Playing the game

After a day of not being tormented by Joffrey, surprisingly, Sansa Stark attends an awkward dinner with Cersei and her younger children, Myrcella and Tommen. Petyr has been teaching Sansa for a few weeks now and told her to show him what she's learned. Surprisingly, it worked somewhat in getting Joffrey off her back, since she started to learn how to divert his attention and cruelty to others. It was hard at first for her to have someone else suffer for her, but after she did the initial step, it got easier. 

Petyr praised her for her unwillingness to do it, but still managing to force herself to go through with it. It proved that she wasn't yet falling like the other depraved lunatics in King's Landing, but also her willingness to survive and be smart, finally. He told her that she didn't have to change all that much to survive, just create a front or an image and then play that image with everyone. The image was her cover, her shield and while the image lived, her true self could hide. 

But Petyr also told her that this wouldn't protect her forever. She needed to use the cover as a means to improve her position. With power came freedom. And only the most powerful could ever hope to drop some of the images they portrayed. 

"When will Joffrey and Sansa be married?" Princess Myrcella asks her mother after an awkward amount of silence. 

"Soon, darling, when the war is over," Cersei answers. 

"Mother says I'll have a new gown for the ceremony, and another for the feast," Myrcella tells Sansa, but quickly thinks of something nice to say to Sansa. "But yours will be ivory, since you're the bride."

Sansa sat in stunned silence after being reminded that she would be forced to marry Joffrey. She hadn't thought about it in a while, and while Petyr had started to teach her how to react to the unforeseen, or rather how not to respond, she was still inexperienced.

"The princess just spoke to you," Cersei says, knowing that Sansa didn't like the topic. 

"Pardon, your grace. I was just in thought for a moment there," she says with an apologetic smile and then turns to Myrcella. "I'm sure your dress will be beautiful, Myrcella. I'm counting the days until the fighting's done, and I can pledge my love to the king in sight of the Gods. I hope that I will be accepted finally then."

Sansa said that with a timid voice and lowering her head, she addressed the Queen. 

"Is Joffrey going to kill Sansa's brother?" Tommen asks. 

"He might. Would you like that?" Cersei asks.

Tommen paused to weigh the question and then finally shook his head. 

"No...I don't think so."

"Even if he does, Sansa will do her duty. Won't you, little dove?" Cersei smiled coldly at Sansa. 

"I will your grace. It is only right too. I am disappointed in my family. If only my father hadn't been such a disappointment... all of this could have been averted."

"Hmm, I wonder. Why do you say that?" Cersei asks. 

"I learned from Lord Baelish that it was the stupidity and idiocy of my father and his honour that killed him. He could have chosen to be a smart man and choose the winning side, the right side... but he didn't. I apologise for the result," Sansa says and shakes her head. 

"Don't play with me, little dove. I can see through your lies," Cersei says bitingly.

"I wouldn't lie, your grace. In fact, I have written a letter, which I intend to send to the riverlands soon, asking my 'brother' to lay down his weapons finally. I know him, though, he will never surrender, I'm afraid."

Cersei looked at Sansa and was uncertain of whether she could or should believe such a fairytale. It seemed obvious to her that Sansa was lying, as she was a child. And yet, Sansa said that it was Petyr who taught her those things, so she supposed everything was possible. The elusive man and the desire she had been feeling, ever since he had returned to King's Landing, was growing unbearable. Maybe, she could also gain something from this. 

"Tell me, Sansa, who is the woman who hushes about in Lord Baelish's presence?" she asks. 

"That's Arla, your grace. I met her when Lord Baelish was kind enough to patch my wounds. She is his... aid, I would say, your grace."

"Aid, is it? Come now, be honest. What is she to him? What is their relationship?" Cersei digs deeper. 

"Well... your grace, I-- I'm not sure about it, honestly. I--"

"It's alright, come on. Tell me the truth."

Sansa nodded, but looked at Myrcella and Tommen, showing her uncertainty about them hearing it. Cersei understood and addressed her cubs. 

"Myrcella, Tommen, would you two like to leave the table? I'm sure, Sansa will get to visit you later."

"Yes, mother."

The two children stood up from the table and then left the room. After they did, she stared at Sansa, waiting for an answer. 

"Well?"

"I believe they have an intimate relationship, your grace, but-- I believe that Lord Baelish has... desires," Sansa whispers. 

"Desires? What do you mean?" Cersei asks. 

"Well, he seems to be, how should i put this, looking after a certain woman."

"A certain woman? Which one?" Cersei asks. 

Sansa didn't answer, but moved her head in a suggestive way. Cersei understood and hid a pleased smile. 

"Oh, well in that case. You are correct, we shouldn't discuss this."

"Thank you, your grace."

.

In another room, Petyr and Arla were exchanging sweet words when it knocked on the door. Arla looked annoyed and ready to kill and so did Petyr for once. They had to get time to themselves and fast, or he would drop the pretense and allow Arla to 'clean house' somewhat. 

"I will strangle whoever is at the other end of that door," Arla says. 

Arla opened the door and in front of it stood Bronn, the new Lord Commander of the City Watch. She turned around to Petyr. 

"Who is it?" he asks. 

"A talking dog," she answered, making him smile. 

"She's got quite the mouth on 'er," Bronn says as Petyr walks forward. 

"And the knives to back it up. So don't look at her like that, if you like to keep your scrotum," Petyr says. 

"Why? She gon' give me a good time?" Bronn grins lightly. 

Petyr chuckled and lightly raised his hand. At the same moment, Bronn started to feel himself being choked and rising into the air. The two city guards who accompanied Bronn got alerted and surprised, so they didn't see the two knives flying through the air, stabbing them in the face and killing them. Petyr, meanwhile, lifted Bronn in the air, squeezing very slowly.

"I find it humorous that a pathetic stain on my boot thinks he can challenge me in any way. Now, I agree, ever since I accepted my weakness, I have buttons people can push. But do you think that was smart?"

...

Bronn reached for a hidden knife, but Petyr caught his hand and broke. 

*CRACK*

"MMMMMKKK..."

Before his neck broke, Petyr dropped him. Bronn fell to the ground like dead meat. 

"I apologise for this... momentary lack of control on my part, good man. Seems like I have to work on that. However, I will give you something to remember this moment by... after all, we can't have you run around, thinking that I am an 'unkind' individual, can we?"

Petyr started to close the door after getting rid of the two guards. 

"Yet, I regret to inform you that you will not enjoy this."

Then the door closed, leaving the sellsword's fate up for debate. 

.

"Remember, you must tell no one."

Tyrion tells Petyr after he finally made it to the Lord Hand's room. It took longer than the Lannister expected, since the Master of Coin was anything but a slow man. But he didn't care about it for now. All that mattered was his plot, his time to play the game. 

"Tell no one what, Lord Hand?" Petyr asks. 

"I plan to wed Princess Myrcella to Robert Arryn of the Vale," Tyrion reveals.

Petyr raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer. 

"Lysa... is not fond of me. But perhaps the promise of a royal wedding will convince her to... let bygones be bygones."

"So, in response to imprisoning you and wanting to execute you, you reward her with a royal wedding and lie on the ground to show you mean well?" Petyr asks. 

"For men in our positions, holding grudges can mean an encumberance, don't you agree?" Tyrion asks. 

"And I suppose you want me to broker this agreement?" Petyr asks.

"Who better?"

"Why would I do that? I haven't spoken to Lysa Arryn for decades. The only thing connecting us was my rather short time in Riverrun. And while it did take a delightful turn, I am still a stranger to her."

"I assume this is about compensation. If so, then I can assure you that the people of Westeros would be oh so grateful to you for bringing an end to this war. And the adoration of the king, for bringing the Vale back into the fold... and Harrenhal."

Petyr looked at Tyrion in disbelief. 

"Harrenhal? Come now--"

"I am serious. I plan to make you Lord of the Riverlands."

"Haha, and why would you do all this for me, Lord Hand?" Petyr asks. 

"You served my family well, and since my father asked you to come back and serve as Master of Coin, he trusts you. I need you to deliver Lysa Arryn."

Petyr stared at Tyrion for a while. 

"It's settled then?"

"What exactly, Lord Hand?" Petyr asks. 

"What I have just told you. Have you not been listening to me? I am serious about my offer."

Petyr pursed his lips and donned a look of disgust. 

"I apologise. It's the smell... the smell of shit. It gets to me sometimes," Petyr says. 

"Ah, yes. King's Landing has that appeal to it, doesn't it?"

"I'm talking about your shit, Lord Hand."

...

"I beg your pardon?"

"As you should, for questioning my intelligence."

Petyr had a serious look on his face, but then broke and smiled amusedly. He chuckled and shook his head. 

"Is something funny?"

"Come now, it's over. Your idea wasn't bad, but you need to know your audience better if you play the game this way," Petyr smiles. 

"Do tell."

"As you wish. You gambled that my 'desire' for power and Catelyn Stark was still present, and strong enough for me to be hooked by the idea you tried to sell me. I'm afraid that is not the case. All the desire I could have had died together with the original Petyr during the duel against Brandon Stark. Do you think I teach Sansa Stark to get in her mother's pants? Huhu, you are an amusing man and quite clever. For all men in Westeros, seeing what I do and not expecting secret intentions is simply impossible, which amuses me."

Tyrion listened to Petyr without reacting to it. He had hoped that his gamble would work. His deduction skills are usually almost spot on. 

"You don't want to marry Princess Myrcella to Robert Arryn. They are neutral for now, and you don't fear their involvement. Now, what you fear is the involvement of another kingdom... Dorne. And you should. No one smells fear and weakness, and knows how to exploit it, more than the Dornish, in my opinion. You are going to entice them with a royal wedding and send her to them as a... hostage. Exceptionally smart and ruthless as well. Good for you, Lord Hand. I see that your father made the right choice in making you Hand of the King. 

If only you had anything worthy of your services..."

Tyrion's demeanour had dropped considerably by that point. 

"That is an exceptional theory, Lord Baelish, but I--"

"Petyr."

"Pardon?"

"You can call me Petyr."

Tyrion pursed his lips and looked around the room, confused. 

"I enjoyed this. As a little present," Petyr says as he walks towards the door. "The rat you're looking for is Pycelle. The old and stuttery mess is not as innocent as he wants to make us believe."

"And you know that how?"

"Ask the whores who leave his quarters."

"Ask them what?"

"Sex could kill you. Do you know what the human body goes through when you have sex? Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets, respiration becomes rapid and shallow, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere, and secretions are spit out of every gland, and the muscles tense and spasm like you're lifting three times your body weight. It's violent, it's ugly, and it's messy, and if it weren't unbelievably fun, the human race would have died out aeons ago."

"..."

"At least that's what I heard."

"..."

"Good talk, Lord Hand. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'll have to try and see whether I was correct."