The next day, when Tyrion woke up, it was already evening.
He met Petyr Baelish in the "counting house" of a brothel on Silk Street.
Littlefinger sat in a velvet-covered chair, and incense was burning in the room; the cloyingly sweet scent made one feel a bit dizzy. He was wearing a grey doublet embroidered with a silver mockingbird, his hair was combed meticulously, and he looked every bit the shrewd merchant.
"Lord Tyrion." Seeing him enter, Littlefinger rose with a smile. "What wind has blown you here? I heard you haven't been resting well. I shall go arrange for a few of the best girls to keep you company right now."
Tyrion did not sit; he just stood there watching him. In his heart, he couldn't help but complain: why was it that as soon as he arrived in King's Landing, everyone knew what he had done?
However, he didn't dwell on it too much; this was a tradition of King's Landing. He asked straight to the point, "Lord Petyr, I want to know your opinion on this war."
Littlefinger raised an eyebrow and spoke in a leisurely tone, "Opinion? What opinion could I have? I am the master of coin; my only job is to find gold dragons for the King to spend, which, of course, includes you, the hand of the king."
"Don't play dumb," Tyrion said. "You are more calculating than Varys, that spider. Tell me, do you have any 'escape route'?"
Littlefinger looked at him, and the smile on his face slowly faded. He walked to the window and pushed it open. The street outside was empty. Because of the war, the wealthy merchants with connections had long since left King's Landing, and he hadn't had much business lately.
"Lord Tyrion," he said, with his back to Tyrion, "do you know, I have always envied you."
"Envied me for what?" Tyrion was somewhat surprised.
"For being a dwarf," Littlefinger said, his tone devoid of mockery, as if he were truly envious. "Because you are a dwarf, people don't pay too much attention to you. You can hide in the shadows and watch others play their parts. But I cannot. Even though I try my best to hide myself, there are still countless eyes following me."
He turned around, his grey eyes staring straight at Tyrion. "As for the escape route you mentioned, of course I have one. But this route is for me alone to take."
Tyrion looked at him and suddenly laughed. "Littlefinger, you know, people like you are the most pathetic. You spend your whole life calculating, and in the end, you are still all alone."
Littlefinger's smile stiffened for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Perhaps. But at least, I am still alive."
Tyrion nodded and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he stopped and said, "By the way, if you really want to stay alive, stay away from that girl named Sansa Stark."
After the door closed, Littlefinger stood where he was, the smile on his face vanishing completely.
He had indeed gone to see Sansa a few times recently, thinking of using the approaching Targaryen to instill fear in her, so that she would rely more on him, making it easier for him to take her away in the future.
However, he found that although the little girl appeared to be very frightened, he couldn't sense any genuine fear from her at all. Now that Tyrion had brought up Sansa, it forced him to consider whether the Lannisters had already given her some sort of assurance.
After leaving Petyr's brothel, Tyrion hurried off to see Sansa without delay. He walked through the corridors, climbed a flight of stairs, and arrived in front of a door in Maegors Holdfast.
Two Lannister guards were standing at the door; seeing Tyrion approach, they immediately straightened up.
"Open the door." Hearing Tyrion's command, they hesitated only slightly before opening the door to let him in.
The room was somewhat dark now, with only a single candle lit on the table for illumination. Sansa Stark was sitting by the window, gazing out at the night. In the two days since Tyrion arrived in King's Landing, her life had not changed at all.
Jeyne Poole still came to keep her company every day, bringing her food and telling her news from outside. But her desire to see Viserys grew stronger with each passing day.
Last night, Sansa had a dream. She dreamt she was standing in the crypts of Winterfell, and her father, Eddard, was standing before the statue of Aunt Lyanna, looking back at her.
"Will you forgive me, Father?" she asked in the dream.
But Eddard did not answer, just looked at her quietly. Then she woke up with a start, and the sky outside was already bright. The first thing she did upon waking was to push open the window and look toward the Blackwater Rush. Every time she saw the Three-headed dragon banner, her heart would inexplicably race.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, Sansa thought it was Jeyne bringing dinner. She turned her head, only to see Tyrion. Sansa couldn't help but step back, watching him warily. She knew Tyrion, the Lannister Imp; what was he doing here?
But she still composed herself and bowed to Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion."
Tyrion walked up to Sansa. It was his first time seeing this Stark who had been imprisoned in King's Landing ever since Eddard died. He felt that her face looked very much like a young Catelyn Tully, and her auburn hair, draped over her shoulders, made her face look even thinner.
"Miss Stark, I am very sorry about what happened to your father," he said.
But Sansa did not speak, her eyes merely reddening.
Tyrion continued, "Do you know what is happening outside? Viserys has returned to Westeros with the Targaryen army; you should know what this means."
Sansa finally spoke. "There is a blood feud between the Targaryen and the Stark."
"Yes," Tyrion said. "So, if they attack, you will die."
Sansa was silent for a moment, then said, "I know." What she knew was that she would not die at the hands of the Targaryen, but she could not speak of Arya.
Tyrion looked at her and asked, "Are you not afraid?"
Sansa thought for a moment, then said with a melancholy expression, "I am afraid, but compared to dying here, I am more afraid of never seeing my family again."
Tyrion was stunned for a moment, then laughed. There was a hint of bitterness in that smile, as well as a trace of admiration. None of his family members were like Sansa, not even Jaime, with whom he had the best relationship.
He couldn't help but say, "Miss Stark, do you know? You are stronger than I imagined."
Sansa did not reply.
Tyrion looked at her and still revealed his plan. "I intend to use you to negotiate with the North, to have that little wolf quickly take his men and retreat back to the North, to remain neutral. At least for the time being, so that my father's army can return to defend King's Landing."
Sansa appeared somewhat moved, then shook her head and said, "My brother will not agree to this."
Tyrion spread his short hands. "Perhaps, but at least I will try."
He stood up, walked to the door, then turned back and said, "If... if I can survive this, I will find a way to reunite you with your family. Of course, don't think about escaping for now; this tower is guarded twenty-four hours a day."
After the door was closed, the room returned to silence. Sansa sat back on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees and curling into a ball.
She thought of her father from her dream last night, of Winterfell, and of that Targaryen dragon king she had never met. She desperately hoped that he could take King's Landing as soon as possible, and as she thought about it, tears slid silently down her face.
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