The Braavos merchant ship cut through the mist, the towering Titan carved at its prow seeming to mock Petyr Baelish as he lay limp on the deck. The guards and Braavos sailors who had been given their instructions had all jumped ship, and the order to use violence against him had come from Lothor, a man he had once trusted.
The Titan had once been the sigil of House Baelish, until he changed it to the Mockingbird. Littlefinger had climbed higher than every generation before him. He had overestimated himself and tried to reach for the blade at the very peak of power, and in the end, he had fallen the hardest.
"Sansa... Ca... Cat..." Littlefinger's vision blurred. The beautiful auburn-haired girl before his eyes turned into Catelyn. How hard it had rained that day. Catelyn had rejected him and given Brandon her handkerchief as a token. It had been pale blue, embroidered with Riverrun's leaping trout. Littlefinger had begged bitterly, but Catelyn had not cared and never looked back. And that traitor Edmure, Edmure had actually become the Wild Wolf's squire.
Brandon the Wild Wolf strode forward, his longsword growing more vicious with every blow, driving Littlefinger back again and again. His assault was fierce, his blade falling like rain. Littlefinger stumbled, covered in wounds. Then Brandon struck back with a savage slash and cut him straight to the ground. That pain, that pain was something he would never forget for the rest of his life.
But Brandon's face soon shattered into fragments and changed into another face, the mocking eyes of the Storm, black-haired and blue-eyed, a warrior even more violent than the Wild Wolf. The Storm laughed, striking with heavy fists and a heavy sword, and the Storm's blows smashed him into a mass of pulp.
Then the faces of Brandon, Catelyn, Edmure, Cersei, the Imp, and the others surfaced one by one from the darkness. Together, they laughed at Littlefinger.
"Fool, you idiot."
"Fool. You are a fool," Eddard Stark cursed, his stern long face filled with anger.
"No!" Littlefinger fell into endless darkness as everyone reached out and shoved him over the edge of a bottomless cliff.
Come back, come back. Littlefinger wanted to call his Oswell back, but the old man would never return.
"What in the world is going on?" Sansa Stark asked, still shaken.
"The world holds many lies, and many truths as well. As for Littlefinger, most of what he says is lies. Think of the troubles your father suffered. I remember he went to see your father many times. It was Littlefinger making mischief in the middle of it all. Otherwise, you might already have returned to The North. And after he came out of the Black Cells, he threw himself in with Cersei Lannister and even helped introduce Janos, the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, to her."
"I..." Sansa wanted to cover her face in shame. Her father had been right about everything, but she had not believed him then. Her father had delayed their return home because of Littlefinger's warning as well. Joffrey was no knight from a song. He was a demon.
"If you want to go home, come to the Godswood tonight."
"That parchment?"
"It could only work in the Godswood. Everywhere else in the Red Keep is watched by Varys's little birds. Littlefinger calls them rats. Only the Godswood is different. There are no walls there, only trees. No roof, only the sky. Roots, soil, and stone stand in for the floor, and rats have nowhere to hide. Rats need places to creep through, or everyone will shout and beat them to death," Lothor explained. "As it happened, Littlefinger knew a ground route out of the Red Keep, and that came in useful."
"You are tired, Lady Sansa. Go rest. We will return to Gulltown first, then take you to your brother and mother," Lothor said.
The little boat had vanished completely into the vast waters. Soon it would become sparks and smoke, while Oswell would disappear back into the clamor of King's Landing.
"What about him?" Sansa asked Lothor, glancing at Littlefinger, the fool lying unconscious and convulsing.
"You are free, my lady, but a girl from a good family like yours should not watch such bloody work," Lothor Brune told Sansa. "The Storm ordered that he live until The Eyrie, but he never said how he had to live."
"Mm." Sansa nodded. There was not the slightest pity in her heart.
Yes, Petyr had taken a great risk to save her. But why? For love of her mother? Out of pity for her?
Yet Petyr, beaten as he was now, was still one of King's Landing's common two-faced men. On one side, he was gentle, kind, and amusing, and he wanted to play the rescuer of a fallen girl. On the other, Sansa could not forget that sly Littlefinger. Littlefinger was not her friend. He was a minister of the court in King's Landing, a man who whispered in Queen Dowager Cersei's ear while lightly stroking his beard, his words sweet as honey and filled with plots. When Joff bullied her, it had been the Imp who helped her. Littlefinger had ignored it. When the white knights beat her, the Hound never touched her, and Ser Arys even apologized to her. But Littlefinger had never lifted a finger for her before this.
Sansa looked at Petyr. He did take me away, she thought. But that was all he did. She had thought it was the drunkard's idea, the poor drunken old fool, but Ser Dontos had only been Littlefinger's puppet.
"Are you one of the Storm's men?" Sansa asked Lothor. Then she threw off the cloak around her shoulders, the thick cloak marked with the Mockingbird sigil, and it fell onto the deck.
The deck rolled beneath her feet, as if the whole world were swaying. Everything that had happened today was far beyond what Sansa, a young girl, could have imagined. Aunt Lysa, Littlefinger Petyr, they had all become captives of the Storm, trembling in its palm. A fiercer, more terrifying Storm.
"Yes, the Storm. Prince Gendry. I have always been his man." Lothor nodded, then handed Sansa his own cloak, a thick one, though somewhat worn.
"I'm tired." Sansa did not refuse and wrapped the cloak around herself.
Ser Lothor led Sansa below deck. The room Littlefinger had prepared for her had clearly taken some effort.
The room was low and small, but at least a feather bed had been laid over the narrow wooden planks, piled high with thick furs, making it seem somewhat comfortable.
"Look, it's cramped, but it's warm. There are new clothes inside. Clean and warm, at least." Lothor pointed to the cedar chest by the window. "Please forgive me. I still have my own work to do."
"Thank you, Ser," Sansa said quickly.
Lothor glanced at Sansa. "Remember to change before you leave the ship. You're going to see the King, and perhaps your great-uncle the Blackfish as well. You should know your courtesies. You are a proper young lady. It's a pity you ever came to King's Landing."
Sansa nodded. King's Landing felt like a nightmare, a dream she could not wake from. Fear crept over her only now. Princes and knights in fairy tales were not like this. Reality was more like a dark, heavy nightmare.
"The Storm. Will the Storm see me?" Sansa asked Lothor.
"Yes. Stormhammer, Breaker, Breaker of Chains, King of the Two Cities, the Stepstones, and the Iron Throne, Prince Gendry."
"What does he look like? Is he like Lord Renly?" Sansa asked with sudden excitement. The Storm was his title. Could he be a knight out of legend?
"Renly is his uncle, so I suppose they look somewhat alike. But the Storm is taller than his uncle, and stronger. I've heard that Renly is a traitor, and nothing but a pretty face." Lothor glanced at the girl. She really was still a little girl, a child who loved to dream.
People said northerners were cold and hardy, but this child did not seem much like a Stark. She seemed more like a Tully.
Lothor left the cabin, leaving Sansa to her fantasies.
Sansa opened the cedar chest. Dresses, underclothes, stockings, a cloak, everything was there. They were all wool and linen, not fit for a beauty like her, but at least they were clean and warm.
"Gendry. Storm." Sansa lay down on her small bed, murmuring the name.
Sansa lay there turning the thought over and over. If the strongest knight in the known world smiled at her, she would run into his arms at once. Gendry. In her mind, Sansa pictured a young, handsome face, coal-black hair, blue eyes, a man taller and stronger than Renly, yet just as beautiful.
What did it matter if he was a bastard? King Robert had acknowledged him, and besides, he would become the richest and most powerful King in the world. True, he already had a betrothed, the most beautiful maiden in the world. But Sansa measured herself against that and thought she was a beautiful maiden too.
"If only I could marry the Storm," Sansa imagined. The Storm would take her hawking, or the two of them would watch tourneys together in a garden while singers played the harp. Once I bear him a son, he will fall in love with me. I will name them Eddard, Brandon, and Rickon, and raise them to be as brave and strong as the Storm, and to hate the Lannisters. In Sansa's dream, her children were just like the Storm, and among them was even a girl who looked like Arya.
The only thing that troubled her was that the young, graceful, valiant face belonged in another girl's arms.
Lothor climbed back onto the deck and looked at Littlefinger, curled into a trembling heap of flesh. A pitiful man, a beast of power, and now power's defeated loser.
"Look at this man. He is nothing more than an ordinary minor lord, yet all he wanted was to climb higher. He made his way upward by crawling through women's beds, a low little man."
"And even a lowlife like that still betrayed his own benefactor. Hmph."
"Once he is delivered to Gulltown, your task is finished," Lothor told the Sellsword guards.
The men nodded, then made room for Lothor.
Lothor smiled proudly. He had already given these Sellsword guards some gold in advance, and once the task was complete, he would give them more. After that, they could stay or go as they pleased. Did the King of the Twin Cities, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, lack such wealth? They were meritorious men of the Storm, and once they reached Gulltown, they would be rewarded again.
The two or three Sellsword guards were very satisfied. For secrecy, Littlefinger had brought very few men this time. They were stabbing their employer in the back, yes, but the wealth they would gain was greater still.
They had served Littlefinger for golden dragons, so naturally they would betray Littlefinger for golden dragons as well. Besides, once the Vale was exposed and the lords learned of Littlefinger's affair with Lysa, the Vale would change. Littlefinger would become a weed without roots.
"Do you know why you lost?" Lothor looked at Littlefinger, who was twitching in pain and unable to speak.
"Others have gold, and you have gold too. But you have only gold, and that isn't enough. Power is power, Lord Littlefinger," Lothor murmured. "Under the sun, no shadow can hide."
The ship sailed toward Gulltown, as if it were any ordinary day.