Chapter 106: Petyr Baelish
Petyr Baelish stood on the deck, staring indifferently at the path ahead. The mist over the sea gradually dissipated as the Mayflower cut through the grey-green water, sailing steadily forward. As a row of jagged rocky ridges rose from the sea, the massive form of the Titan of Braavos entered his field of vision.
This stone fortress of a man had stood here for centuries, his legs straddling the gap in the ridge, each foot planted upon a giant rock of the same black granite as the reefs—perhaps carved from the living mountain itself. A skirt of green bronze plates hung about his loins, a bronze breastplate covered his chest, and a plumed bronze half-helm sat upon his head. His flowing hair was made of hempen ropes dyed green, and his eyes were two caves where great fires burned. One hand rested upon the ridge to the left, bronze fingers gripping a massive boulder; the other reached toward the sky, clutching the hilt of a broken sword.
The Titan of Braavos—likely the largest anthropomorphic statue in the world. Even setting aside its military function, it was a magnificent sight. But Petyr did not linger on it. This was not his first time in Braavos. In fact, his own great-grandfather had been a Braavosi sellsword. It was only after that sellsword's son—Petyr's grandfather—swore fealty to House Corbray as a knight that House Baelish officially joined the ranks of the Westerosi nobility.
To commemorate the place where his great-grandfather was born and learned the art of the blade, his grandfather had chosen the head of the Titan as his sigil. How ironic: he chose the Titan as a sigil, yet why could he not produce descendants as grand as the statue? If he hadn't been born so small and frail, how could he have been bullied from childhood into adulthood, and saddled with the nickname Littlefinger?
"Littlefinger," he mused. Heh. Catelyn was the first to call him that. Only the Seven knew how much he loved hearing it from her lips. Those were beautiful, warm times, but unfortunately...
Petyr shook his head to cast out the memories. He knew full well that no matter how tall or grand he might have been, the moment he decided to challenge Brandon Stark for a woman, he was destined to fail. It had nothing to do with stature or martial skill; it was determined by class. And a man cannot choose his birth.
He never dwelled on meaningless things. Rather than sentimentality, what occupied his mind day and night was trying to figure out exactly who was working against him in the shadows.
If the Last Words of Ser Hugh written on those slips of paper were the hammer that shattered his ambitions and plans, then the person holding that hammer truly terrified Petyr. They had left no trace from beginning to end, yet at the most critical moment, they had struck his pressure point in the most lethal way. Not only was his reputation ruined, but all his contingency plans had been dismantled piece by piece.
...
Yes, Jon Arryn was his doing, but the original plan wasn't supposed to go that way. He had initially intended to lure Cersei into poisoning the man. But that stupid woman failed to act even as Lord Arryn prepared to reveal the truth to Robert, arrest her and her brother-lover, and mobilize six kingdoms for a total war against the Lannisters. It was only then that he was forced to play his trump card, Lysa, to clear the path for her.
A step later, and the Lannisters would have been crushed by the old man of House Arryn, unable to rise for decades, and Westeros would have known peace after a brief conflict. It was a pity Jon Arryn never realized his wife spent her nights dreaming of another man... for that alone, the man's death was not underserved.
...
Yes, Ser Hugh was also his doing, meant to serve as a smokescreen for Eddard Stark's investigation and lead the trail back to the Lannisters. The execution was simple: first, goad Robert into knighting the boy out of respect for his years of service to the late Hand. Next, arrange for the young man to come into a small fortune through certain means, giving him the equipment to compete in the tournament. Then, whisper a few words into Cersei's ear, making her believe Hugh might know of her special relationship with Jaime...
Finally, at Cersei's request, a slight manipulation of the tournament brackets, and the deed was done.
Everything was so easy. That fool Cersei was hooked with just a little prodding, actually sending out Gregor Clegane—a man with Lannister practically tattooed on his forehead—to finish the boy. This way, Petyr didn't even have to waste his breath; that thick-headed Northerner Ned Stark began suspecting the lions all on his own.
The plan hit a few snags, but it was largely proceeding smoothly. With just a little more nudging, the conflict between the Lion and the Wolf would have ignited. He would have acted according to the situation: kill the muddled King Robert, let the Baratheon brothers fight amongst themselves, and ensure the six kingdoms couldn't unite... then back whichever side looked to win. His grand plan to rise through the chaos was on the verge of officially unfolding!
But the sudden appearance of Ser Hugh's Will destroyed everything. Those notes were absolutely not written by Hugh. After arriving in King's Landing, he had never once had a tryst with Lysa; even their last few secret discussions were conducted late at night through hidden passages, avoiding everyone. It was impossible for anyone to have seen.
Who was it?
Cersei and Ned lacked such strategy and guile. Pycelle was merely the Queen's dog, useless for anything other than acting important. Renly was muddled and knew nothing. Stannis was already preparing to call his banners to settle the Lannister rebellion and become the heir to the Iron Throne; if he had known anything, he never would have watched Jon Arryn die... Could it be Varys?
For reasons he didn't fully understand, the Spider seemed to share his desire to keep the Lannisters from being crushed too early. When Jon Arryn and Stannis began investigating Robert's bastards and the parentage of Cersei's children, Varys—who had discovered it even earlier—had actually provided the intel to Cersei. From that point until Jon was poisoned, the eunuch had been feeding Cersei information.
Undoubtedly, the Spider was his superior in terms of information gathering, but... the poisoning of Jon Arryn was handled solely by himself and Lysa. They used no helpers. If Varys had discovered it despite Petyr's precautions, then he was a god, not just a Spider and a eunuch.
Instinct told Petyr it was unlikely to be Varys, but after much agonizing, he decided to settle the score on the eunuch's head. Aside from Varys, he truly couldn't think of anyone else in King's Landing capable of destroying his plans with such a vicious, pinpoint strike. Whether he was right or not, a visible enemy was much better than an invisible, mysterious opponent.
The Vale of Arryn was supposed to be his ultimate trump card and a refuge if things failed; now, with the Bronze Alliance's uprising, it had become a deathtrap he could never enter. The only thing to be thankful for was that this situation had unexpectedly freed him from house arrest and given him a chance to escape.
They had locked him up for so many days, only to send him back to borrow more money from the Iron Bank? These damned Great Lords... their contempt for him remained as steadfast as ever.
Regardless of who won or lost this war of rebellion, Westeros was now an exceptionally dangerous place; he could never return. As for the Iron Bank's money, no sane person would try to swindle them. Fortunately, he still had a secret asset in Braavos. The money from its sale would be enough for the rest of his life, provided he could shake the two shadows Robert had assigned to escort him and flee the city. With the Iron Throne's current finances and Ned Stark's limited connections, they could never afford to hire anyone to hunt him down and extradite him.
As for what comes next—whether he spends the rest of his life in obscure humiliation or finds a powerful leg to cling to for a comeback—that was a story for another time.
Viserys Targaryen seemed like a good option, though reports suggested he wasn't particularly bright, and his current location was unknown... Wait, he would think on these things once he was settled. For now, he needed a vent for the resentment of seeing all his life's work go down the drain. Varys seemed desperate to maintain the peace of the Seven Kingdoms; since the eunuch had become his chosen imaginary enemy, then regardless of whether he spread the rumors or not, he wasn't going to have an easy time.
The method? Since he had been brought down by rumors, he would return the chaos in kind to the enemy who toppled him!
...
The wind and waves pushed the Mayflower forward. The ship approached the Titan smoothly and swiftly, the seawater churning into white foam. The giant's shadow loomed over them, blotting out the sun—they had entered the harbor of Braavos.
Petyr Baelish halted his thoughts and turned with a smile to face the two attendants Robert had sent to escort him. "The one paying back the debt in the future is His Majesty, but we, the representatives sent to borrow the gold, are the ones who get to be lords. By custom, the Iron Bank will have already prepared lodgings for us. The women of Braavos are world-famous; we might not afford the highest-tier courtesans, but those a step below are no problem. Since we're here, we must not miss out. I shall cover all expenses. You two have worked hard on this journey—enjoy yourselves."
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