Author's Note: Welcome back to another chapter! I have greatly been enjoying all of the moments that Brienne and Jaime have had in episode 2 and 3 of the new season. I hope you are too. Thank you for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy this story.
Chapter 47
Petyr I
Petyr Baelish walked through the halls of the Red Keep at an urgent pace, but his face was set in a placid smile. The droll king and his leashed lion were negotiating with Stannis. For the first time since he arrived back at the Red Keep, he felt he was able to flit and flutter at his desire.
If he wasn't mistaken, a close eye was being kept on him. It was only natural after he had spent the majority of the last six months in the Red Keep with their enemy. All the same, they still gave him back the position of Master of Coin since few others were better at keeping the books than him. Despite living in the same place as him for more than a dozen years, Jaime Lannister seemed just as oblivious as the fool King Robert to his tampering with the Keep's finances and that suited him just fine.
For all that eunuch's resources, he was still ignorant of the thievery Baelish was committing under the nose of kings. Coin and its inflow and outflow are so complicated. Only the smartest like myself could possibly make sense of the pathways I send coin on, he thought smugly. He had heard from his own spies that the King and Tyrion Lannister had been pouring over the Keep's accounts. While he had yet to have a private conversation with the ugly dwarf, he ran into him once in the Hall and glimpsed suspicion in the dwarf's gaze.
The dwarf had misgivings, but he hadn't shared them with the king - which he'd know - but with his brother Jaime. The older Lannister brother, unlike his father, lacked the wits to understand the situation and had waved away his brother's concerns. And if the king's ignorant countenance had been anything to go by when he had presented himself at court, then he didn't have to concern himself with either of them catching on. He should be safe.
Even so, he couldn't miss a prime time to conduct his business with the King and the Hand away.
Barring his recent dealings with King Aemon, he did have reservations. He had yet to hear back from his contacts in the Vale. Lysa Arryn had not been his only informant. There had been others and now they were quiet and the fact that information about Lord Yohn Royce leading the Vale houses meant there had been a shift of power. Lysa was no longer commanding as Lady of House Arryn, but why? The most he heard is that King Aemon had ordered the Eyrie be put under quarantine and no one, no matter their importance, was allowed out. One minor lord who had managed to make it down was instantly tossed into the dungeons, by order of the new king. It was one of Lysa's deluded suitors, Lohrin Gifford. The world wouldn't miss him if he mysteriously died in prison.
It was obvious that the quarantine announcement was an excuse. Lady Lysa had been removed from power. Was her hand in the murder of that smelly oaf Jon Arryn detected? Or was her mind so far gone that her power was pulled from her? That wasn't too difficult to imagine. She had lost any sense or reason long ago. Arryn and Royce had, more than once, expressed concern in the raising of the poor, stupid Robin. At his encouragement, Lysa had effectively crippled the heir to the Vale. His sickliness offered a perfect excuse for an untimely demise.
It was simple: he would find a way to elevate himself to Lord, marry Lysa, and bump off her son. But this...this presented a juicier opportunity. Now that he had a handle on the situation, it should be easy to destroy the new king's reign before it even began. He was trying to find someone cutthroat and deft enough to sneak around the Bloody Gate to find out what the figure in the dungeon knew, but few were willing to cross the Blackfish. He would have to keep working at uncovering what the king was hiding.
The revealing of the new king had knocked loose the entire foundation of his original plan. The Lannisters and the Starks were supposed to be at war, but the new king had saved Jaime Lannister and allied with him instead. How infuriating!
That Jaime Lannister had apparently known the identity of the king even before he had arrived at Winterfell was another lightning strike. The entire time he had known Jaime, he's not sure the fool had said more than a dozen words to anyone. They'd never even had a proper exchange in the hallway of the Red Keep. It wouldn't have surprised Petyr to learn the witless fool had become a mute. However, it seemed the lion was something of a plotter because the news that Ser Jaime had taken Ned Stark's bastard as a squire had been perplexing, but he had dismissed it out of hand as the usual alliance play between noble houses. Then they had received a letter about the impending executions of Jaime and Cersei Lannister for treason by robbing the king of proper heirs. It hadn't take more than one glance at the haughty brat, Joffrey, to know he wasn't of King Robert's seed, but information that the Queen habitually invited her uncle into her chamber had eventually reached his ears. He knew Cersei had been shoring up her support to end King Robert prematurely, but it surprised him that she would commit a move so desperate under the nose of the Starks.
No matter. He was a mockingbird. Birds could adjust their wings to shift with the wind on a dime and so would he. If anything, this would yet again make things easier. Lord Stannis was a stubborn fool who was as rigid as a tree with no male heirs to his name and Renly was a foppish brat who knew nothing of hardship.
All had gone suspiciously quiet. He didn't even hear anything from his informants in Winterfell. Finally, nearly three weeks since the last message, his informant had frantically scrawled a letter describing how Aemon Targaryen declared himself king and saved Jaime Lannister from the chopping block. What might be more startling was the news that Lord Eddard Stark had actually used the Winterfell soldiers against the king. Just like that, the foundations upon which his entire plan was built on became quicksand. The shock and confusion had been so encompassing that he felt like he was in freefall. His only solace was that the eunuch had been just as ignorant of the hidden Targaryen.
He scrambled to make plans. It hadn't taken long to discover that the new king had done well utilizing the element of surprise and sent ravens to all of the lord paramounts of the Seven Kingdoms to broker alliances. The only problem with being a fledgling king whom most would do well to doubt such a claim as being the long lost son of Rhaegar was that a representative was needed. If he were one for emotion, he would've cried tears of laughter at whom King Aemon Targaryen I had decided to send in his stead: Jaime Lannister.
However, his amusement turned into bafflement when he learned that King Aemon had appointed Jaime Lannister as his Hand. Surely this is a fluke? He was familiar with the adapted motto of 'A Lannister Always Pays his Debts,' but this was outrageous even for Jaime Lannister. No matter. It was easy to guess what route the Lannister was going to take. The dragon king would have his work cut out for him trying to hold the leash of Tywin Lannister once he learned the Ironborn had taken his beloved heir captive. But it wasn't the Ironborn, it was one ship manned by Ironborn. He, Baelish, would then negotiate the release of Jaime Lannister and find his way into the good graces of the Lannisters and King Aemon.
Even that plan had been disrupted! By some miracle and no doubt a result of the greed and stupidity of the Ironborn, Jaime Lannister and his squire had been rescued by that meddlesome healer and his men. Thankfully, the Ironborn and his one man apparently died with the secret of his involvement and he could find another way to quietly insinuate himself back into the folds. Adjustments were always necessary in a plan this complicated, but he was a master at reading people and the situation, yet he felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him multiple times in the last six months.
With the army sitting outside King's Landing growing steadily by the week as King Aemon collected alliances like most men collected notches on their belt, he began to grow desperate. It would not be favorable for him to be caught on the wrong side of this, so he had offered his services in presenting the case to Lady Lysa Arryn.
"She and I are old friends from when she was at Riverrun. I know that she still holds me in high esteem. Give me the opportunity to go to the Eyrie and I will secure the Vale forces for you," he said to Renly.
To his credit, Renly was examining him with narrow eyes, but then asked, "You swear it?"
"I swore an oath to your brother. As one of his heirs, I am beholden to you. I will not fail," he replied, smiling. If Renly had been less overwhelmed by the encroaching panic that was stealing upon the castle, he might have deciphered his smile for the mockery it was.
It had been his words, after all, that sowed the seeds of fear in Renly's brain as he went into unneeded detail about the cruelty of the Targaryens from years past. He counted on Renly to be more terrified of living under King Aemon's reign than of death. When he had left King's Landing, the stage was set for Renly to die against the onslaught of the dragon's men. Instead of heading to the Vale as he had promised, he had the ship dock at Gulltown where he sent feelers out to his sources and waited to hear of another sacking of King's Landing.
Once again, Jaime Lannister and King Aemon surprised him by infiltrating the castle and simply capturing Renly. He had wondered if the eunuch had intended to leave, but it was clear now that the spider must've assisted with his knowledge of the hidden passages under the Red Keep in exchange for keeping his position. All the same, Varys almost certainly was not a full ally to the king and kept many secrets from him. It was difficult to know what information he shared and which he kept tightly to his chest. Varys had been aware of his plans for Jaime to be kidnapped, but he had apparently not shared that with the king, since they were under the impression that the Ironborn were still behind it.
It had been a risky move, stating his plans to the open in the small council meeting, but he had a gift for talking his way out of everything.
He will admit that some small part of him was impressed with the way King Aemon and Lord Jaime had secured their allies. It had been swift, efficient, and surprisingly bloodless. It was clear that they were not without wits, but just as it was with Ser Barristan the Bold, their wits were better suited for the battlefield. It was easy to make plans when you had a map in front of you and the enemy placed in plain view. It was much harder when the enemies were unknown, as he was going to prove to them.
He set his sights on his first target and smiled. Lord Stark was just leaving a group that featured Lord Umber, Lord Cerwyn, and Lord Glover. While his face did not show a smile, he could see one in his eyes and there was a spring in his step as he walked away. A long dormant anger burned in his belly. First that brash oaf, Brandon Stark, and now this one had taken the hand of the only woman he ever cared for. He stifled the anger once more. It wouldn't do to have it color his voice. Your time will come soon, Eddard Stark. You've had Catelyn to yourself long enough.
"Good afternoon, Lord Stark."
The smile disappeared in an instant and he stopped mid stride to look over at him. Petyr did not miss the mild curiosity, the surprise, and then surprisingly suspicion. He'll give credit that the suspicion only seemed to be in his eyes. Why is he suspicious? He filed that away in the back of his mind to examine later. The conversation should be telling.
"Lord Baelish, I presume?"
He feigned surprise. "You know of me?"
"Of course. I speak to the king frequently," Lord Stark replied, his voice brusque and impatient.
"His Grace is an astonishing young man, isn't he? You did well raising him."
Stark blinked at him stupidly "I, uh, yes. Um...thank you."
"How is Lady Catelyn? She and I were friends as children."
"Really? She's never mentioned you," Stark replied and gave him a troubled frown.
"Is that so? I would have liked to have seen her. I don't suppose a war camp is the best place for a lady of standing. Lady Catelyn was always proper, even as a child," he said.
"No, no it surely is not." Stark shifted uncomfortably and said, "Was there a purpose for this conversation?"
Starks. Always so blunt, Petyr thought. He smirked and said, "Walk with me."
This was the moment to sow the seeds. It didn't really require anything particularly secret and by the time Petyr walked away, Ned should have notions planted in his brain. Then they would require merely periodic watering to make them grow.
"I've been back here almost a month and yet King Robert's rule seems like a passing dream. So many lords here and yet the running of the Keep has been going quite smoothly. Truly, what the King, your nephew has done, is remarkable. You've a great deal of cunning, Lord Stark."
There was a pause. Petyr had to look over to see Stark staring at the ground with confusion on his face. He was thinking hard about something and then he finally said, "He didn't get his cunning from me."
Clearly, Petyr thought. There were few men, comparatively speaking, who was as slow on the uptake as a Stark. "You sell yourself short, Lord Stark. Some may have a greater capacity for it than others, but no one is born being cunning. He had to have learned it from somewhere."
Ned's mouth formed into an even more severe line. Petyr held his internal glee at bay. His sources in the Northern army had spoken a great deal about King Aemon occasionally being at odds with Stark regarding Jaime Lannister. He would give credit that Jaime surprisingly had the patience and the cunning to play the long game, so perhaps the boy king had learned from Jaime how best to maneuver to the throne.
"I must say the Targaryen-Lannister alliance is quite unconventional, but King Aemon and Lord Jaime have made it work wonders. It hearkens back to when King Aerys raised Lord Tywin Lannister as his Hand. How is that they worked so well together to take the kingdoms?"
Suspicion again as Stark narrowed his eyes at him. His mouth formed into a stubborn line and he finally said, "The truth is, I'm not sure how they managed to make it work so well. They just...seem to understand each other."
For the first time, Baelish felt a pinprick of annoyance. Stark was hiding something. There was a firmness to his face and yet confusion still in his eyes. If Baelish were a betting man - and he was quite good at making bets - he would think that Stark had asked the king about this alliance before, had it explained to him, but he was still confused by it.
No matter what it was, the alliance had fissures. Nearly the first thing he'd heard when he'd come back was how Lord Jaime had stormed out of a meeting with the king regarding the addition of the Hound to the Kingsguard. By all accounts, it had taken days for Jaime to stop glowering at the king. While the disputes in council meetings were small, there was no mistaking the tick of annoyance on the dragon king's face when Jaime interrupted him. This episode with Stannis showed why the alliance had worked initially, but also exposed its weaknesses. The King and his Hand were in lockstep with each other regarding military affairs, but there was friction when it came to domestic policy.
It seemed unlikely that there would be anymore engagements that required the military. Stark still held the Ironborn hostage via Theon Greyjoy. King Aemon and Lord Jaime had already delivered the Martell's most hated adversaries as a token of goodwill. It would be to his disadvantage to stoke military aggression to drive the dragon and his lion apart.
"Regardless, I am impressed with the way the kingdom's are running after so many years of debt. I do think Lord Jaime is a bit hard on His Grace. The funds only allow us to focus on so many facets and yet he continues to stretch the kingdom thin."
"How so?"
Petyr feigned surprised. "I'm surprised His Grace wouldn't say. King Robert ran up quite a debt with Lord Tywin Lannister. While the king may not be demanding the same extravagances as his predecessor, King Robert left the finances in such a mess that we are forced to continue borrowing from Lord Lannister. I suppose Lord Jaime feels he can exert as much pressure as he wishes and His Grace will be forced to oblige."
Stark began to show the faintest alarm. "Surely you can renegotiate with the Iron Bankā¦"
"Not until spending is under control and even a bloodless war generates unforeseen expenses. It'll be some time before we can renegotiate with the Iron Bank."
Stark was silent for a moment and then said, "His Grace is wise beyond his years. I am confident he will be able to manage the Seven Kingdom. He's only just began his reign. He has time to grow into it." For all that he spoke the words with confidence, there was a wariness and continued suspicion in his eyes.
"You would know His Grace the best. Have a good day, Lord Stark," Petyr said with a gracious nod and walked off. While he felt successful in his attempts to sow the seeds of doubt against the Lannisters, Stark would not prove to be as useful as he had thought. While the conversation had been dry and appeared amicable, Stark had kept him nearly at arm's length the entire time. As he walked through the Keep, he furrowed his brow. Had he miscalculated the Stark's wits? He was certain Lord Stark was as much a dullard now as he was when he first married his beloved Catelyn.
He was with King Aemon when they went to the Vale, Petyr thought. No doubt, Stark knew why the dragon king had made his edict against Lysa Arryn. He'd have to find a way to approach the subject. He rather doubted many knew that King Aemon had proclaimed the Vale isolated for the time being. It would look suspicious for him to be so highly invested in the Lady of the Eyrie. The other Vale lords hated him, so none of them - especially Bronze Yohn - would be susceptible to his prying. There should be a man willing to poke around on the next supply train to the Bloody Gate. He would just have to be patient; he did not make a move until he could be certain of the information.
With that out of the way, he headed out of the Keep into the city. King's Landing was always abuzz with activity, but there was a certain energy to the city he had never felt. It had taken him a few days to figure out the root cause: the people were happy. Not just the wealthy, but even the poorest retches from Flea Bottom exuded the energy. It was a shame. These simpletons didn't understand that they could only be so happy before they fell back into their pit of despair, their sadness hitting all the harder. King Aemon was merely setting them up for failure.
He approached one source of their newfound jubilation. The healer's 'clinic' as he called it was packed to the brim with people, the line going out the door. There was a piece of cloth stretched from the building to wooden poles for people to stand under to spare themselves the searing sun. The new minor lord with the violin stood outside playing melodies and a few of the Shepherd's own guards loitered outside to keep the peace, including Gerion Lannister. He would admit to the healer being clever enough to reach this point, but his efforts were wasted. Who would want to live like this for an extended period of time? They were better off dying quickly.
The healer's weak spot for the ill and wretched would be his downfall. No one was naturally inclined to help these people. By all accounts, he ran a tight ship but there were always a few loose planks. They just needed to be leveraged. He had been watching the Shepherd's closely, both personally and by paid stooges. There was at least one who appeared less enthused about their goals.
He braced himself and squeezed through the line to get inside. The Shepherd's guard frowned at him tersely and the poor folk shied away. He was a lord, so none dared to question him. I am going to need a bath and a fresh change of clothes after this, he thought, wrinkling his nose. He surveyed the area. A man and a beautiful redheaded woman flitted behind a counter, handing out bottles and keeping inventory of their stock of medicines. The musician's wife called a name and a hobbling man came stumbling forward. She smiled graciously and led him behind a curtain. How she could deign to dirty her hands on these wretches? If he didn't know better, he would consider her a ripe candidate for dissension, but her and her lord's recent reward of a lordship was still fresh enough that they both seemed satisfied.
The boy, Vicente as he was called, was scribbling on a piece of paper with a bored expression as a young man with a black smile tried to describe his health problems. He then punched the scrap of parchment with unnecessary force onto a pin with a large number of other parchments and gave the man a smile that did not reach his eyes. His every movement suggested irritation.
Petyr stepped up in front of the table, paying no attention to the indignant mutterings of the wretches behind him. Vicente scowled at him, but he seemed to know better to say anything and finally asked, "May I help you?"
"Yes, I have been unwell of late. Frequent headaches have been plaguing me, you see. It's become a bother. I'm sure you know as Master of Coin, it's important that I can't allow these headaches to keep bothering me." As he reeled off the spiel, he discreetly set a folded up piece of paper on the table.
The boy spotted it instantly and snatched it up with hands that reminded him of the little children that picked pockets with the deftness of gulls snatching food. The boy stared into his eyes for a moment, as though seeking confirmation, and then asked, "Can you describe these headaches in detail?"
"They're...headaches."
Vicente closed his eyes in controlled exasperation and said, "Are they accompanied with nausea, vomiting, dizziness, light overbright-ness? Anything at all?"
"Well, I - "
"Lord Baelish? Fancy you visiting. Now, what would the Master of Coin want with my humble clinic?" The healer had stepped out from behind the curtain with narrowed eyes. He wasn't surprised his visit didn't go unnoticed.
"Ah, Healer David. I've heard a great deal about your clinic. My girls tell me you have concoctions that even the Citadel doesn't know about."
"Hmm...yes, you own a brothel. I would think so. I have been healing outside the Citadel for thirty years. Any particular reason why you're here? You have access to the Grandmaester after all." Baelish didn't like the shrewd look in his eyes.
"You yourself take every opportunity to needle the Grandmaester. Those of us at the Keep have had to put up with his archaic remedies for decades. They don't change. His headache remedy has never worked for me and never will."
"So you have headaches?"
"He's here for a headache cure. He has the...the..bright headaches?" Vicente began, stumbling over the terminology.
"You mean the Sunbright Headaches?" David asked.
"That's the one," Vicente replied. "He said they've been bothering him frequently. Nausea, overbright light."
"That certainly sounds like Sunbright." The healer pulled out a notebook, took a feather quill from behind his ear, and jotted down a quick note, then ripped the page out and handed it to him. "Take it to the couple behind the counter over there. They'll fill it for you."
Petyr took it and glanced at the note.
x1 Sunbright, vial 2 PAY
He felt irritation prick at the back of his mind. When he reached the counter, the beautiful redhead that reminded him so much of a young Catelyn took the note, read it, and reached blindly behind her for a vial of blue liquid, but she didn't hand it to him until he coughed up an entire Silver Dragon.
"I thought your services were free," he snapped.
"For the unfortunate. You, however, are not unfortunate. You can stand to fund the clinic," she replied, overtly looking up and down at his silken cream doublet.
"I thought that's what the Lannister funding is for."
She raised her eyebrow at him. "I'm not at liberty to speak about our financial situation. All money goes to the care of the citizenry." The Silver Dragon disappeared before he'd even managed to touch the vial. She gave him a glowing smile and he finally walked out, clutching the bottle openly. The kid had come to his rescue when the healer started prying; he could be counted on to show up.
Just before midnight, Petyr descended into the bowels of the Red Keep using a secret passage that happened to be connected to his room. He knew these tunnels now like the back of his hand, just as he presumed Varys did as well. It made sneaking and eavesdropping in the Keep child's play, though he had to rely on a network of servants, just like Varys relied on his little birds. His eyes and ears caught much of what he couldn't during the day and occasionally at night.
After a few minutes of traveling, he entered a large room and the flickering torchlight cast what appeared to be living shadows across the dragons' skulls. He wished there was a more consistent light source available. The constant bending and flickering of the shadows suggested movement by unseen characters that he knew weren't there. He slowly swept the room, but saw no one. He'd give the boy some more time to appear.
"It's about time you showed up."
Petyr started and swung the torch around. Vicente was casually leaning against Balerion's skull. His eyes glittered in the dark and he was wearing a mirthless smile.
"How long have you been waiting?"
"An hour or two."
"I said midnight."
"I couldn't be sure how you'd arrive. It'd look odd for two people to be wandering the Keep at night, headed to the same area."
"Good to see you understand discretion."
"Is that not why you gave me that note?"
Petyr smirked. "One can never be too careful." When Vicente remained silent, he began, "I hear you're a man of considerable talent. You held Renly at knifepoint, picked the lock of Jaime Lannister's cage, and have picked the pockets of a few nobles - "
"I know what I'm capable of. What I want to know is what you want from me."
"Information. I require someone who can stay covert and give me what I need."
"What kind of information?"
"On conversations, of course. I need to know about the Shepherd's operations. And what that healer you work for gets up to with Jaime Lannister.
Vicente was quiet while he contemplated the offer and frowned. "Why? David is boring. He just heals."
"I'll be the judge of that. You will be paid handsomely for your efforts."
"Prove it."
Petyr pulled out a pouch and tossed it. The boy caught it in one happened, pulled the draw string, and shook a few Gold Dragons out into his hand. His eyes widened to the size of the coins.
"That's just an enticement. You will be paid one Gold Dragon for every piece of information you bring me."
The boy mulled it over for a moment, touching the coins as though not quite believing the reality. Then he slowly nodded. "Done. How do I get the information to you?"
"I will send further instructions. Be discreet."
"You're clearly familiar with my...talents or you wouldn't have come to me," the boy growled. "I know what I'm doing."
Petyr said nothing in reply and swept back down the hall he had come from to take the secret passage back to his room. As he walked, he smirked to himself. Let the game of thrones begin.
