of them, even when it was plain to see. I wanted to be great, I wanted to be respected, I wanted to be known, and so I joined my liege lord.

"Thinking that I was a fool no one would bother with, they gave me information regarding the war that I passed on to my liege. I didn't hold the blade that did it, I wasn't even there, but that information resulted in murder...", then almost inaudibly Peter added as if muttering to himself, "the boy was a threat, so what if he was a baby; I learned later that had his mother moved aside as she had been told, she'd likely be alive. It was war...

"Prince Severus hates me on principle, and will kill me if given the chance, my erstwhile playmates think me treacherous, and will kill me on sight."

"You are the one who passed on the information on the sack of King's Landing?" asked the dwarf. The sack of King's Landing sounded familiar, a faint recollection lay somewhere at the back of Peter's mind. Did Peter cause murder here too? Who knew? Peter was here to confess, not to lie. He wouldn't nod, but he couldn't in truth deny it either. He just closed his eyes.

The dwarf was saying something, and Peter opened his eyes to follow the movement of Tyrion's mouth so as to follow the words better.

"Prince Severus is not a threat. He has been a hostage here for seventeen years. How he found out about your involvement I do not know and would be interested to hear. The problem with the Martells would be with Prince Oberyn, who I believe will be visiting for the wedding of mine nephew. The man is said to be mad. You will need to be away from King's landing before Prince Oberyn has even an inkling about any role you may have had in the murder of his nephew.

"I owe you a debt, Lord Peter, and a Lannister always pays his debts. The plan has its risks, and is based on the assumption that Prince Oberyn is yet ignorant. This is what I propose: you will accompany me under very heavy guard to receive Prince Oberyn. No one except my father, Grand Maester Pycelle or myself are aware of the proposed reception party. It, hopefully, be deemed to unimportant for serious gossip, and your presence should go unmentioned. The only person who may guess at this may be Prince Severus, and I shall ensure that he is under heavy guard until the reception party is welcomed to King's Landing.

"Once the introductions are made, and as I escort the Prince and his companions to King's Landing, you will take the Kingsroad to Oldtown, and enroll yourself as a novice at the citadel. Granted, you are likely cleverer and older than most novices there, and from the job you've done with my nose, likely better than most maesters too, but it is a place you can lie low until things blow over, or you can return either to Lannisport or to Kings Landing. I will give you the money for the journey and to allow you to stay in comfort. What say you, Lord Petyr?"


Sirius was sitting in an ale house in the Street of Silk taking in the atmosphere and gossip around him. It was refreshing to be able to be out in the open, twelve long years after incarceration in the worst of prisons. That the place was muggle added flavour. Sirius really hadn't had much experience with muggles, he had been out of Hogwarts only three years before they threw him in prison without trial. With an ongoing war, meeting and mixing with muggles had been tough. The ale house was richly decorated. It was obvious that the clientele it served was rich. Unlike the salons of the wizarding world, where servants were not to be seen and trays appeared as ordered (or ideally as expected), numerous serving girls were bringing food and drink to the tables. The muggle way was better, Sirius decided, as a pretty buxom serving girl served him a tankard of ale with a smile.

The best place to gather information, Sirius had learned as a very successful marauder and a talented field agent for the Order of the Phoenix, was in a pub. One got to hear about everything. Happily Sirius even had some context. The boy, Ronald Weasley, a Tarly in this world, had told him a little about the events yesterday: Sansa Stark of Winterfell had been married off to Snape, who was Severus Martell here. Tarly were bannermen to the Tyrells, and as such Ron and Sirius had been put up in the same building. This was a piece of luck. For one, it gave Sirius access to a wand. Ron had his, and apparently so had Harry and Hermione (which was a relief). It had been great holding a wand without fear of confiscation after so many years. The first thing Sirius had done was heal the wound that he had caused poor Ron. It wasn't as good a job as Madam Pomfrey would have done, but at least there were no broken bones, no open wounds and no chances of any corruption of the wound. It was remarkable how well the boy had put up with the injury until then.

There was a lot of gossip. They had apparently appeared in this world at a very busy time. Only a few weeks ago the city had been under siege, and riots had broken out. Now, there had been one major wedding (whose reasons were being discussed with some gusto, and wild theories abounded). Well Sirius for one knew why that wedding took place, thanks to Loras: Lady Sansa was to be wed to a Tyrell! Willas preferably, even Sirius himself in a pinch. Apparently she had even given her assent. The plan somehow leaked and Lord Tywin scuttled it. No formal offer had been made, so no slight could be made out. So Sansa Stark was wed to Snape. Poor thing. Th grease...

Another wedding was hotly anticipated, and the topic was hotly discussed. Entertainers, cooks and tradesmen of all kinds thronged the city, and a host of noble guests from all the kingdoms were expected. And the bride was his sister. All of sixteen herself. Yet, despite the unsavoury rumours about the groom, the wedding would be going on, and the girl was excited about it. Sirius's younger brother Loras, was to join the Kingsguard, ostensibly to help protect her from the King's excesses. Sirius would have found the entire idea mad, if it was not like Narcissa all over again (Narcissa was older when she wed, even though she had been bethrothed at fourteen).

Sirius studied the crowd as he drank a sip of ale. Remus would be joining him soon. So would Ron (hopefully with Harry, if he could). There was a lot to discuss, the first point being whether it made sense to return at all. Remus was healthy and whole here, and a knight besides. Sirius himself was an extremely high born lord, with a modicum of independence from his family, and all the kids were well off and nobly born. They had magic in a world of muggles, and to the best of Sirius's knowledge, they were safe. More importantly, Peter Pettigrew was here. Did it make sense to return to Hogwarts where Voldemort was out to kill Harry, Sirius a fugitive, Remus a werewolf and Hermione a muggle to be discriminated against? Whatever the decision, Sirius would go where Harry went. He was the boy's godfather and had let down the boy too many times. Sirius would step up to his responsibilities and make Prongs proud.

His tankard, half empty, sat on the table in front of him, and the table was soon occupied by an exceedingly well groomed man with an expertly trimmed goatee. The man was as fastidiously dressed as Crouch, as ingratiating as Fudge before the rich and powerful, and in his eyes there was a canniness that Sirius couldn't help but associate with Snape. An amalgamation of people Sirius hated. Excellent. In spite of the friendly smile and helpful facade, the man was obviously Trouble. It didn't help that the man's name was Peter.

Sirius was being considered for the queen's new husband, the man informed him, Lord Mace Tyrell had approved, and Lady Olenna had not objected. With her son taking up the kingship in earnest, an alliance for the daughter of House Lannister would be apropos. A generous dowry: valuable lands in the Westerlands would seal the alliance. Lord Peter Baelish, a minor lord, of consequence only due to his office as Master of Coins, would be happy to have the favour and friendship of a lord who would soon be one of the most influential in the seven kingdoms.

Yeah right, and I am a Death Eater, thought Sirius. The man was still speaking.

"I would be pleased to host you at any of the pleasure houses on this street, My Lord. Chataya's is particularly good, if I may say so."

"Thank you, Lord Baelish. Perhaps later. I am expecting my friends to join me here soon."

"Would you mind if I kept you company until they arrived? I would be happy to help you in any way you need."

"Be my guest."

Sirius'd rather Baelish left, but he'd rather not make enemies yet. The silence stretched on.

Small talk was not Sirius's forte for all that he was an aristocrat born and bred. It was one of the things that his mother hated about him. What would the Blacks do in his place, Sirius wondered. Probably hunted the lot of them for sport, or kept them as pets.

"Allow me to host you while we wait. The venison here is exquisite and only yesterday a new cask of Arbor Gold arrived. This is one of my own establishments, my lord. I am a small man, my lord, without lands or peasants, a mere step up from an innkeeper..." Baelish gestured to a girl who rushed to the man, took their order with alacrity and rushed away to carry it out.

Ron arrived shortly after their order, but with Baelish now their host, it would be difficult to dismiss the man from their company. He was limping a bit, and Sirius was disappointed to see that he had come alone. Sirius raised his brow in question.

"Sparred with Harry, exterted my leg a bit. The wound hadn't healed as well as I had hoped. Should be fine in a couple of days."

Sirius nodded. He felt a slight pang of guilt. Ron's wound was after all Sirius's fault. But any discussion of import would have to wait. Introductions were made, and drinks ordered. The food came not much after, and Sirius was just wondering at Remus's tardiness, when the man walked in looking taller and stronger in the daylight than Sirius had ever seen him.

Baelish seemed surprised to see Remus heading to their table. "Ser Remus Clegane? I must say I am surprised to see you wait for a Lannister bannerman...a Clegane at that."

"You know Remus?"

"No. I can't say I've had the pleasure. I have met his brother Sandor though, and of course House Clegane has a fearsome reputation."

"What about Remus's reputation?" Sirius was unable to stop indulging his curiosity.

"I am afraid his reputation is overshadowed by his brothers'. There is little I know of him. He has Sandor's look..."

Remus had made his way to the table by then.

"Sirius, Ron" he nodded at them both as he sat. "Won't you introduce me to your friend," he added looking at Baelish, whose eyebrows were rising higher and higher.

"Petyr Baelish, Ser Remus. I serve the King as Master of Coin" the man said, his manner urbane. "A pleasure to meet you, Ser."

Sirius mouthed Lord Baelish as the man was speaking.

Remus bowed, "the pleasure is mine, my lord." He always did have impeccable manners. The only man with a better manner in Sirius's acquaintance was Dumbledore. "An exciting time to be in King's Landing. The King's wedding...that's all that I hear, well besides the wedding of Lady Sansa."

"Princess Sansa, now" interjected Baelish. "Lord Tywin ordered the sheets to be inspected..."

Remus showed no response except for a tightening of his mouth. Sirius said nothing but he couldn't hide his distaste as Remus. Poor, poor girl. That hideous, greasy bastard, that's all Sirius could think, but Ron, Ron exploded, "the fucker!"

Silence descended in the ale house for a few moments, and all eyes were on their table. Before long some whispers started, and soon the volume was back to normal levels.

Peter Baelish excused himself, looking quite satisfied.