Chaos reigned in the aftermath of Joffrey's demise. Sansa once imparted to Arya that Littlefinger viewed chaos as a ladder. Arya failed to grasp the significance until she found herself the architect of chaos. It required the ability to discern people's inclinations, foresee their reactions to certain situations, and engineer those situations. The more tumultuous, the more effective.
It took a day for the idiot, Pycelle, to discern the type of poison used in the late King's demise. The Grand Maester had to resort to blood tests to confirm that The Strangler was the lethal agent. Most individuals with even a modicum of knowledge about poisons could have identified it just by looking at Joffrey's face and the way he died.
The ingredients necessary for concocting the poison had vanished from Pycelle's quarters. However, because the concoction took three weeks to prepare, it meant that the perpetrator had planned the assassination well in advance and all likelihood, had been living in King's Landing for some time. This effectively ruled out Littlefinger and anyone who had arrived in the capital since, which was fortunate for Arya.
This exacerbated matters for Tyrion, who had visited Pycelle just over a month prior due to a bout of diarrhoea. Pycelle had left the dwarf unattended in his chambers for a brief period, affording Tyrion ample opportunity to pilfer the required components.
The revelation regarding the cause of death was to remain confidential until the trial. Arya was privy to it because she had warged into Jack, her cat, eavesdropping on conversations between Pycelle, Tywin, and Cersei.
Arya didn't rely on the ingredients from Pycelle's stock; she had her own reservoir. She pilfered some to replenish her stash. Neither her face nor that of Littlefinger's had been sighted nearby; instead, she had assumed the guise of a dead child.
With the abundance of little birds in King's Landing, the child could have been one of Pycelle's or Varys' spies. Had she been discovered, she would plead as such. Yet, fortune had favoured her, as Arya had evaded detection. Not only that, but it turned out Pycelle had only bothered to audit his inventory due to Joffrey's demise.
Arya hadn't intended to frame Tyrion, but amidst Joffrey's erratic conduct and uncontrollable circumstances, it inevitably unfolded this way. Even if Littlefinger had confessed in the middle of the court, crying out 'It was me, it was me,' Tyrion would still have been made the scapegoat.
Hence, Arya found herself surprised and somewhat apprehensive upon receiving a summons to Tywin Lannister's solar. Memories of her initial visit to King's Landing with her father flooded her mind as she ascended the winding staircase to his chambers.
She also couldn't help but recall her time serving as Tywin's cupbearer. She lamented not having her Faceless Men training then; it would have enabled her to read and interpret his demeanour better. Instead, she had been a mere young girl struggling to survive. What she had gleaned during those days would likely prove futile while disguised as Littlefinger.
Arya steadied her nerves and rapped on the door. "Enter," Tywin's voice resounded from the other side.
She entered and shut the door behind her as Tywin fixed her with his penetrating gaze. "Lord Hand," Arya inclined her head.
"Lord Baelish," Tywin acknowledged. "Please, take a seat," he indicated the chair opposite him. Arya complied. "Would you care for some wine?" he inquired.
"Just a small amount," Arya replied with a smile. "I try to avoid excessive drinking during the day. It's important to keep a clear mind when working," she explained. "Clarity aids in preserving memories."
Tywin sighed. "I wish two of my children would heed your advice on that matter," he shook his head. "I suppose you're curious as to why I summoned you here."
"I did wonder, though I presumed it might have been to request my return to the small council," Arya proposed.
Tywin shook his head. "I understand you're a busy man, and your ventures take you to the east. Ventures that are quite valuable to me," he stated. "I require someone to monitor Daenerys Targaryen, particularly with her dragons maturing. How large are they now?"
"Two are the size of destriers, the other is half again as large. It won't be long before she can ride one into the skies, especially the one she's most bonded with," Arya replied.
"Exactly why I need someone to keep a watchful eye on her. Mislead her with false information. If she catches wind of Joffrey's demise, she might take it upon herself to launch an invasion in a year or two. And if those dragons continue growing at the pace you suggest, we must be prepared," Tywin explained.
"Understood, Lord Hand. Though I must tread carefully with the deceit. I have no desire to be burnt alive. If my lies are too transparent, I'd be of no use to you," she remarked with a smile.
Tywin nodded. "Understandable. Ensure you make your way back to Essos promptly. However, I have a proposition for you. My spies inform me of your interest in Lysa Arryn. Is that accurate?"
Arya cast her gaze downwards. "Lady Lysa and I were quite close in our youth. Had circumstances been different, we might have been betrothed. Unfortunately, her father opposed the match."
"Hmm, not surprising. He sought to wed both his daughters to Lord Paramounts, which he succeeded in doing. Yet Lysa remains a widow, and you are unwed. Initially, I had considered arranging a match between her and Tyrion, but that's no longer viable. Would you be interested?" Tywin inquired.
Arya couldn't believe her luck. She had been planning to propose to Lysa and set a wedding date, but now, with the Lord Hand's directive, Lysa wouldn't dare refuse. She offered Tywin a saccharine smile. "I would be honoured," she replied.
"Indeed. This arrangement would grant you joint regency over the Vale. Robert Arryn is too young to rule. I trust you would lend your support to any military endeavours House Lannister may require from the Vale," he elaborated.
"I would," Arya lied. "What would you ask of me in return?" She understood there would be a price to pay; from Tywin's perspective, offering Littlefinger such a favourable deal wouldn't come without strings attached.
"I wish for you to serve as the third judge for Tyrion's trial. Finding individuals who would remain impartial is proving challenging," Tywin remarked, a smile playing on his lips. "I trust I can rely on your fairness."
To Arya, that translated to condemning Tyrion, but such an outcome seemed inevitable. She might find the trial intriguing, Arya mused, and there was still much to glean while she lingered in King's Landing. Whatever came out at the trial could be a boon, as it might provide knowledge, that Sansa did not possess from her last life.
"I would be honoured," Arya responded, taking a sip of wine.
"Very well. The trial is scheduled for two days after Tommen's coronation," Tywin announced, seeming to conclude the matter. However, Arya had one more request.
"I've heard murmurs you're monitoring the North on Lord Stark's activities," Arya mentioned.
"And?" Tywin prompted.
"My informants tell me that Lord Stark's bastard, forgive me, I mean, his bastard nephew, has been revitalising the abandoned village of Queenscrown. In just two years, it has transformed into a bustling settlement," Arya explained.
"And what of it, Lord Baelish?" Tywin inquired.
"I intend to create an opportunity for a new place of business. It promises to be a lucrative venture. It would position my loyal associates in the North, providing a direct line of information to me. As you're aware, establishments like mine serve as valuable sources of intelligence," Arya elaborated with a smile. "Given your decree that no one leaves King's Landing without authorisation except for trade, I seek permission to despatch my agent to the North."
"Lord Varys is already operating in the North," Tywin informed her.
"But not indefinitely," Arya interjected. "I'm willing to arrange for my associate, Ros, to act as a spy for the crown. She can report her findings to Lord Varys in my absence if it pleases His Grace."
Tywin leaned back, a furrow forming on his brow as he pondered Arya's proposal. She could sense him weighing her suggestion, hoping she had emulated Littlefinger enough.
"Very well," Tywin conceded. "When do you intend to despatch her north?"
"The plan was for her to depart for White Harbor tomorrow. However, the captain insists he cannot leave the city without your authorisation," Arya fabricated. She had ulterior motives for needing a letter from Tywin.
Tywin reached for a piece of parchment and dipped his quill in ink, composing a message. Once finished, he rolled up the parchment and sealed it with the Hand's sigil in wax before handing it to Arya.
"Take this. Send your associate to White Harbor. The sooner we establish a steady flow of information from the North, the better," Tywin instructed with a nod.
"Is there anything else, Lord Hand?" Arya inquired.
"No, that will be all, Lord Baelish," Tywin responded as Arya rose from her seat and exited the room.
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Arya returned to Littlefinger's brothel and carefully opened the letter of authorisation penned, signed, and sealed by Tywin. She didn't need it; her claim was a fabrication. The ship belonged to Wyman Manderly, and it wouldn't have refused to take Ros. Arya had sought another document handwritten by Tywin to add to the ones she had been pilfering. She also coveted another copy of the Hand's seal to facilitate her forgery.
As the country teetered on the brink of war, information became a crucial asset. With their ability to control animals and Arya's prowess as a Faceless Man, intercepting orders and fabricating false ones would ease their endeavours. To achieve this, Arya and Sansa needed to familiarise themselves with the handwriting of key figures issuing such orders.
Arya expected Jon's initial disapproval. He harboured reservations about underhanded tactics. But to Arya, that sentiment could go to hell. In their past lives, Tywin Lannister had employed underhanded methods and orchestrated the Red Wedding. Crafting a few deceptive military directives could tilt the scales in their favour in the impending conflict. This drove Arya's relentless quest to gain letters penned by Tywin, Kevan, and Jaime, though she was having little luck with the latter. Mayhap he couldn't write, she mused.
Arya summoned Ros to her chambers, seating herself beside her on the chaise lounge. As much as she loathed the act, Arya understood the necessity of exuding sleaze and intimidation. Thus, when she spoke, her tone was honeyed and gentle, albeit tinged with an underlying threatening tone.
"My Lord," Ros greeted with a smile.
"I need you to pack your belongings; you'll be departing on the morrow," Arya instructed.
"So soon, Lord Baelish?" Ros inquired.
"I've secured authorisation from Lord Tywin for your journey north," Arya replied. "You'll sail to White Harbor and make your way to Winterfell. Lord Whitestark may be present, but if not, seek Lord Stark himself. I'll provide you with a message to deliver to either of them, arranging your onward travel to Queenscrown."
Ros offered a coy smile. "You are most generous, Lord Baelish."
"Don't thank me; thank the Starks. Henceforth, you'll serve the Starks and Lord Whitestark, relaying any information you gain as directed. They'll ensure I receive it first hand. Under no circumstances should you trust Lord Varys, regardless of his offers. You see, to me, you're an investment, and Queenscrown is an investment. I expect it to yield returns. I don't take to failed business ventures; they cause too much suffering," Arya cautioned.
Ros's smile faded, her expression turning grave. "Of course, my Lord. Is there anything else?"
"That will be all for now. Prepare your belongings. I'll provide you with some coin to purchase attire suitable for the journey north. Go and shop. Olyvar will assume your responsibilities," Arya instructed, rising from her seat and crossing to her desk. She withdrew thirty silver stags and handed them to Ros.
With this sum, the redhead could afford either one luxurious dress or two high-quality ones. Arya would have offered more, but she knew it exceeded what Littlefinger would have provided, so she offered the maximum she dared.
Ros gazed at the coins with widened eyes. "My Lord?" she inquired.
"It will be deducted from your wages. But soon enough, you'll earn ample coin to render such sums insignificant," Arya assured her. "Now, depart. I have matters to attend to. I'll accompany you to the ship in the morning and give you the letter for Lord Stark. Now, leave me be, I have work to do."
"Very well, my Lord," Ros acquiesced before leaving Arya alone
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After Ros departed, Arya waited until she was certain the coast was clear. Bolting the door, she lay down and focused on Jack. She had been warging into him as frequently as possible, scouring for documents and eavesdropping on conversations.
During one such session, she unearthed the date of the Baratheon executions: two days after Joffrey's funeral and one day before Tommen's coronation. Tyrion's trial would commence two days later.
"Bran," came the quorking sound of the raven.
Arya opened her eyes and rose from her makeshift bed. This was the signal indicating Bran was communicating through the raven. She removed her Littlefinger mask and approached the raven. "Bran, is that you?" she inquired.
"Yes, Bran, queens, crown," the raven quorked.
"Are you in Queenscrown?" Arya discerned.
"Yes," Bran confirmed through the raven. "Varys, queens, crown."
"We spotted Varys in White Harbor," Arya informed him. "He's on a fruitless mission. Jaime won't marry Sansa, Tyrion won't wed Aunt Lysa, and Cersei won't entertain the idea of marrying Uncle Edmure. Tywin has suggested Littlefinger wed Lysa," she chuckled. "Is everyone safe?" Arya asked.
"Warg, Nymeria," Bran reminded her.
"I'll fill you in on all the details from here, and I'll warg into Nymeria to listen to any inquiries," she assured him.
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Bran relayed the information to Sansa and Robb, while Arya listened for any questions they might have. When Bran returned, Arya addressed their inquiries, leading to an exchange that lasted for about an hour. Once they had finished, Bran departed back to Queenscrown, and Arya refocused her attention on Jack.
Through Jack's eyes, Arya found herself in the gardens of the Red Keep. In the distance, she heard two women engaged in conversation. Employing her stealth and agility, she silently approached the voices until she discovered Olenna and Margaery strolling arm-in-arm.
"I can't believe you're leaving," Margaery lamented. "Leaving me here alone with these people."
"The time has come, my dear. There's nothing more tedious than a trial. Well, except perhaps these gardens. If I have to endure one more leisurely stroll through them, I'll fling myself from the cliffs," Olenna joked, eliciting a giggle from Margaery.
After a moment of silence, they settled into their customary seats on the terrace beneath the gazebo.
"Have you paid Tommen a visit yet?" Olenna inquired.
"No," Margaery responded. "Has there been any agreement on the match? Nobody bothers to keep me informed," she grumbled.
"I wasn't intended to wed your grandfather Luthor, you know," Olenna divulged. "He was betrothed to my sister, your great-aunt Viola. As for me, I was slated to marry some Targaryen or another. Marrying into the Targaryen family was all the rage at the time. But the moment I laid eyes on my intended, with his twitchy little ferret's face and absurd silver hair, I knew he wouldn't suffice. So, on the eve of Luthor's proposal to my sister, I conveniently got lost on my way back from my embroidery lesson and stumbled upon his chamber," Olenna recounted with a smirk, prompting laughter from Margaery. "How absentminded of me."
"Mm-hmm," Margaery sounded somewhat sceptical
"The next morning, Luthor never made it downstairs to propose to my sister because the lad couldn't bloody walk," Olenna disclosed, much to Arya's astonishment. She couldn't fathom how candid Olenna was about such matters, considering her age. It seemed Arya wasn't alone in her surprise, as Margaery burst into laughter again.
"And once he could walk, all he desired was a repeat of the night before. I was good. Very, very good. But you, my dear, you're even better. However, you must act swiftly. Cersei may be ruthless, but she's not foolish. She'll poison Tommen's mind against you at the first opportunity. And by the time you're wed, it will be too late. Fortunately for you, the Queen Regent is rather preoccupied at present, mourning her beloved son and accusing her brother of his murder, a crime he didn't commit," Olenna advised.
"Well, he could have, but he didn't," Olenna corrected with a smile.
"I know, Grandmother, but determining his guilt is not our prerogative," Margaery asserted.
"No, it isn't," Olenna concurred. "That decision rests with your father, Lord Tywin, and Lord Baelish."
"Lord Baelish?" Margaery looked taken aback. "Tyrion doesn't stand a chance."
"No, he doesn't," Olenna agreed, shaking her head. "But at least we're in the clear."
"What about Lord Whitestark?" Margaery inquired.
"Gone, as far as I've heard," Olenna informed her, brushing a stray hair behind Margaery's ear. "Whatever schemes the northerners have brewing, I doubt they'll pose a threat to the Tyrells and the Lannisters. As long as the betrothal remains under wraps until after the trial, we'll be safe from any repercussions."
Arya snapped back to reality in Littlefinger's brothel. She had heard enough from Olenna and Margaery. "Well, fuck me, they're planning to double-cross us!" she said when she heard a knock at the door.
Arya opened it, and there stood Olyvar, the blonde-haired, handsome youth who was to take over Ros' role. He handed her a letter. "This came by courier, Lord Baelish," Olyvar said.
Arya turned it over and saw the Hand's seal. Another letter she could use to evaluate Tywin's handwriting. "That will be all for now," she said, then changed her mind, just as Olyvar was turned around. "Oh and Olyvar, you will be assuming Ros' role as my assistant from now on."
Olyvar smiled. "Is Ros leaving, Lord Baelish?" he asked.
"Yes, she is. I will require you to procure a replacement for her. Preferable of similar looks," Arya told him.
"Of course, Lord Baelish," Olyvar bowed his head. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asked.
"That will be all Olyvar. Now leave me be, I have work to do," and with that, Arya closed the door and bolted it, so she could read the letter in peace.
With great care, Arya lifted the seal and read the words.
Lord Baelish
You are invited to be an official witness to the execution of Stannis Baratheon, Selyse Baratheon and Shireen Baratheon. This will take place on the sixth day of the third moon.
Lord Tywin Lannister
Hand of the King
Arya smiled. Shireen's disappearance was still a secret.