Chapter 12

Clark ran a hand over his beard, or whatever he could grow in the past three weeks. It wasn't enough to fool a close look, but he figured he looked different enough. He was above deck on their small ship, The Bottom Eel, trying to feel the last bit of sea wind before they docked. The ship was pulling into the natural harbor of Gulltown, the city laid out behind. The stonework wasn't as bright as White Harbor, but it was older. The First Men built this place, according to what he read.

He felt a movement to his right. Renei had joined him at the railing, looking out at her former home. There was no melancholy or regret in her face. Her eyes seemed to shine a little brighter actually.

"Do you recognize it?" asked Clark, his voice muted.

She snorted. "I was fourteen when I left. Not two. Course I recognize it."

"Good."

She checked their surroundings. The sailors were running about, preparing the ship to dock and very disinterested in the two travelers. She leaned against the railing, lowering her voice to match his. "You wanted to find the customs house?"

Clark nodded.

"Well, make sure you don't look too excited. It's the one passing right in front of us."

Looking as casually as he could, Clark saw a great stone building ahead of them across the docks. It covered the width of the stone walkway, with the front side of the building blending seamlessly into the sea wall. Traders and travelers would enter from the docks into one of two archways, declare their merchandise and pass through to the rest of the stone harbor walkway which opened up to the town.

"Is the man you're looking for in there?" Renei murmured.

"I don't know for certain."

"What did he do to you?"

"He has something that was stolen from me. He bought it from the thief."

Renei tucked a strand of hair under her head scarf. "What was stolen?"

"Something from my mother." Clark delivered the line with a gentle, yet firm dismissal he'd practiced beforehand. It worked too. Renei looked back toward the approaching dock without another word. He breathed easily. Compared to her, he was a terrible liar.

Back in White Harbor, upon learning from the captain that he only had one available cabin and sensing that he wouldn't give it to an unmarried couple, Renei, without blinking an eye, introduced Clark and herself as Garrel and Clare Batler. She said it effortlessly, affecting the same demure demeanor Clark had seen from the maids at Winterfell. She even took his hand easily, as though they've been holding hands for years. Whether or not the performance truly worked, the captain let them onboard, having heard what he needed to hear.

When they were alone, as soon as the cabin door closed, Clark rounded on Renei.

"Is there anything else you'd care to tell me about myself so I won't have to hear it first when everyone else does?" he whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "I thought you didn't want to be noticed. You need a common name right when you enter the boat that will take you to the city where you don't want to be noticed. It starts here, you idiot. I thought that was your plan. I thought you didn't speak so they wouldn't hear the accent. Did you not?"

Clark sighed. "Aye," he admitted. "I didn't."

"Well, I'd keep being a mute if I were you. No strange name. No strange voice. Don't need to talk to be the town scribe."

"Town scribe?"

She placed her bag down next to the bed. "Or whatever new trade you want. Just something that will keep a curious man away from the library or whorehouse in the future."

Clark didn't have a response to this and she dropped the conversation. They didn't say another word to each other until after supper when they were preparing for the night. In fact, Clark took Renei's advice to heart and didn't speak to anyone. She was right. He noticed his voice had been taking on Northern hints lately, but it was still disconcerting to anyone who heard him speak for the first time. They didn't need the attention.

He took one of the pillows and tossed it to the cabin floor. Renei stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you the bed," Clark said quietly, sitting down and taking off his boots. He didn't trust that these walls were soundproof.

She shook her head disbelievingly. "Get in."

Clark stood, placing his boots to the side. "I told you I don't need you for a bedwarmer."

Renei rolled her eyes. "We're not going to fuck. But you're not going to able to sleep on the floor. It's too hard. I don't need you more pissy cause you didn't sleep. Now, quit being stupid and get in."

He hesitated, giving just enough space for Renei to sigh.

"Look," she said. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm the one who needs a bedwarmer. These blankets are thin and I'm freezing. So get in."

Suppressing both annoyance and a mild amusement, Clark removed his trousers and got into bed. Renei curled against him. Not another word was said. True to their agreement, they didn't have sex that night or any other night on the voyage. They didn't even talk much.

Maybe we really are like an old married couple, thought Clark, more than once during the trip.

The ship docked and they were the first passengers down the gang plank. Renei had spoken to the captain yesterday and learned he was shipping out of Gulltown back to White Harbor the day after tomorrow. They paid in advance for the cabin again, getting his written guarantee for it.

They traversed up the dock, Clark pulling his hood up to keep eyes off, but nobody seemed to care. The merchants, sailors and fishermen among others were too busy going about their business. In fact, it was actually Clark who couldn't stop staring at them. He grew up near a fishing town, but most of the business was belly up by the time he was born. Not this place. Gulltown wasn't the biggest port city in the Vale for nothing. They weren't even in the city yet. The market place would be extraordinary.

Luckily he had Renei's presence to keep him moving. She strode right past everything that was fascinating and he kept step. They ventured from the dock onto the stone walkway and headed towards the customs house. There was a huge line of people with carts of valuables. Renei linked her arm through his.

"That's for merchants and traders," she said, steering him away from it. "There's another line for travelers."

They walked past the long line to the much shorter one. They stopped right behind the first black person Clark had seen in nearly a year. He was dressed like he was from one of the Free Cities. In front of him was a fat man in silk and furs. Then there was a couple of sellswords. That was it. Clark supposed there wasn't much traveling for leisure in this time.

The sellswords were producing a contract for the inspecting officer. They were hired by some cloth merchant as he would be going through the mountain road when it opened the following week for travel. Protection from the mountain clans. After swearing that they had no ill intent in the city itself, they were let through.

As the fat man stepped forward, Clark took a good look. Inspectors uncovered baskets, opened caskets of goods, checking to see if they were declared correctly. He heard one merchant objecting quite viciously to the tariff imposed on his produce.

"You got to be fucking joking!"

"I am not joking, and if you don't adjust your tone or curb your language, you will not proceed into Gulltown even with the tariff," said the customs officer severely.

The merchant slammed his hands down on the table and whispered furiously, though Clark could still hear…

"It has risen twice this year already!"

"Tariffs rise and fall due to unpredictable circumstances. We're in the middle of winter…"

"Winter is almost gone! The mountain road will be open next week! You expect me to believe that horseshit? In Gulltown? Where you Valemen are able to trade despite ice storms? Your harbor doesn't freeze over!"

"If you don't control your conduct, I'll be forced to bar your entry…"

"I want to speak to the head officer. Immediately."

The customs officer sighed. "That won't help you."

"Well, you certainly not going to! If Lord Baelish is going to raise the tariff even more this year, I want to speak to him! Man to man!"

Clark's heart began to race. He turned around, thankful that the confrontation was drawing multiple curious eyes, not just his own. He heard the customs officer sigh and leave for the stone stairwell.

He felt Renei's hand tug his arm. The fat man had been waved on and the Essosi was now being questioned. They moved forward. He tried to keep calm and his eyes averted, keeping his ear open for that oily accent…

"What seems to be the trouble, my good man?"

And there it is…

His hands were trembling and he clenched and unclenched them to stop it.

"The trouble, Lord Baelish, is this damn tariff!" said the angry merchant. "This is the third time in the last year it's been raised."

Clark made sure he was absolutely calm before raising his head and looking toward the future Master of Coin.

Petyr Baelish was missing the silver in his hair, his clothes not quite as fine, his face was thinner than he remembered. However it was still the same Littlefinger. He had the goatee, the sycophant smile and the same piercing eyes.

"I'm aware of that, my friend," he said. "I assure you I've kept it as low as possible for as long as I can, but now it is unavoidable. The tariff you see this morning is the original amount the Lords of the Vale wished to impose from the start of the year. However I persuaded them to let me increase the tariff price gradually as to not disrupt your trade. I've saved you as much coin as I was able to this year, but alas the time is nigh and the full tariff must be paid."

"Horseshit, Lord Baelish." Clark saw the merchant resisting the urge to strike Littlefinger. "The tariffs were never this high, not even in the worse times. Is the Vale even in need of an increased tariff?"

"There was just a rebellion, my good man."

"On the other side of the fucking kingdom! Gulltown still looks intact. So do the rest of the ports down the Narrow Sea. I'm edged to leave your city and your fucking tariff and sell there instead!"

"A right you certainly have," said Littlefinger, not losing one bit of his smile. "I wish you fortune, my friend, in selling your goods in the other port cities of the Vale and where else. Is there another market nearby as big as Gulltown's, where you could sell so much in one place? Before your produce is spoiled? Perhaps you could sell bit by bit at every village along the coast."

The merchant looked furious but said nothing. Littlefinger placed his hand on his shoulder, dropping his voice. Clark had to strain to hear it.

"I understand that an unforeseen cost is never welcomed and you are a regular trader to Gulltown, so I will lower your tariff this time. Not to the previous price, of course. Just enough to soften the unwelcome news. Will that be satisfactory, my good man?"

Clark felt a pull on his arm from Renei. The Essosi man was walking away and it was their turn. They moved forward to the inspector at his desk. With a great reluctance, Clark pulled away from Littlefinger. He had confirmation that he was here. Now he had to get into the city itself.

"Good morning, inspector," Renei said, warm as a saint.

The inspector nodded. "Morning, madam. What are your names and what business have you in Gulltown?"

"My name is Clare Batler. I'm visiting my mother and family, introducing them to my new husband, Garrel Batler."

Clark nodded. The inspector looked from Renei to him.

"Does he not speak?"

"Unfortunately not, inspector. He's mute."

Waiting until the inspector's eyes went back to Renei, Clark glanced back at Littlefinger, shaking the hand of the merchant, who looked like he had swallowed a whole lemon.

"Your trades?" asked the inspector.

"He's a town scribe and I'm a maid at Winterfell. Lady Stark was kind enough to let me visit my family for a couple nights. I have a letter from her lord husband vouching for me."

Renei pulled the letter from her dress and handed it to the inspector. He barely read it, just glancing at the words.

"Are you staying in Gulltown?"

"Nay, inspector. We plan to be out after two nights on the same ship back North. The Bottom Eel."

Taking one final look back, Clark saw Littlefinger speaking to the customs officer handling the merchant. He patted his shoulder and strode off, up into the stone stairwell.

The inspector folded the letter. "All the way from Winterfell to Gulltown for two nights?"

"Aye, inspector. I only got permission to be away for six sennights. We travel fast on the road but we're pushing our luck already. Two nights is all we could manage."

The inspector handed the letter back to Renei. "Would you open your bags, madam? You and your husband?"

Renei smiled. "Of course." They placed the bags on top of the table and opened them. The inspector went through them quickly, taking a little more time with Clark's bag. Finally he pulled back, sitting back down.

"That's fine. Go ahead."

They exited through the archway, walking along the stone walkway, not daring to stop until they were on the other side of the harbor. Both stopped at the end, taking a moment to breathe freely.

Renei mentioned an old smokehouse that she used to frequent as a child, right around the corner. It was still there, though no one recognized her, much to their mutual relief. After purchasing some smoked salmon, they sat on the edge of the harbor, their feet hanging above the water. The customs house was across from them.

Clark had difficulty swallowing and washed some fish down with water. "The two archways are on the first level. What's above?"

"Quarters for the inspectors. The chancery for them and the officers." Renei tossed some salmon skin into the harbor. A seagull flew down immediately and snatched it. Clark continued to look at the customs house, following the wall of the house as it blended into the harbor wall. The second floor had a few windows, all too skinny. The floor above, the top level, had much larger windows.

"What's on the third floor?"

"That's for the head customs officer. His quarters. His office." She sucked her fingers. "Is he the one who has your stolen mystery?"

Clark shrugged.

"Well, if he has it, it'll be in there," Renei said, reaching for the skin. She took a long draught and stood. "Are you done here? Cause if you are, we should get going."

"I want to take a walk along the city wall."

He saw her biting down a question as he got to his feet and raised his hood. They walked out of the harbor and through the marketplace. It was bigger than the market in Wintertown and even the one in Fairmarket. He and Renei were bombarded on all sides by merchants, with colorful fabrics, spices, fruits and so much more.

Clark kept his hood and his face forward, keeping step with Renei. Though he was very tempted to stop for plums and bloodoranges from Dorne. He hoped that every one of these merchants who called for his patronage quickly forgot him and moved to the next pedestrian. That no one would recall his face.

Despite being the major port in the Vale and the largest city in Westeros that Clark had seen so far, the Northern Gate was an easy walk for them. When they came within sight of the gate, Clark turned into an alley, with Renei following him.

"What?" she asked.

He raised his hand, asking her to wait. There was a group of men accompanying a covered cart coming up the street. After they passed the alley, Clark fell in behind them. He heard Renei shadow him.

They trailed behind the group of men until they reached the gate. As the city guard took notice of the cart, Clark took Renei's arm and stepped away, walking quickly to their right along the city wall.

Neither said a word until they were out of sight, when Renei took her arm from Clark's hand.

"The fuck was that all about?" she said.

"I don't want the city guard to notice us creeping along the wall," Clark muttered. "The first time they see us should when we're clearly leaving the city."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. How long do you want to walk? There's nothing here."

Clark's eyes scanned the walls. "Not too long," he said. "Could we slow down a little, please?"

Her retort was inaudible, but she did slow her pace. They meandered along, Clark taking furtive looks, trying to see options.

The wall wasn't quite as tall as Winterfell's. Renei had told him that the main defense of Gulltown was focused on the Western Gate, with taller, thicker walls for defense against the mountain clans from the high road. Not that any mountain clan had actually ventured near Gulltown in the last few hundred years, but that worked for him regardless. The wall here was not a difficult climb. Patrols had far gaps in between. And no one would be watching for nefarious activity from the north. Only things beyond those gates were peasants and Runestone.

He declared himself satisfied and they turned back to the gate. Clark gave Renei a few instructions and fell silent as they approached.

The guards had no initial interest in two poor travelers exiting the city, but Renei put her best modest self forward and addressed the younger one.

"Good afternoon, soldier" she said, smiling very kindly.

The young man blushed and nodded. His partner looked mildly amused. Both of them didn't look once at Clark.

"Afternoon, ma'am," said the young guard. "How can I…how can we help you?"

"Just a question, really. My husband and I are scheduled to leave on an early morning boat the day after tomorrow. If we arrive the morning of, before dawn, will the gate be open to let us through, or will we have to stay in Gulltown the night before? We want to stay with my family for as much time as possible. But we also don't want to miss our boat."

Though his blushing did not abate, the young guard answered readily.

"The gates close at sunset and open at sunrise, ma'am. But there's always two guards present who can easily open the gate for you and your husband. You two can stay both nights with your family and be all right arriving here before sunrise. I can even inform the morning guard so they know to expect you."

Renei reached forward and patted his hand, curled around his spear. "We would appreciate that. Thank you, soldier." She curled her arm through Clark's. "We'll be off now. Have a pleasant evening."

"You as well, ma'am. Evening, I mean." The guard had such an infectious smile. It was all Clark could do to keep a straight face. He figured the older guard was having the same difficulty as well, but he didn't turn to check. He felt Renei give one last wave to the soldier as they walked on.

They walked to the edge of the forest when Clark stopped.

"Put your bag on the ground and go through it."

Renei stared. "What? Why?"

"Pretend you forgot something and you're looking for it. I need two minutes."

She only took one more second before swinging her bag around and onto the ground. "Fucking hell," she grumbled, but she crouched down and began to rifle through it.

Clark looked back to the city and along the wall, scanning the same section that Renei and he recently walked by on the other side. He saw that the guards were looking toward them. He gave a short wave which the young guard returned, before scanning the wall one more time.

"Are you done?" asked Renei, from the ground.

"Yes," he said, looking down at her.

"Good." She reached up and held up her purse, in sight of all who were still watching them. Placing it back in her bag, she stood.

"Now can I go and see my fucking family?"

Clark nodded and began walking. Their journey was not difficult at all. Maybe it was because the road led straight to Runestone and Lord Royce insisted on it, but the road was well maintained. The forest opened up after a mile or so, leaving them to hike alongside a river coming down from the mountains.

Renei was very quiet, which wasn't unusual for her. She had barely said a word to him during their entire journey. Partly out of anger. Partly out of fear. He could sense her nerves increasing as they neared her family. She left years ago, feeling that she would never see them again. He wondered how many of the girls in that Wintertown brothel had family that they could never return to. If they had any family at all.

Clouds covered the sky, turning the sunny day into an overcast one. Renei shivered.

"Are you cold?" asked Clark.

"If it means you ask no more questions, then yes, I'm cold."

He didn't respond or say anything else for the rest of the walk. Finally, at a bend in the road, she stopped.

"It's just around there. Or should be at least."

Clark waited, as Renei took a deep breath.

"All right. Fuck it all." She placed her arm through Clark's and they walked forward, turning the bend.

Before them was a mill and a small cottage attached to it. A stout woman sat outside the house, shelling peas. Her dark hair was tinged with grey streaks. Clark felt Renei stiffen, but she kept walking. As they got off the path and walked toward the cottage, the stout woman looked up.

"Afternoon," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Can I help yeh?"

Renei extracted her arm and moved forward.

"Hello mum," she said quietly.

The woman stilled; her hands frozen with the pea shell. She dropped it in the basket and stood, staring at Renei.

"Clare?"

Renei nodded. "Aye," she said, her voice breaking. "I've come to visit."

Nobody moved for a beat, before her mother strode forward and hugged her fiercely, Renei reciprocating immediately.

"Oh gods, Clare, you're home," the mother moaned, as an enormous smile spread across her face. Renei gave her a squeeze before letting go.

"Only for a couple nights, Mum. I don't have much time, but I wanted you to meet my husband."

"Husband?" The mother's eyes found him at last. Clark walked forward and extended his hand. She shook it, in a daze.

"New husband? Clare, this…this is your husband?" she said, looking back and forth between the two.

"Aye, his name is Garrel Batler. That's my new name now. He's a town scribe." She placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "He's also a mute."

Her mother looked at her surprised. "A mute?"

"Aye, but don't let that keep yeh from talking to him. Doesn't stop me. He can hear perfectly and he makes good coin. He's kind, mum." She stepped between them. "Garrel, meet my mother, Marya."

The surprise from Marya's face faded instantly and warmed as she regarded them. "Well, Garrel, welcome to the family! It's so good to meet you. Thank you for escorting my daughter home."

Clark nodded, trying to keep his breathing steady. This was so much more awkward than he had anticipated…

He found himself being led into the cottage to sit down at the table. Renei remained standing as Marya stepped up on the stairs and hollered into the attic.

"Anna! Come on down. Your sister's come home to visit!"

Footsteps pounded the ceiling as Anna came rushing down. She looked thirteen or so, with the same curly, raven hair. When she saw Renei, she stopped short, staring at her. Renei strode forward and hugged her and after a second, Anna hugged her back.

The next hour or so was a blur to Clark. Renei's last family member, her brother, a lanky raven-haired fifteen-year-old named Lucas, came bounding in from the mill where he had been working. Both Lucas and Anna took right to Clark, his apparent muteness not a burden for them at all. They asked him yes or no questions and proceeded to embarrass Renei with memories that she swore they were too young to remember. They even showed him the mill, which was restored after Renei left.

Afterwards, Anna went to prepare supper and Lucas and Renei joined her, leaving him alone with the mother.

"It was truly Clare who saved us from ruin," said Marya, as she patted the wheel in the river. She turned back to Clark, who stood pensively listening. Renei was in the cottage with her brother and sister.

"I don't know how much Clare told you about what happened. My husband and I lived in this place for years. It was his family's. They were all millers, but his father had left the place in ill repute and condition. My husband…his passing was ill-timed. All he saved to repair the mill was now for us to survive with no income in the house. Lucas was too young and I couldn't look after them if I worked. Clare left to earn coin. Months went by and I thought she'd just run off."

She laughed dryly. "I didn't blame her. I knew it was a great burden. But she sent back coin. More coin than I ever expected, had I expected anything.

"I learned later when she wrote, that she'd convinced Lady Stark to give her an advance on her wages. She sent most of it to us. I don't know what she lived on, but it saved us. Allowed us to keep our home, repair the mill. When Lucas was a young man and I could finally work, we began to mill ourselves. It took time to build, but we're finally living on our own. All thanks to Clare.

"She still sends us coin. I don't know why. I've asked her not to." She smiled at Clark. "Maybe as a husband, you can put your foot down."

Clark raised his eyebrows at that.

Marya laughed. "I suppose not. Come on, we should go help."

It was nearly dark as they returned to the cottage. Renei was sitting at the table with Lucas, while Anna was finishing the potato stew. She regaled them all with tales of the Stark household and Winterfell in general, including details that she should not have been privy to. Renei must have questioned every Winterfell worker and soldier that came her way. Gathering anything to sell her story.

Clark sat next to her and remained quiet. They ate well that night, with the stew, peas and fresh warm bread. Renei laughed and smiled for the whole night. He wondered how much of it was real. Most or all of it? As the evening progressed, he was tempted to say all. However, there was moments that brought him back to reality; an affectionate squeeze on his leg, the way she'd lean into him as she laughed, and the look of love she gave when she told the story of how they first met.

It was a masterful performance. He could see fear in her eyes occasionally, but only because he knew the truth.

She knew her limitations too. She answered questions and spoke of her work as a maid, but turned the conversation around on Lucas and Anna frequently. Clark learned more about her family than he ever expected to, how Lucas had a sweetheart in town who worked in a bakery and how Anna liked to sing. How Marya spent the first few years without her Clare…

The conversation lasted a while, and while Clark was enjoying it, he knew he had a job to do. He felt a yawn coming and did nothing to suppress it.

"Are you tired, Garrel?" said Marya. Clark nodded. "Well, you should head to bed at once. You two will be here for another day. You can sleep in my bed upstairs. Lucas and Anna are up there as well."

"Where are you going to sleep, Mum?" asked Anna.

"I can sleep down here, lamb. I've done it before…"

"Mum," said Renei. "You should stay in your bed. Garrel and I…we'd like to sleep in the mill."

Clark was relieved. She remembered.

"Whatever for, Clare?" said Marya.

Renei gripped Clark's hand. "We just want a bit more privacy. We're trying, is all. I mean, I…" She smiled in embarrassment, something Clark had never seen before. "This time of the month's the best for me, at least that's what the maester says…"

"Oh, oh!" said Marya, going a little red in the face but looking very happy for them. Lucas seemed a little confused. "Of course, Clare. You and Garrel should…but the wheel, lamb. Won't it be too loud to sleep after?"

Renei shook her head. "Not at all. Besides we don't want it too quiet, do we? Lest Lucas and Anna hear us in the night…"

Lucas looked mortified and begged his sister to stop, while Anna and Marya started laughing. Clark forced himself to smile.

Soon after, Clark brought a candle into the mill and over to where Renei laid. There was a thin pad that Lucas brought over, averting eye contact as he said goodnight. That with some blankets and two pillows that Anna and Marya insisted they take and they had a perfectly good bed for two nights. Her family bade them goodnight and went back to the house.

Setting the candle down, Clark lowered his trousers. The belt was wrapped around his thigh, along with the sheathed knife. He removed the belt, pulled his trousers back up and wrapped the belt around his waist. Then he dug into his pack. Toward the bottom, he had placed the dark navy cloak he'd purchased in Fairmarket over a year ago. The inspector hadn't gone near it in his search.

Renei laid with her back toward him. She didn't make a sound. He blew out the candle and sat on the pad next to her, waiting. How long would her family take to fall asleep? He estimated at least a half hour went by before he got up and went to the door. Inching it open, he looked toward the house. No candles burned upstairs and the glow from the dying embers in the kitchen revealed no movement. It seemed that no one was awake.

He looked back toward to Renei, who laid still. Whether she was asleep or not, he didn't bother to check. The wheel creaked a little every few seconds. He timed it, waited for the opportune moment and then opened the door, with the wheel masking his exit. Closing the door behind him, he walked quietly but quickly. The river seemed louder at night. It covered his footsteps as he came upon the path, striding south for Gulltown.

The overcast day had bled into a cloudy night. There was no moon to light his path and the stars were few and far between. He proceeded as quickly as he could, but he was a lone traveler at night. He couldn't be too careful.

Fortunately, three miles on a proven path is not a horrible distance. After a little more than an hour, he saw Gulltown in the distance, with the torches at the northern gate as a beacon. He stopped and went straight into the woods. He gave thanks for the clouded night, certain that no guard could see him at this distance. Progressing through the woods, he stepped carefully, becoming silent in his approach. He was tempted to leave the cloak, but he was managing it well enough.

When he came to the edge of the forest, he looked over to the guards. They weren't even looking toward the path. Just conversing easily with each other. Clark went a little further along the edge, looking for the spot he saw earlier…

There it was. Straight ahead with enough rough spots for climbing, it was about two hundred feet east of the gate. That spot also coincided with a good landing spot on the other side. At least if his estimations were correct…

He gave one last check to the guards and snuck across the grass, keeping low. He reached the wall and stretched himself across it, trying to calm himself. He was trembling, his breath coming in nervous hitches.

In on four…hold for four…out for four…come on Tiresias, breathe…

Feeling his chest loosen, he turned his ear toward the northern gate. The guards were still chatting at the gate, their voices indiscernible. However, the wall curved and he was out of their sight. Turning toward the stone, he gripped his first ledge.

Climbing on a moonless night. All right, let's go.

It was actually easier than he anticipated. He'd picked a good spot and even with the unnatural boost in his abilities, the conditioning and exercise for the past several months were the main factors in scaling the wall. The hardest part was keeping quiet and more than once, he suspected that he kicked the wall too hard getting a footing. But no one came from the gate.

Upon reaching the top, Clark pulled his head above the edge and looked around. No patrols in sight. He pulled the rest of himself over quickly and steadied. He was still panting slightly, when he headed to the other side and looked down. The street was empty. A single lantern was hanging in the window of a building down the way. It illuminated the wall enough for him to see a way down. Not wasting any time, he swung over and scurried down, jumping the last ten feet, landing softly.

He made his way down to the harbor, keeping to the side streets, marking his progress by the main road he and Renei took that afternoon. As he neared the harbor, his way became more crowded, even in the side streets. Sailors, laborers and off-duty soldiers were drinking and whoring, their night just beginning. It was a strenuous task to avoid them. In one instance, he had no cover from an approaching group of loud, singing seamen. His knife was hidden behind his back and he affected a stumble, becoming a fellow drunk as opposed to a hooded, malevolent stranger. It must have worked. He passed by the group, receiving a cheery pat on the back from one of them.

The stone walkway surrounding the harbor was empty. At least, all who were staying by the waterfront were indoors. In their taverns, their inns, their boats. It was still quite cold, the winter not quite over yet. Breathing in the cool air, Clark took the side streets again, not wishing to stride out in the open. The moon may be covered, but light from the establishments faintly illuminated the stone walk.

Clark stopped at a corner and peered around. He was fifty feet from his goal, the stone face of the customs house that plunged straight down into the harbor. The archways were gated and bolted. The second floor of the customs office was aglow and filled with conversation. Perhaps not as boisterous as the taverns, but people were still awake there. No one seemed to be at the windows though…

Checking the opposite way for any onlookers, Clark strode quickly to the stone wall. He reached it and groped the other side for a hook. He found one for his hand, then his foot…then for his other hand. Gripping his ledges tightly, he swung himself to the stone face, from the stone walkway, finding a ledge for his remaining foot. Hanging out of sight above the water.

Well, mostly out of sight, but no one was walking down the edges of the harbor at the moment. He breathed easily, rested for a few seconds on the wall, before beginning to boulder to his right. There were two windows on the top floor. He just had to reach the first one. When he was far enough along, he began to scale the building. He reached the second floor, resisting the urge to use the windows as ledges. He kept far enough away from them, even though they didn't look like they could open. He hoped that the people inside didn't hear him scurrying on the stone.

Looking up, he cursed silently. He was off from his mark by a few feet. It took longer than he wanted and he began to feel the strain in his arms. However he corrected his course before his arms started shaking and continued up.

His fingers gripped the ledge of the window. Even though it was dark from the inside, he refused to relax. He couldn't screw this up now. He pulled himself up and peered in. It was dark, but it didn't seem like a bedroom. There was a desk and chairs with several bookcases. Petyr's office…

Clark pulled himself onto the ledge. It was wide enough for him to sit and he panted in relief, looking down at the water below. His heart was pounding. Three seconds went by before he shook himself. Petyr could be back at any moment. He couldn't delay.

The window was locked on the inside by some metal latch. Clark gave it a slight push and it gave a little. There was a slight gap between the window and the frame.

He unsheathed his knife and placed it in between that gap, dull edge up. It was a little snug but it got in far enough and he could place it right under the latch. Clark breathed and lifted the knife slowly, with a little pressure.

The latch moved slightly, but it was still caught. He added a bit more pressure, careful not to lose his balance on the ledge.

The extra pressure did it. The latch lifted and Clark had to catch his knife from going too far up. He tried pressing the window in to no available. It would need to swing out. He shifted himself as much to the edge as he dared and tried to get some grip on the window to pull out. It took a few tries, but finally he was able to get the window open enough to move his whole hand in and swing it open.

He assumed that since no one came from the other room that he was safe. He crawled in from the ledge, planting his feet firmly on the office floor. He took deep breaths. It seemed a whole night had gone by since he was securely grounded. After that slight elation, he pulled the window shut and latched it again. Then he turned to observe the office.

The lack of moonlight didn't deter him. Perhaps he was used to the dark. Maybe improved sight was another one of his dormant abilities. He didn't pause to ponder it further. He could see that there was another door ajar; the room which the second window looked into.

Going to the door, he pressed his ear against the gap. No snoring, no breathing from anyone. He sniffed. No lingering smoke from an extinguished candle or fire. Finally he opened the door to confirm what he already suspected. No one was here.

For a man who dreamed to sit on the Iron Thorne one day and bring ruin upon his enemies, his beginnings were humble enough. Just a wardrobe, chest, with a small mirror and a washing basin on a table by the window. The only gregarious thing in the room was the enormous bed. A little large for an unmarried man. Though he supposed Petyr was still a lord. It was also raised a little too high for his liking.

Closing the door to the spot where it was previously ajar, Clark stood trying to decide how to do this. His knife was still in his hand. The space behind the door looked tempting. He went to stand there, raising the knife, holding for a few seconds before relaxing.

Okay. This is it. This is the spot. He'll come in. I'll stab. Go for the throat first so he can't yell. Okay. Okay…

He didn't know how long he continued to stand there, though probably not more than for a few minutes. It was unnerving and he began to entertain thoughts like Petyr would be elsewhere all night. Maybe this isn't really his bedroom. Maybe…

His thoughts froze as he heard footsteps coming up the hall, toward the office door. More than one pair.

Without thinking about it, he crossed to the bed and crawled under it. A key was inserted into the lock. He scooted toward the head of the bed, where he wouldn't be seen from above. He pulled his cloak to him just as the office door opened. Looking at the partly closed door, he saw dim candle light spill through the gap.

"Take this and light the two candles in there," said Petyr, his oily voice combined with a desk drawer being unlocked and opened.

The door to the office opened with a creak and Clark saw a blue dress illuminated with candleglow move to the table with the basin, then to the bedside table. She lit the two candles, before setting down her own, casting the room in a warm, soft light. Clark saw Petyr come into the room, his boots clacking against the floor. He sat down on the bed. Thankfully the bedframe was strong and Clark's hiding place was not disturbed.

"Begin," he said.

The lady tapped a foot and tutted. "Payment first, m'Lord."

Lord Baelish gave a chuckle with no joy in it. "You are a business woman, aren't you?"

She gave her own humorless chuckle. "It is my business, Lord Baelish. Mine to give. I say a man pays first. Prince or pauper alike."

Coins clinked as they passed from Lord Baelish to the woman. She deposited the coins.

"All right. Now you can give me orders."

"I am a Lord, wench. I could end you; you realize."

She laughed. "I'm sure. But then I'll be gone." She lowered her voice, as though privy to a conspiracy. "There's no other whore in Gulltown that fits what you want, dearest Petyr."

Silence fell in the room. Clark laid still, hoping they wouldn't sense him. He also swore that the woman just shifted her accent. Finally Petyr spoke.

"Begin."

The dress crumpled to the floor and she kicked off her shoes. She walked over to Petyr.

"Blow out the candle there," he said. A puff of air and the room grew a little darker. Clark exhaled silently, reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that he was going to bear witness to this. At least Sansa had a whole tower between her and Baelish when he fucked Lysa. He settled in and tried not to groan.

Petyr was kissing this woman aggressively; he could hear it. He removed his clothes and boots, leaving them on the floor as they crawled into bed. Clark heard a sucking noise and just when he thought that was the most awkward thing he could possibly hear…

"Caaattt," Petyr moaned. "Gods, Cat…"

Clark was already still but that froze him even more. The bed above him creaked as they both shifted their weight.

"Turn around. On your knees."

The creaking began to take on a steady rhythm. Clark used the creaking to cover unclasping his cloak.

Petyr continued for several moments, moaning every so often the name that had infatuated him ever since he was a boy.

"Cattt. Caaatt…"

Dust sprinkled down from the bedboards. Clark covered his mouth and stopped a sneeze.

He realized that he'd been clenching his knife hilt so hard, his hand hurt. He flexed his fingers, trying in spite of everything around him to relax. He did his mom's breathing exercise again…before realizing he didn't want his mom anywhere near this.

Thankfully Petyr finished. He moaned Catelyn's name one last time before falling on top of the woman. The creaking creased and was replaced by Petyr catching his breath. No one in the room moved for a minute. He finally heard a pat and the woman got down off the bed. She walked straight to her dress, picking it up and putting it on, before stepping into her shoes. No further words were exchanged before she left and closed the office door behind her.

Petyr stayed on the bed, still breathing loudly. Clark had a moment of panic as his hand appeared below, groping for something, before finally landing on the chamber pot. Clark gritted his teeth, preparing for the worst and that happened. He heard the urine hit the chamber pot. A minute later, it was placed back under the bed. Thankfully this one had a cover, but the smell still hit him.

He kept still though and quiet. Petyr exited the bed and went to the basin. Clark focused in on himself during this. Petyr will do what he will before bed, but he had to be ready.

During his trek from Moat Cailin to Winterfell, he made his first kill. He drew a trap that Dallan had showed him and snared a rabbit. The rabbit looked at him with dark fearful eyes and it took everything he had to kill it. His hand shook, but he did it in one strike.

His hand was trembling now, the same nerves plaguing him. Petyr was done washing himself. He had donned a nightgown from the wardrobe and climbed into bed. The final lit candle was carried from the basin to the night stand before being blown out. Littlefinger climbed under the covers, releasing one last sigh as he sank into bed.

Clark didn't strike right away. He wanted the man asleep and defenseless. He did his breathing technique to steady his nerves. To cease his trembling. Why he was comfortable associating his mom with Petyr's murder and not with his whoring, he did not care to answer.

He had no idea how long he waited. It'd been ages since he had hid under a bed. Not since he was a kid. For hide and seek. Not for this. He never expected his. He didn't want to…

Ned Stark. The War of the Five Kings. The Riverlands. Ros. Sansa.

The names and things he reiterated in head during moments of doubt. Just a mantra. Not shouted in anger or in judgment. He didn't expect to enjoy this, but he could not allow Petyr to become what he would become. Not allow him to seize power. Not allow him to play his games…

A light snoring interrupted his thoughts. His hand gripped the knife. It was time. His trembling had ceased. That didn't mean he felt good about what he was about to do. His breath was coming in hitches.

He turned toward the side of the bed sans chamberpot and began to crawl out as quietly as he could. It took a minute, but without disturbing the snoring, he was out from under the bed. Slowly he stood and turned toward the bed, knife in hand.

Petyr was sleeping on his back, still snoring lightly. Clark rolled up his sleeves. There was a spare pillow next to him. He reached for the pillow and picked it up. It brushed the arm of Petyr lightly, causing him to stir.

He opened his eyes slightly, not quite focusing on anything. Clark stood frozen, before Petyr's eyes began to narrow on him.

He slammed the pillow down on Petyr's face and stabbed the side of his neck with the knife. A muffled, gargled attempt of a scream came from the pillow. It was a horrid noise. Clark could feel the blood running over his hand gripping the knife. Petyr's arms were still trying to fight but were slow from sleep. Clark twisted the wound so that blood squirted onto the bed and less onto him. He stabbed Petyr again, whose wheezes were growing fainter and fainter.

His arms raised for a final feeble effort before falling to his sides. Clark kept the pillow where it was, breathing heavily all the while. Finally, after a solid minute of Petyr being still, he lifted it.

Well aware of the blood dripping from his hand and blade, Clark crossed to the basin, his arm outstretched. He dropped the knife into the basin and lowered his hands, turning the clear water red. The blood was still warm…

Once he was certain that his hands were well rinsed, he strode back to the bed and wiped his hands on the clean part of the sheets. Realizing that blood was probably dripping down through the bed frame, he crouched down, moving the chamber pot to get his cloak and then moving the pot back.

He stood and stared at Petyr lying motionless in the bed. He reached for his wrist, careful not to touch any blood and placed two fingers on the artery. There was no pulse. Littlefinger was dead.

He retrieved his knife and wiped the blade on the sheets, sheathing it before walking out of the room. He closed the door behind him. He moved to the office door and listened. No one was there. He was tempted to sneak out through that way, but he remembered the bolted archways and he didn't know another way out of the customs office.

Save one, of course. Striding toward the window, he opened it and climbed out. Resigned to just one piece of evidence that he was here, he left the window open and lowered himself to his fingertips. He began to climb down. After considerable effort he reached the bottom and crawled around the edge to the harbor stoneway before the arches.

The taverns were quieter now, his presence more ghostlike than it was before. He began walking to the side streets before realizing his final task. He strode back to the water, unsheathing his knife as he did. Without a second thought, he tossed the trusty blade into the harbor. More out of paranoia than anything else, he removed his sheath and tossed that in too.

He didn't wait to see them sink before turning and walking away, the customs house looming behind him.

The moon was peeking through the clouds now, illuminating the forest path ever so slightly. Clark trudged on in a daze. Getting back to the Northern wall, over it and onto the forest path were hazes in his mind.

He knew that once he was alone and under some dim firelight from a window, he checked himself for blood. His clothes, his hands, his boots. Nothing he could see, but one never knew. Perhaps there was a trail of blood all the way from the customs house through the town over the wall and he'll awake the following morning to the city guard, pulling him in for murder. He could be hanged before the next sunset.

Clark, Jesus Christ, relax. This isn't CSI. They're not going to put in that much effort. They can't. You have an alibi. Witnesses. You were miles away from the murder. You weren't there! You're not a murderer! You're not! Jesus Christ, you're not!

He stopped to breathe deeply, but he couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his face. He could hear his heart pounding. As loud as it was when he stabbed Petyr…

Clark swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn't regret what he did. He just didn't like it. Not at all. And now he could no longer say that he would never do something like that. It was just…just…

He cried silently for a few more moments, before wiping his face and moving on. He walked a mile more alone with his thoughts before rounding the bend and seeing the mill.

Coming to the door, he waited for the creak of the wheel to let himself in and close the door.

Renei was still there, lying on her side. Clark unclasped his cloak, sitting down on the pad and sighing quietly. He then took off his boots, placing them near their bags. Turning around, he stilled. Renei was looking at him, her eyes shining in the darkness. Clark relaxed.

"Anyone come in while I was away?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "No, everyone's still asleep." She propped herself up, looking at him.

Clark rubbed his face and began to undress.

"Did you find your mother's stolen item?" she asked.

He tossed his trousers to the floor and removed his shirt, before sitting back down. "No."

There was no response from her. Clark tried to tell himself to lie down, but his body just wouldn't obey. He trembled.

"Are you cold?"

"Yes." The lie came automatically. His voice didn't even seem like his own.

"You're never cold."

Finally his body listened and he stretched out on the pad, pulling the blankets over him. He felt Renei's eyes on him.

"Are you all right?" she asked. The tone of her voice was different than anything he'd heard from her before. He turned over to her, meeting her eyes.

"Thank you for coming with me." He sank into his pillow. "I'm glad you're here."

She still looked at him. He closed his eyes trying to find some sleep, only feel her hand graze his cheek. The floor creaked and he opened his eyes to find her sitting up.

"I think..." She stopped and started again. "I think we should take one part of this lie and make it real. Lest my mum sees clean sheets when we leave."

Clark propped himself up. "So…the time to get pregnant is nigh?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. It's not. I lied about that. Besides, I have moon tea in my bag. I don't want children. Do you?"

He shook his head. She lifted her shift and crawled on top of him. Leaning down, she kissed him, her hand reaching down to stroke him. He responded on pure instinct; his mind numb…

By the time she stopped kissing him and sat up, he was fully erect. He barely had time to breathe before Renei put a hand over his mouth.

"Careful. Remember, you're a mute."

By the time they were done, Clark had nearly forgotten what else he'd done that night. He laid with Renei curled up next to him as he drifted off to sleep. He wondered how much she meant of what she just did. Whether any of it was real. Whether he wanted it to be real.

Despite not doubting what he did or why and believing wholeheartedly that murdering Petyr Baelish would benefit Westeros, he couldn't help but hope nothing that had happened this night was real.