Chapter 177 – Captain of the Royal Forest Iron Guard!
"W–what a coincidence… Ser Lyn?"
Since the other man had already made it clear he'd recognized him, Petyr stopped pretending. Fine. Cards on the table.
He forced a tight smile, his right hand gripping the girl beside him—Catelyn—almost possessively, and said with feigned calm,
"The last time I saw you in Gulltown, Ser, your swordsmanship left a very deep impression on me."
Hearing Petyr's nearly sycophantic flattery, Lyn Corbray didn't even look at him. His gaze slid past Petyr with casual ease and settled on the girl at his side, wrapped in a thick wool cloak.
Those sharp eyes seemed to have already seen through the identity of the red-haired Catelyn.
Seeing that, Petyr immediately shifted, trying to shield Catelyn Tully behind him—though his short frame couldn't possibly hide her completely.
"It's not really a coincidence."
A faint, almost playful smile touched Lyn's sharply defined jaw as he spoke lightly,
"I've been following you ever since you entered the town."
Petyr's heart slammed.
Such a casual tone—yet it sent waves crashing through his mind.
Since we entered town?
How is that possible?
He had been certain he was careful. They had deliberately taken remote roads—that was why they'd run into bandits and wildlings in the first place.
They'd even used disguises.
And yet this strange-tempered knight of the Vale had tailed them from the moment they entered town… and they hadn't noticed a thing?
What exactly did he want?
Chaotic thoughts flooded Petyr's mind. His grey-green eyes darted rapidly.
Lyn, however, seemed utterly unconcerned with his reaction. He casually kicked the one-eyed corpse slumped over the table to the floor, then said with a teasing tone:
"Just happened to find two rather valuable pieces of merchandise here."
"Let's make a deal, Lord Petyr."
"I doubt anyone here can afford the heads of these two wanted men. But I can't be bothered to carry their heads around just to claim the bounty. Too much trouble."
As he spoke, his gaze returned to Petyr's face. Something like the glint of gold dragons flickered in his eyes.
"So how about this—cheap price. Eighty gold dragons, and they're yours."
Petyr's grey-green eyes filled with even more confusion.
Money?
Forget eighty—he could hand over eight hundred without blinking.
But judging by the look on the man's face, this felt like a joke.
From their previous encounters, Petyr had never quite been able to understand how this man's mind worked.
In Petyr's view, the Vale's foremost knight liked three things: gold, boys, and wine.
Yet at times, he would stubbornly cling to things that seemed utterly intangible—
Reputation. Swordsmanship. Honor.
Petyr truly couldn't figure out what this slightly unhinged man was really after.
"For that, I would hardly dare, Ser Lyn…" said Petyr Baelish, forcing a polite smile.
Petyr neither refused nor agreed. He rubbed his fingers together, mind racing, trying to guess the man's true motive.
But Lyn Corbray didn't give him much time to think.
"You've changed, Lord Petyr."
Lyn sighed softly, a trace of disappointment in his tone.
"Back then, your hunger for profit and power was something I genuinely admired."
"But now…"
His eyes shifted to Catelyn Tully, though he was still speaking to Petyr.
"It doesn't matter. Everyone changes for something… don't they?"
"Especially… for such a beautiful lady."
Damn it.
The words rang in Petyr's head like an explosion.
He knew.
He definitely knew Catelyn's identity.
For whatever reason, Lyn hadn't exposed her publicly—but there was absolutely an ulterior motive.
Petyr stopped hesitating. His left hand slipped behind his back, making a subtle signal to the two guards he had hired at great expense.
It was their prearranged sign: if anything became uncontrollable, attack immediately. He and Catelyn would escape in the chaos.
Silence.
Seconds ticked by.
The guards didn't move.
Petyr turned his head—only to see both men staring fixedly at their boots, as if the floor held the secrets of the universe.
You useless cowards!
Petyr cursed inwardly, shooting them desperate looks.
They ignored him.
Fight Lyn Corbray? Are you insane?
Why not ask us to assassinate the Hand of the King while you're at it?
The pay might be generous, but it meant nothing if they didn't live to spend it.
The two guards had clearly made their decision. Heads down. Not involved.
Petyr nearly exploded inside—but what could he do? He was barely five feet tall. Facing the Vale's greatest knight himself wasn't bravery. It was suicide.
"Beautiful lady," Lyn's low, magnetic voice sounded again, "it's rather noisy here. Might I have the honor of inviting you to sit somewhere a bit quieter?"
Petyr looked up.
At some point, Lyn had already taken Catelyn's right hand. A gentle smile—enough to make any young girl swoon—rested on his face.
Caught off guard by an invitation from a knight who looked like he'd stepped out of a song, Catelyn's cheeks flushed crimson.
He was so handsome—far more striking than any knight she had seen in the Riverlands.
The knight of her girlish dreams overlapped perfectly with the man before her.
Almost instinctively, she nodded shyly and let him lead her—cold hand in his—to a "quieter" seat still stained with blood… with two corpses nearby.
Petyr nearly choked on fury.
This wasn't provocation. This was humiliation.
I'm still standing right here, you bastard.
But… what could he do?
In the end, he sighed, folded his arms, and dropped heavily into the seat opposite them.
"Say what you want, Ser Lyn."
He had figured it out. Lyn was putting on this entire performance because he wanted Petyr's help—and Catelyn was the leverage.
Catelyn, meanwhile, looked confused. She didn't understand the tension between the two men.
But… did it matter?
Lyn's face alone was enough reason for her to sit.
Petyr grew even more irritated seeing the dreamy look in her eyes.
Still, he wasn't panicking.
Once Catelyn learned about Ser Lyn Corbray's… preferences, she wouldn't be smiling like that.
…Probably.
---
"Over a month ago, at Heart's Home, I received word from the Red Keep," Lyn said at last. "I am to don the white cloak and serve beside the king."
"My father was overjoyed. He gave me our family blade, Lady Forlorn, without hesitation."
"That is the highest honor," Petyr said smoothly.
"It proves your excellence and noble character have been recognized by the Iron Throne!" Catelyn added eagerly. "Just like my uncle Brynden!"
Both men glanced at her.
Neither had mentioned her identity—yet she'd practically revealed it herself.
They both chose to ignore it.
Lyn shook his head. His lazy smile held unmistakable arrogance and ambition.
"Since I was sixteen, no one in the Vale has been able to stop my blade."
"Heart's Home. Gulltown. Even 'Bronze' Yohn Royce fell to my sword."
"Yohn Royce?!" Petyr couldn't hide his surprise.
That was one of the Vale's greatest warriors.
"Do you not wish to join the Kingsguard?" Petyr probed carefully. "If you don't want the vows—no marriage, no lands, no heirs—I can't help you."
"No."
Lyn's voice turned playful again, calm yet burning with ambition.
"Marriage? Boring."
"Lands? I have an elder brother."
"Heirs? I hate children."
"The vows don't matter to me."
His voice sharpened.
"But I refuse to be just another nameless Kingsguard."
He sat straighter.
"Even in white, I will surpass Ser Lance Lot."
"I will be the greatest."
"I will be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
Shock filled the room.
Petyr swallowed. "Even the Regent Lance Lot didn't start as Lord Commander. You'd need achievements…"
"I've already found my achievement."
Lyn's eyes locked onto him.
"Now… I just need a few helpers."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"And when this is done… perhaps even you can achieve your 'heart's desire,' Petyr Baelish of the Fingers."
(Special thanks to Winscore52)