The Return
"Littlefinger!" Came the shrieking voice from down the corridor.
Petyr hid a sharp smile as he turned and bowed his head to the incestuous little shit whom the Lannisters placed on the Iron Throne.
"Your grace," Petyr intoned carefully. It was quite difficult to arrange for this 'random' encounter to occur when there would be no one else around, and Petyr was not likely to get another attempt at this plan.
"I see your up early, Littlefinger." The false king mocked, the spoiled child always taking satisfaction in using Brandon Stark's old moniker for him.
Petyr made a show of how the name affected him badly, while masking his amusement at the attempted bullying. Joffrey has spent the majority of his childhood being spoiled by his mother, while the woman has ignored the rest of her children. The Queen had planned to construct a puppet king for herself to rule, but instead of having a son with Robert that would have secured her rule, she made this.
All the better for me, Petyr thought as he bowed again. "Your most humble servant only wanted to ensure that no effort was spared on this great day!"
The blonde brat smiled, "Yes. Today that – traitor! – will confess his treason. Mother said he will be dragged to the Sept of Baelor and will tell the whole city the truth!"
Vanity has long been Cersei Lannister's most obvious flaw. Forcing Stark to confess in front of the entire court was one thing; dragging him through the streets and making a spectacle of it was another. All to satiate the powerlust of one rather foolish woman who has pushed the entire realm to the verge of chaos.
And all Petyr had to do was just to push things a little further.
"Of course, my king." Petyr nodded. "But this is the reason I have woken so early this morning."
"Oh," Joffrey eyed him curiously. "And what troubles you, my lord?"
"Well…" Petyr stuttered, as he looked to the side where Clegane was trailing the boy. "Perhaps this is a matter for the whole Council to hear…"
"I am the King!" The boy declared. "I should be kept informed of all important matters!"
"Of course, your grace." Petyr was quick to acquiesce, before he eyed Clegane again. "But perhaps this high matter should only be for your ears."
The boy looked back at the newly made Kingsguard. "Dog, step back and mind the hall."
Sandor Clegane said nothing, only nodding and stepping back to stand guard away from them.
"I am quite anxious of that horrible traitor being sent to the wall," Petyr whispered to the boy.
"The small council is decided on the matter," The brat huffed. "And mother wishes me to show the traitor mercy."
"It is just that there have been many traitors sent to the wall before, your grace." Petyr continued. "And many of them managed to escape before they made their vows to the brother's black. With the traitor's lands lying so close to the wall, my anxieties on the matter are…"
"That is true, my lord." The brat nodded, and his eyes narrowed. "Mother insists, however."
"I am sure the Queen insistence is a wise council," Petyr nodded understandingly. "But mayhap it should be up to kings to overrule their wise council from time to time and do their own will."
Joffrey looked to be deeply considering the matter. The vile brat had been first to suggest that Stark should be executed when the matter was brought up in that first Small Council session he had attended. Only to be overruled by his mother.
"After all, should not a king make his own decisions to demonstrate his own strength. Away from the influence and the soft hearts of women."
It was just a little extra push, playing on the brat's own vanity and pride, and the king was convinced.
"You are right, my lord. I should not let women dictate matters to me so easily." Joffrey nodded. "With Robb Stark marching south, the crown can not afford to look weak in any way."
Robb Stark has your 'uncle' in chains; Petyr did not inform the boy, nor had he notify the Small Council of this not so insignificant development. However, in response to his father's execution, the Stark heir was likely to kill the Kingslayer as well. Stark and Lannister will continue to fight for blood and vengeance. And all the better for him.
It had been difficult for Petyr's agent in the royal caravan to persuade Joffrey to send the catspaw after the crippled Stark boy. But the assassin had no managed to kill the boy. But then Cat had come to the capital, and it had been more difficult lying to her about who had dispatched the assassin. Not like it was convincing Lysa to kill her husband. But, while not everything went according to Petyr's intentions, there will soon be greater chaos than he could have imagined as the realms split and fought.
And so it was that a few hours later did Petyr stand with the rest of the small council before a cheering crowd at the Sept of Baelor.
"My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." A cruel and vile smile came on the boy's face as he turned to face his betrothed. "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"
The crowd roared, and Petyr could barely hide his smile. With Stark's death, there will be no one left between him and Cat.
Even if I can't have her, Petyr looked at the red-haired girl sobbing on her knees begging for her father's life, I could have another.
The King's Justice used Stark's own sword to do the deed, one final insult and an amusing bit of irony. The Valyrian Greatsword, the greatest and largest such sword in the realm, easily severed Stark's head with a single swing. Ser Ilyn hefted up the head to the cheering crowd, and so it was all done.
Even as the crowd dispersed, and the shocked royal court returned to the Red Keep, Petyr still had much business to attend to before the day was out. Although his victory had been swift with Stark's execution, he had to be careful in paying back his steadfast allies for their - not loyalty – but at least their cooperation.
"Ah," Petyr exclaimed as he entered his largest brothel. "Commander!"
Starting with, of course, the man who he had convinced to betray Eddard Stark.
"Lord Baelish!" Janos Slynt greeted him with a raised cup of wine, his closest officers drinking around him, all with women in their laps. "Come join us, milord!"
"Of course!" Petyr agreed with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "I'll have them bring out our best wine. You'll all have your fill on my purse tonight!"
Slynt's officers all cheered and raised their cups to him.
"Now that the traitor is finally dead, we can get on with celebrating!" Slynt cheered.
"Aye, the traitor is dead." Petyr said as he found himself a seat. "And you, my lord, are the Lord of Harrenhall."
Janos Slynt, the slimy fucker, preened at the flattery. Not noticing the mocking in Petyr's tone. The man had undoubtedly risen up the ladder from the deepest pits, from butcher's son to Lord of Harrenhall. However, Petyr meant to ascend even higher, until there was no one above him.
For Janos Slynt, the man had climbed far too quickly, as Tywin Lannister noticed the man's ambition like a man noticed a bothersome ant on the ground. And Petyr had no doubt that the boot will soon be incoming.
It was all too simple to control Slynt, the man was greedy for greed's sake and lustful for the sake of lust. Petyr initially viewed the man as far too dangerous to ever be reliable, but had overtime realized that pampering the man with wine and girls was all too small of a price to pay for his influence over the Gold Cloaks. Not to mention the larger mob of King's Landing, which could instigate unrest or riots whenever Jon Arryn had looked far too closely at the crown's finances.
But the man will soon outgrow his usefulness, Tywin Lannister will not tolerate such a corrupt figure leading the Gold Cloaks. Much less holding a seat as important as that of Harrenhall. And when the time came, Petyr would be perfectly positioned cut Slynt out to dry.
"Soon Tywin Lannister will deal with that Stark boy, and I will go and claim my lands and titles!" Slynt boasted as the night went on and he got deeper in his cups.
Petyr only encouraged and cheered the man on.
"My lord," Came the voice of Oswell Kettleback.
Petyr turned from observing the drunken Gold Cloaks. "What is it?"
Oswell silently ushered him to a quiet corner of the brothel and began to whisper in his ear.
"The king had Stark's head taken down," Oswell whispered.
Petyr blinked, taken completely by surprise at the news. That did not sound like Joffrey at all.
"What do you know?" Petyr whispered sharply.
"I saw the boy myself; he was pale and shaking. When he saw the head mounted on the wall, he screamed at the guards to have it taken down."
That… That was an unexpected development. Joffrey was always one for making himself seem strong and powerful, always declaring his royal titles. Petyr wasn't exactly sure where this timidness was coming from, though it likely was nothing but a nightmare the boy had.
"This will pass," Petyr said confidently.
"And if it doesn't?" Oswell questioned. "If the king accuses you of…"
"It won't come to that," Petyr assured the man. "Even if it does, we are prepared if the Lannisters turn on us. Aren't we?"
"I have men near the Stark girl," Oswell nodded. "We can grab her and be on a ship to the Vale within an hour."
Petyr smiled. "Then there is nothing to fear. Even if the king's new mood proves unpredictable."
"Now," Petyr clapped the man on the shoulder. "Go on upstairs and grab that steward's daughter for me, won't you?"
Oswell looked confused. "What use do you have for her?"
"Lord Harrenhall likes his girls young and maidens," Petyr informed him.
"I thought you wanted to you use her as a stand in for the missing wolf girl?"
Petyr nodded. "Yes, but that won't be for a few more years. In the meantime, the girl has to be trained, and this is how she will learn."
Oswell said nothing else as he moved to obey, and Petyr headed back to the main hall of the brothel.
"Lord Commander!" Petyr called as he took up another wine glass. "I have prepared a gift for you."
"A gift?" The man laughed as he untangled himself from his wine and whores sitting on his lap. "My lord Baelish always remembers his friends!"
Petyr turned as Oswell came back down the stairs with the Poole girl. "This here's your gift, my lord."
"A beautiful gift," Slynt smiled as he leered at the girl.
The man stepped forward, reaching out a hand to clasp the girl's cheek only to then freeze.
Petyr blinked as he felt a slight wetness on his own cheek. Reaching up a hand, he wiped at his face… it was blood. There was blood on his face.
And that's when the screaming began.
Petyr stumbled back as Janos Slynt fell to the ground clutching at a stump from which his hand had been severed. Looking around to the brothel's guards, Petyr saw that many of them had arrows buried in their throats.
Oswell drew his sword, and Petyr blinked as the Kettleblack began fighting a cloaked figure standing in the middle of the brothel. But Oswell was old and had never truly been a great fighter at all. The cloaked man swung his great sword, and cleaved Oswell in two with a single stroke. The old knight's crumbling corpse threw out blood and guts as it collapsed on the floor.
Petyr looked closely at the cloaked man's sword and saw that it was Ned Stark's Valyrian blade.
Petyr turned back and ran.
The rest of the drunken Gold Cloaks in the brothel drew swords and daggers. They stumbled out of rooms as the brothel's whores cried or shrieked. The braver ones attacked the man, while the rest made for doors or windows.
It was all futile. Petyr tried for the main entrance of the brothel, only to find the doors locked. And observing the Gold Cloaks banging uselessly on closed window shutters that wouldn't open, Petyr instead ran up the stairs. He heard only screams from those who tried to fight the ghost as he kept running. There were weapons in his study, Petyr could barricade the door and wait.
There was only screaming or crying from the floor below as Petyr finally made it to his study. He locked the door as quickly as he could and began propping up chairs against it. Petyr turned to search the room for weapons-
Only to turn and face the cloaked man already standing in his study.
Petyr's ears began ringing, and his breaths came short as Ned Stark's blade dripped crimson blood on the oak floor.
He raised his hands in surrender. "Perhaps… we can talk this through?"
The cloaked ghost said nothing as he continued to stare Petyr down.
"I can offer you-"
"Sit…" Came the order from the cloaked man as he motioned for Petyr to take a seat behind his desk.
Petyr followed the command dutifully, carefully skirting around the man and sitting in his chair. He watched the man before him place down his sword and lean it on the desk as he took his own seat across from Petyr.
Then the man pulled back his hood.
"Your grace?!" Petyr gasped as he felt his blood run cold.
There before him sat Joffrey, that incestuous bastard who he helped usurp the Iron Throne. The boy, a spoiled little shit, who had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
The boy who somehow cut his way through three dozen men, whose screams Petyr still heard from the floor below.
"It…has…been…long…Baelish," The boy's voice was extremely hoarse, and he spoke his words carefully as if he hadn't spoken in a long while.
"…we spoke earlier today, your grace." Petyr said unsurely.
He didn't even know what to make of all he was seeing. Nothing was making sense anymore.
"You…did," Joffrey intoned. "It…has…been…twenty…years…for…me."
"I don't understand," Petyr shook his head. "Your grace, you-"
"For…twenty…years," Joffrey looked away from Petyr. "The…Gods…punished…me."
"My…sins…my…crimes," Tears began running down the boy king's cheek.
"My king, mayhap we can-"
"A bastard!" The boy cried out, his voice breaking from the effort. "An…incestuous bastard!"
Petyr gripped the crossbow hidden under the desk.
"I…had…a…boy…ridden…down." The king continued as more tears streamed down his face. "And…tried…to…have…another…killed…in…his…sleep."
This was too dangerous, too unpredictable. Petyr pulled the crossbow and shot the king in the chest. He immediately stood up and reached for Stark's sword to finish the boy off-
There was a flash of steel and suddenly Petyr found himself on the ground, a searing pain going through him as he looked and saw that his left leg had been severed.
Petyr could only scream as the boy king stood over him, unharmed and holding the crossbow bolt that had meant to punch through his heart.
"Varys…can…still…prove…useful." The king sounded out. "But…you…are…a…liability."
"AhhA!" Petyr screamed out again as the burning went through his body.
"I..am..an…ill made…and…most..vile..creature." Joffrey spoke. "But…you…are…much…worse."
Then Stark's sword was plunged into his chest, and Petyr knew no more.
Sandor rode down the Street of Silk and made his way to one of the Master of Coin's brothels with a retinue of guards.
He had rarely ever been sent away from the prince's – now King's – side for the many years Sandor had known the spoiled boy. The little shit was always timid and cowardly and would sooner never have his 'dog' part his side.
Then again, Sandor had not expected the King to suddenly have a shaking fit or to vomit at the sight of Eddard Stark's severed head. Before screaming at the guards to have it taken down.
But even Joffrey's cruel and vile streak had a limit. Or so it would seem.
Not that any of that really matters to Sandor. It was not his to question why, it was simply his to do as he was told. And the King had sent him on quite an unexpected mission this morning. Sandor dismounted as he reached the brothel, bodies and blood strewn about as a terrified group of whores were gathered just past the door.
He looked through them, inspecting all their faces until he found a small, terrified girl hiding in the corner of the brothel.
"What's your name?" Sandor asked as he stopped in front of her.
The girl was startled and looked up at him, terrified.
"Your name!" He shouted, impatient.
"..Jeyne-" The girl stuttered out.
"Poole?" He questioned. And the girl only nodded.
Sandor looked back to one of the Lannister-man-at-arms who had accompanied him. "Is this the girl we're lookin for?"
The man nodded. "It's her."
Sandor turned and looked through the blood-soaked brothel. A blood trail came down the stairs from the second floor, and the hound quickly made his way up. He found the Master of Coin in his study, impaled on the wall with Ned Stark's sword.
The sight made Sandor grin. He pulled the sword from the corpse and inspected it.
"I've always wanted some Valyrian Steel," Sandor muttered. "Too bad I can't have you."
He made his way back down. "We're done here," he told the men-at-arms.
Sandor looked at the girl he was sent to retrieve, she was clutching on to the whore's dress barely covering her and shivering.
He clicked his tongue as he unclasped his cloak and put it around the girl.
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Ser."
"I am no knight, girly." Sandor snorted. "Let's go."
They had made it back to the horses when the girl spoke up again.
"That is Lord Stark's sword," She pointed at where he slung the blade on his back.
"What about it?" Sandor grunted as he picked the girl up and placed her on his horse.
"…he came back…it was him in the night." The girl stated. "He protected me and took vengeance on the men who killed my father."
Sandor snorted, as he mounted behind the girl. "Of course he did. And the fucking moon is made of cheese."
Sandor much more suspected that old knight, Barristan. One last act of defiance before he went to join with Stannis or whoever the fuck the old man wanted to join up with. Not that it was any of his business to think of who exactly committed the crime.