With his brother's victory and crushing of The Mountain, the triangular castle of Riverrun suddenly seemed brighter and more spacious. The maple sugar scent of the Godswood was also invigorating, and the patch of ground stained red with blood had transformed the trout into adorable red-spotted carp. Viserys rushed over, overjoyed, to embrace his brother, tilting his head and planting a loud kiss on his cheek.
The Crown Prince's breathing was uneven, his ivory skin flushed from the intense fight. He scooped up his younger brother and, amidst the enthusiastic cheers of the audience, kissed him back without any hesitation.
Everyone watching thought, Even though they are twelve years apart, what a dazzling and loving pair of brothers. The Crown Prince loved Viserys very, very much; it was almost like a father-son relationship. Some noble boys had children at thirteen or fourteen, right? The Crown Prince was twenty and still unmarried, with no heirs. Loving his only brother so much was perfectly normal!
Robert, sitting to the side, couldn't help but think of his own two brothers. Stannis certainly didn't act like this when I was in the jousts. He thought, displeased, Perhaps, one day, Little Renly will love him as Viserys loves his brother.
With the dust settled, Viserys finally had time to pay attention to Petyr. In the next match, he watched Brandon Stark quickly appear on the jousting field. He was full of spirit, and a pale blue silk handkerchief was wrapped around his wrist. Viserys immediately guessed the source. Poor guy...
Petyr's duel with Brandon was set to take place on the riverbank outside the lower corridor of Riverrun. Just as it was in the original story, every detail remained unchanged. Petyr asked Catelyn for a token, but she refused. She tied a handkerchief embroidered with a leaping trout to her fiancé's arm, telling him that Petyr was a foolish boy and that she saw him as a brother. If he died, she would be saddened.
Brandon's gray eyes gazed at his beautiful, sorrowful fiancée. He promised her he would win, and removed most of his armor to show fairness.
It was a one-sided massacre. Petyr, frail and never having received formal knightly combat training, was constantly pushed back by Brandon's attacks, driven onto the waterside platform. He was covered in shallow wounds, yet stubbornly refused to yield.
Hearing this, Viserys became even more interested, "And then?"
Stark's attendant was happy to tell the young prince what he had seen with his own eyes: Brandon Stark finally ended the duel with a non-lethal heavy blow. The boy, Petyr, had his chest armor and leather slashed open, and blood gushed from his rib area. He fell into the shallows of the Riverrun river, calling out Catelyn's name before passing out.
Catelyn didn't respond to him, not even looking at him anymore.
Her sister, Lysa, ran over, wailing. The arrogant and conceited youth didn't die and was carried away by the attendants to be treated in his room.
Viserys happily gave the live broadcaster a Silver Stag. He had made up his mind and returned to the arena, watching his brother's matches with a light and joyful heart.
In the jousting competition, the Crown Prince's black helmet was tied with silver and red ribbons, dancing in the air as he rode. No one could touch him. In two rounds, he unhorsed Brandon Stark, who had made it to the finals, and won the championship in Viserys's enchanted gaze.
Before the true dragon, the others were nothing but dust. He thought again. But at this moment, a detestable speck of gray dust, Robert Baratheon, sat down beside him.
He wore a moss-green velvet coat and cloak, with a golden stag head brooch pinned on it. His blue eyes filled with regret as he touched his still-bandaged arm, smacking his lips, "Your brother took care of Gregor Clegane today. That was a beautiful fight."
Viserys glanced at him, offering a polite, "Thank you."
"How's your dislocated arm doing?"
Viserys immediately grew wary. "You want me to continue as your squire?"
"You are! Hey! I'm telling you, you don't have to travel until your injury heals. We'll head north during Winter, and you'll see sights in The North you've never imagined. And we'll winter in Winterfell before heading back when the roads are clear in the spring."
Viserys didn't object. He also wanted to visit Aemon, a member of House Targaryen, at The Wall – the White Walkers shouldn't be around yet, right? But the Greenseers and the Children of the Forest… would there be a chance to meet them? I could even change Jojen Reed's fate, he thought. Was he even born yet? Would he be a handsome young man? A childhood fever, right? Penicillin would cure it, no need for any other powers to interfere. Technology versus magic, the Starks forbid cheating!
"Tell your brother I'll take good care of you this time," Robert said. "Haha, I'm getting betrothed too! Maybe we'll hold a tournament at Storm's End, and I'll have a chance to face your brother then!"
Viserys's resentment didn't lessen one bit because of his current friendliness. Lyanna... Viserys was determined to win her for his brother, and Robert's demeanor, as if the marriage was already a done deal, only made him more alert. He ran through his plans in his mind, over and over – Will my brother go mad when he marries Lyanna? Will he demand a duel with his brother?
This bastard. Viserys thought angrily. My brother has such swordsmanship, the only reason he would die in a duel at the Trident would be one thing. My brother didn't go for the kill, facing this murderous fiend...
He routinely cursed Robert. He also secretly cursed the Starks, father and son, for being blind enough, or perhaps malicious enough, to choose a philanderer like Robert as a son-in-law and brother. He thought they were just trying to band together to oppose the royal domain.
After the day's tournament, Riverrun hosted a grand banquet for the victor, Prince Rhaegar. As for the injured in the tournament, the organizers naturally took responsibility for them, arranging them in the city and sending healers to bandage them one by one.
All the knights who could move attended the evening feast. Countless candles lit the hall as bright as day. Dishes were carried to the long tables by servants: wine, mushroom and potato stew with lamprey and lobster, honey-glazed salmon and cod, crab and scallop pies, oxtail soup, cheese and baked apples, creamed quail, and peppered boar – Viserys knew at a glance which ones his brother would like.
But as a prince, he must be mindful of his appearance. His brother sampled everything placed before him, his expression mild, betraying no particular preferences.
Then there was Robert – gulping down golden wine, chewing on his favorite boar meat – greasy and unsightly! That was why he would become a fat, pot-bellied man before he even reached forty. Anyone who married him must be blind.
Viserys slowly finished the soup in front of him and whispered a few words to his brother, saying he was full and wanted to go for a walk.
The Crown Prince affectionately stroked his cheek and nodded in agreement.
Viserys left the hall of Riverrun, reached the main castle balcony via a winding staircase, and then, with the help of a servant, easily entered a room.
The atmosphere here was a stark contrast to the lavish reception for the nobles. A few servants stood with their heads bowed in silence. Before, the Tullys had indeed treated Petyr and their own children equally in terms of material provisions, providing him with a full suite of attendants. Viserys looked at the unconscious boy lying in bed. The wound on his ribs had been bandaged by the healer, but he was running a fever, his face flushed, and he was constantly muttering.
Viserys had come to talk to him, and this state wouldn't do. After thinking for a moment, he took out a small vial of penicillin he carried with him. He told a servant to fetch water, pinched Little Petyr's nose, and forced him to swallow it.
What were the effects?
Black technology drugs were like a bug in this world. Viserys, who had verified it many times, was pleased to see that before a short candle had even burned down, Little Petyr's breathing became even, the unnatural redness on his face faded, and then, his gray-green eyes opened.
Little Petyr's blurred vision gradually focused. When he saw the handsome Targaryen prince sitting at the head of his bed, supporting his chin, his mind was momentarily blank and confused. What was going on? He remembered his defeat in the duel—the shame and the pain of losing his love struck him again. He gasped, stumbling as he tried to get out of bed.
"Hey, wait a moment. I didn't spend a vial of royal medicine just to watch you fall and tear your wound open again!" Viserys said, dissatisfied.
Little Petyr was helped to sit up by a servant, leaning against the bed. He licked his lips, which were dry from the fever—"You… thank you."
"No need. What's your personal servant's name? Whatever it is, have him take the others to the banquet. They've set up food for the servants over there. They can enjoy it. As for you, have them get you a bowl of oxtail soup from the kitchen. I just had some, and it's not bad."
The Crown Prince was bossing everyone around the room, and Petyr instantly understood he was trying to get rid of them. He weakly waved a hand, and the servants retreated as ordered.
"Your Grace..." the injured man said again, expressing his gratitude, "Thank you for coming to see me..."
Viserys looked at him. "Because you are a man of courage, and I admire that. Petyr. In my opinion, you are far superior to the big, dumb oaf who will inherit Stark's lands."
Petyr was shocked, then gave a miserable laugh, his eyes still vacant and pained. Viserys decided to be blunt.
"But that's just the way the world is right now. The Starks, the King in the North, anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, even if the male heir is a crude, stupid, lecherous man, he can easily get everything because of his status: wealth, fame, and a beautiful, virtuous wife. This wife even has to accept her husband having a bunch of bastards outside of their marriage—and then give birth to a few more boys or girls for him, the next generation of heirs, who, even if they repeat the foolishness of the previous generation, will repeat the same life in a luxurious castle. That's the reality."
Petyr's pain was more obvious, and there was something unwilling in his gray-green eyes.
"Petyr, or, Littlefinger, I've come to ask you about your plans for the future," Viserys said, his purple eyes fixed on him. He had spent a vial of penicillin on this man, and he was determined to get what he wanted.
"The future...?"
"You're running a fever and injured, probably lacking energy, so I'll speak for you. I think you're smart enough to have already figured this out," the Crown Prince said, speaking rapidly.
"Please..."
"You have two paths before you. The first isn't very good. The Duke of Tully already dislikes you because of the challenge you issued to Stark at the banquet. He thinks he's indulged your ambition, letting you dream of things you shouldn't have. I imagine he's deciding whether to cast you out, his foster son. And Catelyn... she begged Brandon not to kill you, saying you're her brother, that she'd be heartbroken if you died—"
Petyr abruptly lifted his head, "She..."
"Don't delude yourself. You're injured and unconscious; she hasn't come to see you, and she won't have any further contact with you. Because in her heart, her husband, her fiancé, is the most important thing. When she tied her embroidered handkerchief to Stark's wrist, she already decided to distance herself from you. She was standing beside her fiancé in the banquet hall just now, and I imagine they're dancing now. Don't deceive yourself, Petyr; it's all over."
The thin boy's face grew even paler, his fingers clenching the bed.
"I see her sister, Lysa, looking troubled, secretly wiping away tears. It's for you. But, given the Duke of Tully's character and the way of the world, unless you convince Lysa to elope with you, there's no chance of you two marrying."
"I won't... with Lysa," Petyr rasped, "I don't love her."
"I appreciate you more for that. Now, don't try to console yourself by mistaking Lysa for Catelyn in your grief. Because I'm certain that won't end well. Once you get involved with Lysa, you'll be swiftly kicked out of the castle, sent to the countryside, or... you'll go home, and take up some idle position in a remote place."
Petyr was silent, he knew that Prince Viserys was right.
"However, you now have a second path, Petyr. This second path will bring infinite possibilities—you know what I mean, right?"
"You... you want me to go with you?" the man in bed said weakly.
"More or less, I'm still a page, I can't take you with me. But if you're willing, I'll recommend you to my brother, Crown Prince Rhaegar, and ask him to take you back to King's Landing. I'll ask my brother to give you a suitable position—I also need someone to manage my affairs in King's Landing, and you're a good choice. My brother loves me very much and is always accommodating! As for what you can achieve in the future, I can't guarantee it now. But you should know that neither my brother nor I are bound by a person's birth. Do you know Duncan the Tall? He was born in Flea Bottom, yet he became a close friend of Aegon V and eventually became the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He was one of the seven members of the Small Council. He was a trusted minister of the King, whom the nobles of the whole country and the dukes of the Seven Kingdoms had to look up to and weigh. Our standard for appointing people is the same as Aegon's, only two things: ability and loyalty."
The young prince spoke at length, and Petyr only felt a dizzy spell in his head. Go to King's Landing? Become a person by the Crown Prince's side?! He knew what this meant—
The charcoal in the fireplace was burning, and the scent of maple sugar accumulated in the Godswood for several long summers seemed to gradually dissipate with the flames. This familiar smell, Petyr's eyes flickered with countless memory fragments: They were playing in the forest, a bright maple leaf stuck to Catelyn's crimson hair, he raised his hand to take it off for her—maple leaf-shaped biscuits, made of mud, his most beloved girl giggled, thinking he couldn't tell, how could it be? The marks of her clean, delicate fingers were printed on it, and he was willing to touch them with his lips and teeth, swallowing them into his lungs. Winter was coming, the maple leaves were withered, drifting on the riverbank, following the water, touching his own legs, he was also covered in wounds, facing Stark, desperately waving his sword—
Littlefinger closed his eyes heavily.
Viserys's voice was still soft, as if he were talking to himself, or perhaps a siren luring a fleet: "Do you want to see a new world? Where people rise to the top based on their ability and loyalty? Where hereditary great territories are redivided, and all the finances, armies, and administration of the various kingdoms are placed under a central authority? Where incompetent noble offspring will no longer be so glorious, but rather, downcast?"
Petyr didn't understand some of the terms, but he could guess the general meaning. He licked his lips, slowly raised his shoulders, and bowed to the Crown Prince: "With your favor, I am willing to serve you."
"And my brother, Rhaegar," Viserys reminded him.
"Yes, House Petyr will dedicate its loyalty to Rhaegar, heir to the Iron Throne, and his brother."
Then, he heard the Crown Prince say in a pleasant voice, "Excellent. Then you are my teammate, and for now, a direct subordinate—well, let's discuss the first thing to do. There is a man, and several of his attendants, whom I absolutely will not allow to leave Riverrun alive. What do you think, how can we carry out this assassination?"