Waves thundered across the coasts as the sky belched with rain and lightning. The ground shuddered slightly causing a young man to fall. His face was flushed red as he struggled to stand up. He gripped his chest and trailed a barely healed scar, from navel to collarbone. The young man looked across the floor for his silver chalice, when suddenly he flinched back.

Calming slightly, the boy picked the chalice up and looked at his reflection. A distorted image eventually formed but the spinning haze was too much for the boy. He ran to the latrine and puked.

I can’t believe this! The smell triggered his gag reflex causing him to further empty his guts. He punched the floor and the seat, causing his knuckles to bleed bright red. I can’t believe this is happening! The boy heaved and started to sob. Shivering slightly, he lifted himself off the seat and scanned his keep for more beer. A wooden barrel cask was embedded in the walls at shoulder heights, causing the boy to fumble and tiptoe as he reached for the tap. Grabbing his silver chalice, he resumed drinking.

I can’t believe the old man kept this much liquor around. Wait… He’s my father, right? Or am I just an imposter, cruelly inhabiting a teenager’s body? What happened to the boy? Why am I in his body? What’s his name, or is it my name now? Where am I? Why does everything look primitive? Why does the toilet not flush!? The young man screamed and pinched his forehead and temples, in a vain attempt to stop the pain.

Another migraine! Was this another memory surge? Why does it hurt so much? Images popped into his head. Despite his apparent intoxication, he recalled his memories in eidetic clarity. No… The young man quickly gulped down the beer. These aren’t my memories! These are from the boy…

He licked his chapped lips as he remembered a girl with fiery, long red hair, and her mesmerising blue eyes. He remembered how they first met. Despite coming from humble origins, she greeted him with respect and curtsied. At first, he was suspicious thinking that this was all a mummer’s farce. But she proved him wrong. She continued to chat with him, educating him with noble etiquette and in return, the boy would help her with the sums. The girl was fascinated by how knowledgeable he was.

“You’re a better teacher than Maester Vyman, that’s for sure!” The redhead seem to shift uncomfortably and moved the quill to have a better look at her soon-to-be foster brother. “We actually haven’t said our names. So, I’ll start. My name is Catelyn, from house Tully.”

“I’m Petyr… From house B-Baelish.”

“House Baelish? Pardon me for my rudeness, but I haven’t heard of that house. Where do you rule?”

“W-we rule the tips of the fingers in the Vale. M-my great-grandfather, which is my namesake, fought for house Corbray. He distinguished himself, by rescuing people who got kidnapped by the Mountain tribes and, was given land. House Baelish rules the same land ever since.” Petyr blushed and shuddered. Usually, he would get ridiculed as his house was quite new and ruled a pitiful amount of land.

Contrary to his expectation, Catelyn clapped her hands and reached out for Petyr. “I would love to hear from this great-grandfather of yours! He sounds like one of those dashing knights

Stunned and surprised, Petyr would recount everything he knew. Their initial meeting would blossom into friendship and, unfortunately for Petyr, one-sided love.

Petyr then remembered playing with her siblings. Little Lysa would always toddle towards him and Edmure was a babe.

Weeks turned to months and months turned to years. Suddenly, his chest pumped, and his heart raced. A feeling of dread descended on him. He recalled how he foolishly challenged Brandon Stark for a hand in Catelyn’s marriage. He remembered how the Northman sliced him from navel to the collar.

Hoster, Catelyn’s father, would hear of the news and apologise profusely to the savage. The Lord Paramount summoned young Petyr into his solar where he raged and banished him from Riverrun, under the pain of death.

His injuries were barely healed as he departed. He would board a ship to his pitiful holding and would sorrow and sulk in his keep. The news of Brandon’s death, at the hands of the Mad King, would eventually reach his isolated land. He felt too numbed to celebrate and continued to drink. Then news of Robert’s Rebellion started to spread as he smashed the Loyalist armies led by Marq Grafton, causing the siege and seizure of Gulltown.

His health gradually declined as he realised that he was too irrelevant. Too irrelevant to be called for mobilisation under Jon Arryn’s orders. Too irrelevant to be given a simple letter. Just a letter. A letter from his loved ones. The bonds he made in Riverrun – all chose to forget him. Not even Catelyn bothered to write to him.

The migraine eventually stopped, and Petyr pulled himself up. He knew the boy’s memories were coming to a close. The thought of the last figment of the original Petyr’s life starting to fade away was haunting.

The poor boy. Not only did his father die in the Stepstones during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He also lost everything when pursuing his childhood sweetheart. I’m not sure whether to feel impressed at his bravery or pity for his foolishness. It doesn’t help that he’s been given a rather unflattering nickname – ‘Littlefinger’. He wondered where the boy got the name from. He looked at his hands in confusion. Never mind that! Focus on your original life!

The young man closed his eyes and tried to remember his original life. A life that was far more advanced than the one Petyr lived in. He tried to remember his parents, his wife, and his sons. But nothing came up. He was not sure whether to feel relieved or scared about the fact. Whoever planted him into this world didn’t want him to have connections to his original life.

This caused Petyr to see red. He screamed and kicked the table. He felt butterflies in his stomach which prompted him to sit on a chair and think.

Something out there, beyond my control, has placed me in another world. What else is there? The maps I’ve remembered resemble nothing of Earth. In fact, Earth doesn’t have two supercontinents called ‘Westeros’ and ‘Essos’. Now the question is… Where to go from here? I remember nothing of my original life except for bits and pieces.

I seem to remember working as a civil servant for the Exchequer in the UK. As if a light bulb turned on, he realised he remembered his skills and experience from his original life. Petyr instantly sobered up and preened. He realised how much of a boon his skills were, especially in medieval society. I might as well plan for the future. It’s no use wallowing in the unfairness of being transported out of your life into another. Now, let’s see…

Ideas came to him, like a spark of lightning, the administrative insights he gained from years of working for the Treasury. He could possibly revolutionise taxes in Westeros, increasing the revenue of his holdings. Petyr rushed towards his solar and grabbed the ledgers from his drawers.

A sprang of hope welled in his chest. I could modernise my lands. Make it as productive and efficient as any modern nation and outcompete these primitives. He continued to rifle through his ledgers when suddenly he deflated. The data was a mess. It wasn’t organised and the details about population, taxes and tariffs were non-existent. The only details he managed to find were a purchase of Dornish Red, Arbor Gold and other brands of wine. Along with the beer that he was previously chugging down.

My memory tells me that this handwriting is my father’s. The war of the Ninepenny kings happened at 266 AC… It’s currently 282 AC. It’s a wonder how this keep wasn’t robbed. The storm refused to abate, and another crash of waves caused the ground under Petyr to sway slightly. I can see why it hasn’t been robbed. The bloody keep is going to fall to the ocean soon! Bloody hell!

The viability of modernising Baelish holds quickly turned impossible. Though the keep can still be rebuilt, just further away from the coast. This is going to be IMMENSELY expensive! Not only that but I would have to hire surveyors to map the coast to find an appropriate place to build a port. Also, to find some ores. The Vale is rich in minerals, right? I think it’ll be worth it cuz I feel lucky… Nah, never mind.

A slight shake shook Petyr from his grumblings, and he raced towards the storage. These wines and beers which have aged for 16 years should be an easy catch. A single cask of Arbor Gold can net me… Come on memory! Work with me! He grabbed his chin and hummed in approval. Arbor Gold are usually sold at 40 gold dragons in the Vale. Dornish Red is around 30. The various beers and meads are around one to five gold dragons. Plus, they’ve been aged for 26 years – I could probably haggle double the price of what father has brought these in.

The young man cracked his fingers and stretched his shoulders. Well… Work, work.

After four hours of hard work, Baelish managed to roll the valuable goods away from his doomed hut and placed them on top of two carriages. He pridefully looked at the display and tried to dry his face. Five Arbor Gold, seven Dornish Red, 15 beers and 12 casks of mead. If I’m optimistic I can get around 970 golden dragons.

The weather started to look up as rays of light passed through the grey clouds. A rainbow formed from the sky and stretched across Baelish’s lands. How kind. It seems the Seven hasn’t abandoned me. Petyr subconsciously kneeled and prayed when he abruptly stood up and panicked. What the hell did I just do?! Who the fuck are the SEVEN? I’m a devout follower of Christ for God’s sake! I believe in one God, the father almighty. Creator of Heaven and Earth... I believe in one, holy, Catholic church…

Petyr kneeled back down and recited the prayers, taught to him when he was a child which surprised him as he forgot most of these when he grew up in his original life.

After several minutes of prayers, Petyr calmed down. Wow. Religion is truly the opium of the people. But seriously… The original Petyr wasn’t even that religious to the Seven-Who-Are-One. He would often mimic the people around him and appear ‘devout’. Then why did I start praying? Was it this Seven Deity who brought me here?

He shook his head and headed towards the stables where he brought two horses and tied them to the front carriage. Too much thinking, less doing. Might as well be productive instead of having an existential crisis. But I need to address this sooner rather than later. My faith could be the only one to salvage my mental state right now. I’d rather faith than get pissed off drunk, any day.

“Hyaah!” He spurred the horses on which caused the two carriages to start moving… At a snail’s pace. We’re gonna be here for a while… Now, I need to remember where I parked that boat. After that, rely on my boatmanship to travel to Gulltown without dying. The original Petyr was taught how to sail ships by Braavosi sailors. And back in Britain, I would regularly sail to Amsterdam and Calais. I’ll be fine. The original Petyr knows the route from the back of his mind, so I shouldn't need a compass and a map. His head tried to scrounge for information, but nothing was getting through. Compass, eh? Too bad it hasn’t been invented. Yet… Too bad I know nothing about compasses except something to do with magnetism. Too bad. “Too bad.” He muttered out loud

Emerging from a crop of trees he spotted the poorly developed pier, strutting out from a small bay. In the middle of the bay, he can spot his ship – The Mockingbird, a larger version of a fishing ship. Designed to wade the waters of Bay of Crabs.

Petyr loaded his cargo and unfurled the sails. He rushed to the minute aft and steered the rudder. To Gulltown we go! “The Seven! Christ almighty! Or whatever gods are out there! Guide me and don’t let me die!”

~ ~ ~

After three days of travel, with bountiful winds and no pirates in sight, Petyr docked into the harbour of Gulltown.

The Harbourmaster looked gruff with his ledger and stamps. He signalled four of the guards towards him and came to me. He looked suspiciously at Petyr and eyed his vessel. “What ye got there lad. De ye mind if me boys ‘ave a quick check on yer cargo.”

“What seems to be the reason for checking, my good man. I’m a Lord of the Fingers, perhaps you can afford to ignore my humble ship.”

In response, the rough-looking man gave a signal to the guards to enter Petyr’s ship. “Nay can do milord. Under the orders of Jon Arryn, we ‘ave to check ev’ry ship comin’ and goin’ from Gulltown. As ye may know, there’s a war happenin’. Can’t afford to have dragon sympathisers wreaking havoc in my town!”

Seeing that he was outnumbered, Petyr backed off. “I understand, but they’re better be-“ He paused for a second and quickly grabbed his chin. He bounced on his feet and hummed, “Say, my good man, after Lord Grafton’s unfortunate death to the Usur- Robert. Who inherited this spectacular-looking city?”

“Twas his 15-year-old son and heir who inherited it. Gerold is the name. A nice kid from what I’ve heard.”

“I see, I see. To lose a father so young. Trust me I can relate.” Baelish put his hands to his heart “I lost my father before I reached the age of two. I was lucky that I didn’t know him that well. My long-dead mother would tell me how he died freeing slaves.” He sobbed and swayed a little which prompted the harbourmaster to reach out for him. Good, I got him. Hopefully, my gamble pays off! Otherwise, I’m going to lose nearly 1000 gold dragons!

“Thank you for that, my good man,” Baelish said as he patted him on the shoulder. “Sea legs and reminiscing about the past can do that.”

“Aye. Lad looks like ye’v suffered a lot. May the Seven bless ye.”

“It makes me wonder, how the Grafton family is dealing with the fallout?”

“ ‘Fallout’. What is that lad?”

“Sorry, just a term I like to use to describe the disastrous consequences that have fallen on House Grafton after they’ve openly sided with the Mad King.” I really need to watch what I say.

“A strange term fer that lad. But yes, yer right. Disastrous indeed.” He frowned and gripped his ledger. “I owe my loyalty to Marq. He was a good friend. Elevated me to where I am now.”

How curious. This harbourmaster must be quite politically powerful to have Lord Grafton as his friend. This is an opportunity I can’t afford to lose.

“I may not know the Graftons, as well as you do Master…”

“Rydan. Rydan Porter at yer service…” The man held an open palm at Petyr.

“Petyr. Petyr Baelish. Nice to meet you.” He smiled and shook Rydan’s hand. Now to see whether or not the Graftons can be used as a ladder to prosperity! “Now, Master Porter, I’m interested in lending my service to House Grafton. You see, no one was there for me when my father and ma died. It would gladden me if you can tell me how bad the situation is for the Graftons.”

Rydan looked at me funny before relenting. “Not good. The Gulltown Arryns have seized half the city’s assets, includin’ a big chunk of my harbour. They control the tariffs and seize any merchant ships that come by. The traders are avoidin’ Gulltown. It’s not doing great on the economy.” He huffed and looked at his ledger in despair. “At least those Arryns aren’t ‘High on Honour’ like their cousins. They actually see value in trade and not just land and the peasants who work them.”

Well, that’s no good. I got two choices from here. Either befriend the Graftons which would make Rydan an ally. Or to befriend the Arryns and risk half of my cargo, and maybe my ship from being stolen.

“That sounds… Manageable. Lord Arryn seems magnanimous.”

“Oh no, lad. That’s where yer wrong. Lord Jon wanted the entire city and the lands surroundin’ it to be given to his cadet cousins. It was King Robert who gave them a light sentence.”

Wait… He’s a king now? Damn. How isolated is Baelish Keep? That may also explain why it wasn’t looted.

“Long live King Robert, I suppose. Though, if you may indulge me one more.” Petyr looked down on his feet then looked Rydan, firmly in the eye. “Was there a funeral for Lord Marq?”

Rydan shivered slightly and frowned. “No. His body wasn’t found.”

“How unfortunate, you have my condolences.”

“Fat lot that gives me.”

“Tell me, for the sake of Lord Gerold, has he organised a feast. A feast to mourn his father. It’s perfectly acceptable to mourn a loving father.”

“No.”

“It’s a shame. May I know why?”

“The booze is gone and most of the food has been taken by Lord Arryn’s army. House Grafton cannot afford a feast.”

“Mayhap a smaller feast then. Lord Gerold and his family must be allowed to grieve and not be forced to put a brave face out to the public. Robert and his armies aren’t anymore.”

Rydan smiled at him and signalled for the guards. He told the young man to remain where he was. “What’s the kid got in his smuggler-looking ship?”

“A lot of barrels, milord. I think they’re beers and wines.”

“Interesting. Any branding on them?”

“They seem to be Dornish Red, I think. I cannae read well, milord. So please forgive me.”

“He can’t be a smuggler then. This dinky little ship wouldn’t survive the Narrow Sea.” Rydan sighed in relief. The young lad, despite his initial suspicions, is a good kid. Hey may not be knowledgeable about the lords and lands of the fingers but he could tell the young man was telling the truth.

The harbourmaster returned to Petyr. “Looks like yer clear lad. No weapons, no contraband, but a lot of booze.”

“Indeed, Master Porter, I wanted to show my condolences to House Grafton for their loss. I am willing to donate all of my cargo. I can assure you, that these Dornish Red and Arbor Gold have been aged for 14 years. They’re the best quality drink!”

Rydan snorted at that. “I’m sure of that, lad. It touched me heart how generous you are. Ye must come from a rich house. Not just anyone can afford these luxuries in times of war.”

Because I couldn’t. Might as well bluff my way into this ladder. What do these Westerosi primitives call it? Mummer’s show. Or is it mummer’s farce?

Petyr nodded noncommittally, “You can’t imagine my wealth, Master Porter. Now see if you can relay my generosity to Lord Gerold. The boy must be grieving for his father he needs this.”

Rydan couldn’t help but laugh. “He ain’t a boy, milord. He’s about the same age as you, perhaps a bit younger.”

Damn! Another slip of the tongue! “Of course, I couldn’t help but see myself when he lost his father. I was a wee child when I lost him. I hope he recovers from his loss.”

The Harbourmaster nodded strongly at me and mounted a horse. “Yer a good lad with a big heart, milord. Little Gerry will be happy you’re doing this for ‘im.”

Hook, line and sinker. I may have lost a 1000 gold dragons but I’ve climbed the ladder! Prosperity, here I come! Perhaps I can modernise Gulltown and maybe make it mine. I can’t wait to make this Gerold-boy my puppet. However, the Gulltown Arryns will be a problem. They’ll have to be dealt with.