The world was a jape, one person’s comedy and for others a farce. It laughed at men who tried to be better than they were taught. A babe’s birthright was destined from which wench’s legs he squirmed through. It had taught him no bastard or lowborn could contest for their liege lord’s chair, forget the seat of the Seven Kingdoms.
There was a time when Petyr Baelish was fool enough to believe that. He used to picture the blood of the gods in their veins, bright and gold in shade. But he knew men now. He lived with their vices, read their secrets, saw through the paragons of virtue they carefully canvassed themselves to be. Some men were good, most rotten.
Petyr was under no illusions. He was no good man… but good men make bad kings.
Fuck what the world thinks of mockingbirds, he thought, as he saw the Iron Throne welcoming him, empty save his crown. Rains pattered on the swords, on the floor of the empty and roofless Great Hall. The winds were howling now that the roofs were bare, but Petyr felt no cold. Only warmth.
This time there would be no Robert, no Joffrey, no Cersei and no Varys to stop him.
This was for all the maesters, the lords and commonfolk who kept alive the lie, who kept faith in gods and unwritten rules, who stripped anyone that tried to make the climb of support. He would be an ugly blemish in their minds, he thought, chest swelling with pride. He had spent his life tolerating his emotions and suppressing his ego with the purpose in mind. Now that he was triumphant, and his enemies were ashes, he allowed himself the second of pride.
It could have been the howling winds, the deafening rain, or maybe Petyr’s pride cost him his senses, but when he heard the quick scurrying of steps, it was already too near.
Agonizing pain shot through his heels, making him fall. Quick, my dagger, he thought, reaching for his sheath. A flash of white, another excruciating yell, and the fingers that had reached for his blade were afire with pain. Petyr tried to get up, to cry for help, but the growls of the direwolf kept him frightful. If the rains were not pouring on him with such ferocity, he would have fainted.
“You should have accounted for Ghost,” a voice screamed from the howling winds, the voice he knew too well. “I don’t need my household guard to kill your watchers.”
Sansa… again. He had tried all he could. He had won her the war at Winterfell, kept Brynden Tully alive and would offer her the chance of being Queen. He feebly turned in the direction of her. “Why?” was all he could say. Why do you not move the way I want you to?
“Remember what you said to me at the Twins?” she said, in eyes and tones without remorse. “That Cersei Lannister was your enemy, and you must keep your enemies close.” She paused. “The night you betrayed the Tullys was when I knew what I had to do. You were too clever, you had your fingers in every pie. You have to be stopped. You would kill Cersei, sure, but you would also kill Daenerys if she had won, or me if I did not act according to your wishes.”
“Kill you?” he said indignantly. “Tell me one thing,” he said, trying to etch hate on his eyes. “I freed you from Joffrey. I killed Lysa Arryn for you. I won you your home. I offer you my heart, and you commit treason? What could I possibly owe you now? What can make you so fucking ungrateful?”
Petyr hoped that his show of emotion would make a difference. Sansa was unmovable. “All you did was for you,” she said simply. “You didn’t offer me a heart. You don’t even have one.” She removed a blade. “I passed the sentence,” she began.
Petyr had to use the last throw of the dice. “Listen to me,” he said urgently, hoping she would believe him, “I know where Arya is. Your sister is alive. Do you want to see her again?”
He expected another snappy reply from Sansa, and the silver blade to scythe him. His claims were, without context, absurd, but he could feel he had grabbed her attention. He looked into her eyes. It is the truth.
He heard another pair of quick feet.
“Listen to yourself, would you?” came Sansa Stark’s voice.
There was a flash of silver, and all became black.
*
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