The merchant ship arrived at King's Landing under the veil of a grey morning. Mist clung to the Blackwater Rush, and the sea breeze carried a familiar tang of salt and coal smoke. The city loomed ahead, grim and sprawling, its silhouette blurred by the shifting fog.
Petyr Baelish staggered off the vessel, a wretched shell of his former self. His face was sallow, hollowed by nausea and sleepless nights. His fine robes had become threadbare, salt-stained and soiled, and his gait was uneven, as though he might collapse at any moment.
A port tax official—recognizing him through the filth—rushed forward in disbelief.
"Lord Petyr? Seven hells—what happened to you? You look like you've seen the Stranger himself!"
Petyr didn't waste breath."Don't ask questions. Just get me a carriage. Quietly. No one must know I've returned."
The tax officer snapped to it."Yes, my lord. Of course. I'll arrange it at once."
As the man scurried off to fetch a covered carriage and two guards, Petyr clutched the railing beside the dock, struggling to stay upright. His entire body ached. He felt like a ghost—the kind that wandered back not for vengeance, but to fix one last loose end.
When the carriage finally arrived, he climbed inside with great effort. The guards flanked the vehicle discreetly as it rolled toward his townhouse in the city.
Inside, Petyr seethed.
"Twenty warships—gone. To that bastard Gavin."
He gritted his teeth. The loss of those ships could hang him alone, if Robert learned the truth. But he won't. Not if I act quickly. The Iron Bank's loan hadn't yet been made public. If Robert died soon, the money could simply be redirected to his heir.
Still, there were other threats. Varys, in particular. The Spider's spies might already know he'd returned in disgrace. If they pieced together what had happened in Braavos, it would all unravel.
No, he thought. I won't let it. I won't be cornered like a rat.
His nails dug into his palms as he stared out the carriage window."Success or death. There's no middle path anymore."
His residence was quiet as a tomb. Dust had settled in the halls in his absence, the silence broken only by the echo of his boots on the marble floor.
Once in his chambers, Petyr penned a quick but pointed letter. Then, without pausing, he rang for a servant.
A lean, pale young man entered and bowed."You summoned me, my lord?"
Petyr looked him dead in the eyes."Go to the Red Keep. Find Jaime Lannister. Tell him to come to me—privately. Use the servants' routes. If he refuses... give him this."He extended the letter."Tell him: 'If you won't come, then the truth will.'"
The servant swallowed, wide-eyed."Understood, my lord."He took the letter and vanished down the corridor.
Petyr, now alone, glanced at his disheveled appearance in the mirror.
"This won't do," he muttered.
He bathed, dressed himself meticulously, and trimmed his beard. By the time Jaime arrived, Petyr Baelish once again looked the part of the realm's Master of Coin—refined, calculating, and untouchable.
Jaime stormed in without ceremony.
"How does Gavin Belleris know everything?" he snarled, grabbing Petyr by the collar and shoving him against the wall."Did you tell him?"
Petyr remained composed, even with Jaime's hands at his throat."Easy, Ser Jaime. I'm not your enemy."He gently pushed Jaime's arms down."Cersei received the letter before Jon Arryn died. Gavin's known the truth for months—he used it to nudge us into killing the Hand. Clever, don't you think?"
He extended the second letter toward Jaime."This is from Gavin to your queen. If Robert is still alive a month from now, the King himself will receive a copy."
Jaime stared at the parchment as though it were a snake.
"I won't kill Robert," he said, voice tight with fury. "Cersei and I—we'll leave. We'll return to Casterly Rock."
Petyr's voice was colder now."You think Robert will let you leave, after he learns the truth? He'll raise the banners. You know how he handles traitors. You killed one king already, Jaime. Killing another won't change what you are."
That hit deep.
Jaime grabbed him again, teeth clenched."You bastard. Are you trying to blackmail me into kingslaying again?"
Petyr didn't flinch."I'm trying to keep us all alive. Robert dies, and the Iron Bank's loan goes to the next king. You, Cersei, her children—they stay safe."
There was silence between them, thick and suffocating.
Petyr leaned in, voice low."Arrange a meeting. Tonight. I need to speak with the queen, in person."
Jaime hesitated—his golden hand twitching slightly. A thousand thoughts warred in his eyes: guilt, rage, fear, love.
At last, he exhaled and spoke in a broken voice."Take the secret tunnel by the sea. I'll inform her. But listen well, Littlefinger—if you play me false, I'll cut you down myself."
Petyr's smile didn't reach his eyes."That would be most unwise, Ser Jaime. But I'll take your warning seriously... as I always do."