Petyr IX

“Is she alright, Laenera? She’s been asleep for two days straight and Gulltown is starting to appear on the horizon.”

“Yes! I’m pretty sure she’s fine. Very fine.” Petyr raised his eyebrows at her not sure whether she was being serious or being sarcastic.

“You don’t sound confident.”

“Well…” She shifted ominously whilst swaying her hips before attempting to cover her face. Petyr barely managed to spot her reddening cheeks. “You see, I haven’t had to diagnose nor operate anyone for um… Many years? Yes, many years. I think.”

Petyr gritted his teeth to stem the growing headache forming in his temples. “Is Lysa fine? I’m not having her die –“

“She’s not dying anytime soon! Her heart rate is stable but I forgot to bring my column of mercury and the pressure cuffs to measure her blood pressure. She’s just exhausted. Poor girl probably hasn’t slept properly for an entire week.” The Wisdom gently placed her hand over Lysa’s forehead. “Temperature is stable too.” She then huffed indignantly and pointed at Petyr, “If you’re really worried about her, why don’t you bother one of my acolytes more specialised in the ways of human mechanisms!”

“Fine. You must’ve prioritised your ‘research’ and my recent projects causing you to forgo your medical expertise.” He drawled as she was about to explode but Petyr quickly gave her a placating gesture. “Those grenades were gods’ work. Took Timberton with minimal casualties on our side. For that, you have my thanks. Mayhaps, your budget may increase this incoming quarterly.” Laenera widened her eyes as she started to salivate. “I haven’t finished. I want those cannons up and running within a month. Then I want it to be mass-produced.” If Jon Arryn were to die, I need to seize the Vale and install Isembard’s son on the Moon Throne. Those guns would be highly useful. The Wisdom started to exhale loud expletives and excuses, but Petyr zoned it all out as he grabbed his chin. If the bastard did tell Jon Arryn that I took Lysa’s virginity then why hasn’t he acted out against me? If I was lucky and Hoster didn’t tell him, then all is good. However... Millions of thoughts ran through his mind ranging from Jon Arryn holding a sword of Damocles over his head as he blackmails and threatens Petyr, to outright ordering his arrest. Unfortunately, Petyr is only a minor lord and no one would cry foul and yell ‘Tyrant!’ when he’s disposed of.

He thought back to his plan with Naerys. It was full of holes and wholly unusable, however, the plan provided him with a roadmap to destabilise the realm and ensure as much chaos as possible. It all leads to his death. Petyr excused himself, to Laenera’s indignation, and went directly to Lysa’s bed and fondly grazed her face. “You must’ve gone through a lot. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” You deserve better. Much better than an old man. He shook his head. I wish I could do right by you, but I love you. Not… Just not in that away. I loved the way you cutely toddled after me and Cat. I loved how you always played with me and Cat. I loved your loud tantrums every time Cat and I would go for Maester Vyman’s lecture. He cringed and shakily chuckled. But I don’t love you that way. I loved you as a sister. I loved – no I still love Cat. I love your sister and… But you’re not you’re sister. You’ll never be Cat.

The guilt forced him to kneel down and kiss Lysa’s forehead. You deserve much better. But Jon cannot die yet. It’s not the right time. You have to be strong – no you’re already strong. You need to be stronger! You need to have the patience rivalling eternity. So, please continue to endure the cards you’ve been dealt with. You can do this Lysa!

As if hearing Petyr, the red-haired girl suddenly opened her eyes and screamed whilst clutching her chest. She waved her arms erratically and started to grasp at the air. Petyr was shocked by this and flinched causing his body to tumble to the floor. She calmed down and started to look at her body. “M-my body… I thought I’d been filled with arrows.”

“It’s common for people with traumatic events to suffer from nightmares and hallucinations mimicking their misadventures.”

“Who are you?” Lysa tensed as she saw a middle-aged woman wearing a plain black dress. Her hair was tied back and covered with a brown coif.

“My name is Wisdom Laenera, child. You’ve fooled the world. We all thought you died but here you are.”

“What do you mean?”

Petyr banished his embarrassment as he dusted himself and then rose. Lysa saw him as she widened her eyes and froze. She looked confused. But in a split second, she gave an unwitting smile and before she could bounce in her bed, Petyr kneeled again and patted her head. “It means you were the strongest woman in the world. Escaping a bandit ambush and running for a week to reach safety. Such a feat deserves to be etched in history books.” Petyr reached out and gently pinched her nose causing Lysa to giggle. “You amazed us all, Lysa.”

She blushed at that and placed her hand to her mouth to prevent herself from bursting into fits of giggles. “T-thank you. Now that the world thinks I’m dead, it means I don’t have to be with that old fart again.” Petyr clenched his fists and grit his teeth for the tenth time in a row. “Which means we finally get to marry, Petyr! It’ll be like those books of romance we used to read when we were younger!”

Lysa clasped her hands together and closed her eyes as she momentarily daydreamed. Petyr gave a pointed glance at Laenera, causing her to flinch, and mentally commanded her to ‘get out’. He was pleased when the Wisdom then noisily stamped out of the room shaking Lysa out of her fantasy. “About that, Lysa. I’ve got something to say.” She tilted her head but carried on joyfully smiling. Petyr was tempted to lie and cajole his way out of this. To trick and deceive his little sister, in all but name, hoping she would be naïve enough to fall for it. He could do it. He’s done it before, to men more experienced than Lysa. Manipulating what Petyr knew about them, such as their insecurities and secrets to get what he wanted. He knew Lysa since she was five and was practically raised with her. He knew everything about her from what she likes to eat and what scares her. He was so tempted to use her insecurity regarding her envy of Catelyn. To use her inferior complex to persuade her that marrying him was never an option. To persuade her that he wasn’t good enough for her after all, her sister married a lord paramount that rules the North. It would’ve been so easy to manipulate her by playing to her delusion of one-upping Catelyn. But he chose not to. “I’m already promised to another.”

Lysa excitedly bobbed her head and then reached out for Petyr’s hands. “That’s great! We’re going to be so happy together! We’ll avenge Robin together-,“ she stared at Petyr and noticed him grimacing as she didn’t fully understand what Petyr said. “W-What do you m-mean?” She trembled as her speech started to slur. She breathed hard and fast.

Petyr reached out and tightly hugged her. “I’m so sorry. I’m betrothed to another woman.”

Lysa widened her mouth as tears threatened to leak. She relaxed her posture causing her arms to sag down. She dimly looked across the room and avoided Petyr’s gaze. A few minutes of pure silence passed then all of sudden her face thundered with bitterness as she tried to push Petyr away. Petyr clung on prompting her to scream in rage as she punched and scratched his back. Yet Petyr held on. His guilt washed away the pain.

Lysa eventually calmed down and started to sob. What was once a few tears turned into a waterfall. Yet Petyr held on letting Lysa cry at his shoulder.

“P-please l-let go of me.” She demurely pleaded not having the energy to shout and thrash any longer. Petyr accepted her request and slowly backed away from her. Yet it was too fast for Lysa as she mumbled beneath her lips, “Please don’t go. Not again. Please.” He hesitated but then lightly grabbed Lysa’s hand.

“I’m here. I promise. You’re safe here.”

“Am I really?” Through the sobbing, Lysa managed to coherently give her stern reply.

“Yes. I promise.”

“You promise?” She choked on her tears as she laughed hard causing her to wheeze and cough. “You promise!? You sound like him! You sound like Father! When I ate and dined with him, he promised me he was going to petition King Robert to legitimise Robin. He called our son a bastard!” She tensed her muscles and took a big breath. “He called our child a bastard! I was going to rage at him until he promised… He promised he was going to legitimise our child. He promised he would bless our marriage. He promised!” Lysa fumed as she repeated her father’s betrayal like a mantra. “You see, Petyr, I was betrayed by the people I’ve known my entire life. The people that have watched me take my first steps and nursed me when I was sick. It wasn’t just Father. It was everyone else in Riverrun! From Maester Vyman to old nan Ayva! They all chose to betray me!” She chuckled darkly and continued her rant. “It was as if my house’s words meant nothing. ‘Family, Duty, Honour’.” She scoffed and spat, “When I saw Robin’s tiny body sprawled in the bed – what happened to ‘Family’? When I was secluded all alone in my tower– what happened to ‘Duty’? When my own father plotted to poison our Robin – what happened to ‘Honour’.” She looked a little calm but the look she gave Petyr caused him to slightly flinch. They weren’t the eyes of the young girl he knew. These are the eyes that have seen the gravest injustice and vowed to correct it. “I was promised all these things. Me being a bloody naïve fool took them for granted. Never again! Never again will I blindly trust someone’s word!

“You promised me I was going to be safe? What in the Crone’s sagging tits does that mean? Does it mean you’ll force me to go back to King’s Landing? Does it mean I’m going to have to spend time with that old fart?!” She stopped abruptly and then calmed down. She clutched her hands to her chest. “Does it mean abandoning me once again?”

Petyr squirmed as guilt and pragmatism waged a war inside his mind. Lysa clearly didn’t like being married to Lord Arryn. It was clear he was distant, likely looking down at her as he regarded her as ‘spoiled goods’. Petyr scorned the prevalent sexism in Westeros and vowed to combat it at every turn. He now had the reason to viciously pursue gender equality as he took the time to stare at Lysa violently shivering and sobbing. But what was he going to do about it? He knew the impossible feasibility of killing Jon Arryn and getting away with it. Doran wasn’t going to negotiate with an up-jumped minor lord from halfway across the map. Rumours say he was cunning and careful. He’s never going to order Arryn’s death. When it could mean half of the realm razing Dorne to the ground. He closed his eyes and cupped his chin and put his mind on overdrive then he found what he was looking for. Petyr jolted up causing Lysa to squirm back into her bed.

“Lysa. I promise that you’ll be safe. I promise that you’ll stay in Gulltown. Hidden. I promise-,” He paused and hesitated. He was still not sure. Doubt and pessimism wormed inside his mind but it only took to a parting glance at Lysa’s reddened cheeks and swollen eyes to overcome them. He then heard Lysa sob and that was what broke the camel’s back for Petyr. Screw it! For Lysa. I have to commit. “I promise that you’ll not be going to Jon Arryn. If you must, consider your marriage to him annulled.” Petyr was surprised when Lysa hugged him.

“I believe you, Petyr. I don’t know how you’re going to fulfil those promises but I believe you. You always make the impossible, possible after all!”

Petyr cringed at how accurate Lysa was. He was going to flip heaven and earth for her. Doran may be unwilling but his brother, the Red Viper, might not. Let’s just hope and pray he’ll be easy to swindle. He hugged Lysa back whilst crossing his fingers. Hundreds of names went through his head mentally, from privateers to smugglers, filling their strengths and weaknesses until he found the one. The one to persuade Oberyn Martell to kill Jon Arryn.

Maribelle III

For two weeks she governed the city of Gulltown. For two weeks she was confused by her duties. Gerold gave her the honour of being the regent when they were off gallivanting to war. At first, it was self-explanatory, to do what the Lord usually does in their fief like holding court, dispensing justice, settling disputes and enforcing the city’s charter, like observing tariffs and trade. One slight problem – Petyr. Her future husband has taken most of these duties away from the boy Lord and transferred those responsibilities to the Civil Service of Gulltown. The Supreme Court handles the more serious crimes whereas the Lower Court deals with minor crimes. The Small-Settlement Court mediates disputes. The Regulation and Enforcement employs guards to carry out the orders of the courts and enforce order in the town. Exports and Imports deal with tariffs.

It’s all well good, it means she doesn’t have much to do but poke the Civil Service to see if they’re doing the job they’ve been given. Occasionally, scrutinising them to ensure no foul play and corruption take root. To her utmost displeasure, the three heads of the Civil Service also left for war with no instruction on how to run their departments. They didn’t even bother recommending which people to take the mantle of responsibility to temporary replace them as secretary of their department. Partly, because the majority of workers were woefully inexperienced. They’d trust her to do it on their behalf. She wanted to scratch her hair out for that.

In one day, she became the most powerful person in the city. The Vanterys and her brother, Orland, congratulated and praised her for uplifting their family to heights never seen before. The prestige and reputation they’ve gained from her governing the city should’ve made her happy. But the ever-dutiful lady despised people in power not taking their duties seriously. And so, she went about to work – being the de facto head of the Civil Service, Department of Exports/Imports, Marketing, Welfare and Regulations and Enforcement. Countless meetings with her colleagues and climbing those damnable stairs meant she was, at least, competent in fulfilling their secretarial duties.

Throughout the two weeks, she has overseen the construction of the School of Medicine and had the ‘pleasure’ to talk with Petyr’s pet witches as they ‘politely’ discussed the curriculum. She had to step in to prevent fights so many times she lost count. She was even embarrassed on the behalf of the alchemists. Bloody children. Children responsible for making Petyr’s abominations…

She recalled, with fright, at the destruction wrought by his abominations. His ‘cannons’. Lead and iron balls launched at speeds unimaginable by combusting wildfire, piercing through walls of stone. Walls that she was convinced were impregnable yet what she saw made the world around her sway. This is the future Petyr is seeking. Unimaginable power. The hegemony of Gulltown will be secured for many generations.

But she couldn’t help herself shudder in dismay. The revelation of such a weapon will turn the world’s eye to their city. For good and bad. And as the most reasonable person in the Civil Service, she of course focused on the negative. Spying, sabotaging and general skulduggery will plague the city for many years. She wasn’t even sure her spies were up to the job of counterespionage and so she was relieved when those belching monsters were years away from truly becoming effective. The steel barrels couldn’t handle the power of wildfire and would often warp, deform and sometimes explode entirely. She recalled with amusement when she saw one of the acolytes ripping their hair out of frustration.

That relief was short-lived as one of the insane acolytes had the ‘creative’ idea of priming a Sept’s bell with wildfire powder and launching lead balls from it. The Shepherds of Gulltown weren’t pleased as the bell was going to be used for a second Sept to accommodate Gulltown’s rapidly increasing population. They filed for compensation which the Alchemist Guild – School of Medicine – gleefully gave them as they neighed and hooted or whatever sorcerers do when they’re happy. Months of the bottleneck were solved with something so simple. Replacing steel with brass. Apparently, steel was too brittle and impure to withstand the pressure. But brass wasn’t which means it makes better cannons. She doesn’t know the reason because she zoned out their technical ramblings as she took their word for it. They seem passionately knowledgeable about pyromancy that I was already convinced when they started to speak like madmen.

All she needed to know was that they were going to need a lot of brass. People to cast those brass into cannon tubes. And so, she used her powers as the de facto leader of the Department of Welfare to give out loans to bellfounders making sure to relay the quack’s instructions to them. She hoped those idiots weren’t going to freak them out. Of course, Petyr said this project was the utmost secrecy and so she sent her spies from the Marketing department to ‘politely’ remind the bellfounders to keep their mouths shut.

She looked at the ledger and admired Petyr’s most important gift to the world – double-entry bookkeeping. She was able to quickly assess the money earned and spent in just one sheet. Fraud and graft that plagued previous administrations were solved with a quick glance. Maribelle noticed with growing pride the loans she approved of were turning a sizeable profit. She preyed on desperate merchants and traders and ‘generously’ granted them loans without interest. The loans were generous indeed. A sizeable sum of golden dragons. They’ve taken them without a nary of thought. It’s a shame they won’t be able to pay it within the specified time. Unsurprisingly, they defaulted on their debts causing her to send for Rydan’s men to collect the loan plus the delicious fine.

To soothe her ‘conscience’, the merchants at the time of defaulting were in a much better position than before. They were no longer on the verge of bankruptcy and losing everything.

Everything was going fine. The economy was booming. Migration was steadily increasing meaning more taxpayers. The schools were accelerating the number of skilled bureaucrats being trained to a suitable standard, addressing the chronic manpower shortage of the Civil Service.

It was satisfying watching the successes after successes because of her hard work. But her satisfaction wouldn’t last long.

She silently celebrated when one of her spies managed to pass Petyr’s exam with flying colours. An orphan she found in the middle of the street to which she gave a roof above his head and taught him the skills necessary for spying. A similar story is shared between his siblings. All of them became servants of the elite – the most powerful, wealthy and influential. Through them she had information. Through them she had blackmail. A perfect combination to exert her influence so thoroughly in the upper echelons of Gulltown.

She was so close to controlling most of the nobility but then he came. Sailed more like. In a dinky boat too. Petyr proved way smarter and more capable than the normal stock of nobility and wealthy merchants. Even surpassing Lord Marq in every way. She scoffed when Petyr became the Customs Office and used up his political capital instantly by petitioning Gerold to pardon criminals - scum of the scum. She dismissed him then and there. Anyone who’s naively honourable and shows mercy to those people were typically the ones that get killed early. Oh, how wrong she was. Those scum were experienced in skulduggery. They would run laps around her spies who grew too complacent as they took their menial duties in comfort.

But not Orwyle. When I had him spy on her cousins, he would act as the perfect manservant at day. And at night he would train both in mind and body. He read how different poisons were brewed and practised religiously in the ways of swordsmanship. He was the only one in her employ that passed Petyr’s damnable exam and she was proud of him.

But now she wanted nothing but to slap him as she read his missive.

“Dear ma’am,

“Lord Arryn’s wife was found just today. By the time you’ve read this, it would’ve been two days since she came aboard, her Excellency Naerys’ ship.

“It seems she has a history with Lord Baelish. Rumours spread around the ship that Lord Petyr and Lady Lysa were in a relationship prior to her marriage with Lord Jon Arryn.

“I’ve tried verifying the rumours and I would conclude that the rumours were most likely true. When eavesdropping, I personally heard, ‘They killed our Robin. They made me drink it.’

“I’ll leave the interpretations for you to figure out, my lady

“From your loyal servant, Orwyle.”

Maribelle held the parchment in the candlelight and watched it burst into flames. She meticulously scattered the ash outside her window. Looks like Petyr has got a lot to answer for.

She was shaken from her thoughts when a guard let through a messenger with half of his face covered. “My lady, Lord Petyr’s ships have been spotted. They should be berthing on the harbour within half an hour.”

Speak of thy devil, and he cometh. “Thank you for informing me but I’m curious why Lord Gerold isn’t with him. Where is he?”

“The ravens say Lord Gerold opted to ride by land escorting the redcoats to Gulltown. Whilst marching, he went to conduct a progress instead. To observe the land and the effects of Lord Petyr’s reforms.”

Maribelle squinted her eyes as her muscles become taut. She redirected her gaze at the guard and to her great relief he nodded back. “Those are very specific information, far too much for a mere messenger.” She gestured for his face. “How about you take off that mask.”

The messenger stiffly stood for a few minutes before sighing in defeat. “As expected from you, Lady Maribelle.” He mumbled as he pulled his mask off. A man with receding silver hair came forth and nodded in respect. “I didn’t think I was going to get caught this soon.”

Maribelle shook her head. “Petyr’s men caught you from the beginning, Maester Stephas.”

“Impossible.” He said with a little heat in his voice and forlornly gazed at the ground. “Why didn’t they kill me.”

“Well, two reasons.” The lady cheekily pointed at him with two of her forefingers. “Petyr’s reason is that you were useful in inciting Isembard to panic. To encourage him to make… Poor decisions.”

Stephas grinned whilst whistling. “Seven damnation. Littlefinger is always one step ahead.” She nodded in agreement then shuddered whilst recalling Petyr’s aggressive recruitment of her. “So, what’s the second reason.”

“Rydan said you were one of the few who watched Gerold take his first few steps. He said one cannot fake love that long.”

The disgraced maester slumped even more at that. His eyes started to water and immediately rubbed them with his hands causing them to redden and swell. “Rydan and I go way back. Back when Marq was reaching adulthood. Those were the times.”

“You’ve squandered it.”

“I did indeed. I- ugh –,“ he paused then stammered out a question. “D-does he know? Do they know?”

“That you’re a sword swallower. Yes, yes, they know.” Frankly, she couldn’t care less. If they had the decency to do such unnatural nonsense in the privacy of their rooms, then no harm done.

“I-I s-see. What was their reaction?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I was too busy focusing on Petyr’s deranged plan to centralise his power in Gulltown and all of Grafton lands.”

“So, what’s the plan? Are you going to turn me in?” He looked back and noticed the guard was closer than before. He resigned himself to being captured and raised his hands up. “I have no weapons.” To his surprise, Maribelle waved the guard off as he quickly obeyed and left the room. Stephas then glared at Maribelle. “What are you planning?”

“Transfer me your men.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Don’t act stupid, Stephas. You gave far too much information than what is expected of normal messengers. That hinted you were a man with special acquaintances that ‘collect’ information.”

Stephas sighed. “It would be pointless anyway. Most if not all of them would fail the exam for that fancy department of yours.”

“I’m sure some will pass. The fact you gave me a specific information about Lord Gerold, tells me you have a knight or an experienced soldier on your payroll. I want them. I’m going to need them to train my spies to pass that damn exam.”

He looked stunned. “Well deducted, my lady. Fine, you may have them. But first, please answer my question. It’s been burning me with curiosity. Why do they have to enter the Marketing department? Can’t you just use your own spies without needing them to enter the Civil Service?”

Maribelle shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Oh, trust me I’ve thought of that but when Petyr recruited me to be his spymistress, h-he explicitly told me to use the tools of the then Customs Office. ‘The Office is a politically neutral body and it must not have any third party interference.”

“You could’ve done it behind his back.”

Maribelle laughed at that and leaned too far in her chair causing her to nearly tumble down. “I’m not even going to respond to that.”

The maester groaned and pointed at the fleet of carracks heading towards them. “They’re here. I should be glad Gerold is not here. So, in return for me giving you my spies – what do I get in return?”

“My good word.”

“That’s it?” The ageing man tilted his head and huffed in resignation. Perhaps he was already prepared to face his punishment for treason.

“A good word of a wife to a very powerful man.”

Stephas askew posture gave him a hard time balancing in his chair. “Excuse me, my lady. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Maribelle was surprised when he didn’t know which further reinforced her theory that Stephas had knightly spies. Are they his lovers, perhaps? Hmm… Something to investigate for later.

“I’m betrothed to Petyr. The wedding takes a week from now.”

“Congratulations are in order then, Lady Arryn. Or perhaps, in advance, I should call you Lady Baelish?”

“You are most kind, Maester Stephas.” Maribelle’s heart spiked as she recalled Orwyle’s missive. She strained her muscles and stood straighter than before. There was a high possibility that Petyr may take Lysa as his mistress, ruining their marriage. The thought angered her as she forcefully exhaled in an attempt to soothe herself. Her, and her family’s, honour will not be tainted in any way. She will fight tooth and nail to see her family soar without the spectre of unsavoury whispers dragging their reputation down.

She recalled the missive again and grinned. “My l-lady? Are you alright?” Stephas got up and tried to help her but was waved away.

“I’m perfectly fine. I know a secret. A secret so dark and malicious.”

“Let me guess. That secret is about your future husband?” The elderly maester curiously inquired.

“I finally got something to control him.” Her grin turned feral causing Stephas to recoil back.

Our liege-lord and Hand of the King won’t be happy about this but I’m willing to take this secret to the grave. If Petyr is willing to compromise on… Certain things. Ah! Seven hells! I need to think this through. Let’s see you squirm out of this, Petyr!