Facing Tyrion's self-mocking smile, Leo shook his head.
"You've got me wrong. I don't judge people by their looks. My father taught me that appearance and birth are gifts from the gods—things we don't get to choose. What we do choose is the kind of man we become and the road we walk."
"Some men are handsome on the outside and rotten on the inside. Others look plain or even ugly but have good hearts and honest souls."
"I've heard the stories about you, and now that I've met you, I don't see any 'demon.' From what I know, you carry the Lannister name but you've never used it to bully or lord it over people. That alone puts you ahead of most men in this city."
The words landed. Tyrion paused, a flicker of genuine warmth crossing his mismatched eyes. He wasn't sure if Leo meant it or was just being polite, but it still felt good to hear.
A little embarrassed by the praise—no one ever talked to him like that—Tyrion quickly changed the subject. He nodded at the cup in Leo's hand. "What are you drinking? Mind sharing?"
Leo grinned. "It's not wine, but sure—give me a second."
He stepped back into the building, returned a moment later with a fresh cup of pearl milk tea and a plate of sliced fruit, and sat down again.
"Try it. Pearl milk tea. A drink from my homeland."
Tyrion took the cup without hesitation, drank deep, and gave an approving nod. "Not bad. Still prefer wine, though."
Leo laughed. "I've got some proper homeland liquor back at the inn. I'll send you a few bottles."
"Oh? I'll hold you to that."
After that the two of them just talked—easy, rambling conversation about Westerosi gossip, strange customs, and stories from Leo's "homeland." They chatted like old friends who'd known each other for years.
Eventually a gorgeous working girl stepped into the courtyard and shot them both a sultry look. Tyrion slid off the stone bench.
"Neo, this has been a real pleasure, but I can't keep a beautiful woman waiting. And you should probably get back to your own ladies. Not every man gets invited here by the king himself."
"We'll talk again soon."
Tyrion winked, walked over, and slipped an arm around the woman's waist. He looked ridiculous next to her height, but his quick wit had her laughing and leaning into him anyway.
Money and charm made up for a lot.
Leo watched him go, then figured it was time to check on Varyn and head back. He still had an early training session with Barristan tomorrow.
Before he could stand, another set of footsteps entered the courtyard. A man raised a wine cup in greeting.
"Ser Neo, what are you doing out here all alone? Have my girls not been treating you well?"
It was Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself. The man who quietly owned half the brothels on Silk Street. This place was one of his.
Leo knew exactly why the Master of Coin had wandered out here. Littlefinger never did anything without an angle.
Still, you didn't slap a smiling face, and right now Leo needed to stay on good terms with the most dangerous schemer in King's Landing.
He smiled back. "Your girls are all beautiful and very… welcoming. It's just that my father raised me strictly. I'm not allowed to form any special attachments with women of the night. I hope you understand, Lord Petyr."
Petyr nodded, looking impressed. "Your father must be a remarkable man to have raised a son with such principles. I have no doubt you'll make a great name for yourself here in Westeros."
"Thank you," Leo said. "And while we're on the subject, I never properly thanked you for speaking up for me in the throne room the other day."
"Small thing," Petyr replied with a modest wave. "I only said what was fair." Then his tone shifted. "In truth, you and I are the same kind of man."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
Inside he was thinking: Same kind of man, my ass.
Petyr sighed. "To the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms—the ones whose bloodlines stretch back a thousand years—you're an outsider. And I'm just the mocking little upstart from the Fingers, the smallest, poorest scrap of land in the realm. We're not their kind."
"You've heard them call me Littlefinger behind my back. They mock me for coming from a tiny house whose entire domain is barely bigger than a finger on a map. Even after I earned the king's trust and became Master of Coin, it changes nothing in their eyes."
"These people rest on the glory of their ancestors and never lift a finger to earn any of their own. They look down on outsiders and self-made men like us. They see us as a threat."
"Most of the land in the Seven Kingdoms is already claimed. If the king grants you a title and later a holding, you become exactly the kind of rival they fear. That's why they'll try to push you out—exactly like Lord Gyles did."
"Do you really think he objected on principle? No. He saw a foreigner trying to rise and wanted to slap you down before you could get any higher."
"That's why I spoke against him. I saw my own situation in yours."
Petyr's voice rang with righteous anger, every word perfectly delivered.
If Leo hadn't watched the show, he might have actually believed the performance.
Instead he thought: So that's your game—stirring the pot.
Still, some of it rang true.
Leo let a flash of anger show on his face. "I see. I wondered why Lord Gyles came at me so hard the first time we met. He was never interested in honor or tradition—he just wanted to keep the outsider in his place. Thank you for opening my eyes, Lord Petyr."
"But… he's an old, powerful lord with vast lands. What can I do about it? I'd appreciate any advice you're willing to give."
Petyr leaned in, voice warm and earnest. "That is exactly why I came to find you. Since we face the same enemies, we should watch each other's backs. Form an alliance of mutual support."
"What do you say?"