general editorial notes

[seem]

Surely, my apathy on the front is not a crime.

In my experience — meager, I'm sure, though it is — this sort of death does not warrant so much excitement.

Just a thought.

Comments

[slayedaking]

They do seem to be quite excitable about death.

[seem]

[ Mildly: ] To a degree that I imagine is unmatched even within the Red Keep, which is no feat to be taken lightly.

[slayedaking]

[Make your digs, Jaime doesn't give even a fraction of a fuck.] You imagine? You spend much of your time within the Red Keep and you have one of these creatures before your eyes. Shouldn't you know?

[seem]

[ Littlefinger nods his head from side to side, one eyebrow arching in thinly veiled amusement. ]

The world is full of surprises. I'm sure we can agree on that.

[slayedaking]

Sometimes. I do tend to leave all those to you. There's a reason I don't sit the small council. [Because let's face it, if he wanted a seat Cersei would get him one in an hour.]

[seem]

Oh, I have no doubt. [ A beat. ] Although I must say, you gave us the greatest surprise we have had in recent memory.

[slayedaking]

Did I? And what was that? [You never know who knows what around here, and given his time, most people seem to know things that Jaime has only heard of.]

[antlered]

Your apathy is only a crime if you're directing it at the wrong person, Lord Baelish. Though I'm sure you're doing your best to be in whatever you've decided is the right.

[seem]

It has never been my decision to make, Your Grace, [ Littlefinger says, as polite as ever, though his voices skirts the edges of being condescending. ] Men do as they must and I follow the course of the river to avoid being dashed upon the rocks.

But, as I am sure it will grieve you to know, it seems it may be unavoidable in what I am told lies ahead. [ It won't be own corpse upon the metaphorical riverbed, but he leaves that part out. The less he divulges, the better. ]

[antlered]

[Renly scoffs quietly out of his nose, with as much faith in the words coming out of Littlefinger's mouth as he has ever had, which is close to none unless it involves the secrets of others.] Just the sort of answer I'd expect from someone so spineless.

[But that does sound nice doesn't it? Peter Baelish dashed upon the rocks because he couldn't jump ship fast enough. That would be a lovely sight indeed. Still he just continues to smile, his eyes on Littlefinger making sure he knows just how much the thought pleases him.] You could do with a bit of trial by fire, make the best of it.

[seem]

[ His attitude is a change, certainly, from their time upon the Small Council, but it isn't the sort of thing that Littlefinger has the leisure (or the inclination) to complain. All that he offers is a shrug, expression betraying no particular sentiment one way or the other. ]

I always do, Your Grace.

[antlered]

[The problem with wearing a crown is, of course, that is requires a degree of confidence that more often than not morphs into arrogance. Renly was always arrogant, at least in public, but not having to play political chess with Baelish? He has every intention of cutting straight to the point now that he can.]

Of course you do. Now, whose death are we not excited about this time, Littlefinger?

[wont]

[ Were he someone else, she would better hide her wariness, but he is her lord father — both Petyr and Littlefinger — and so Alayne knows that any attempt at deception will be seen through accordingly. ]

Talk of death already, father? [ she asks, carefully. ]

[seem]

Unfortunately, [ comes his answer, the words given a coat of sugar in the form of a half-smile.

(The truth: as far as his dislike for the Starks extends, he has no wish to see her killed.) ]

Think nothing of it, sweetling. [ It's an empty request — the subject has been brought up and thus cannot be completely avoided — but the implication is clear enough. We will take care of it. ]

[wont]

[ Unfortunate, yes. In this unpleasant and inevitably bloody scenario that is soon to play out before the Starks, Lord Baelish, and all the rest of the Tranquility, there is little blame that can be placed on Alayne's shoulders — though she feels the weight of guilt upon her nevertheless.

He is lying to me, she knows but only because he allows her that glimpse behind the curtain. Still, beyond the lie she reads the implication too and so, does what she can to play her part and sing a refrain from the mockingbird's song. ] It is hardly death at all, if what they tell us is to be believed.

[seem]

[ That earns a smile (a concession — he won't argue), almost hidden as he dips his head. ]

Still. I worry.

[ About what is to come, about a myriad of other things, some that might furnish him with a veneer of kindness, of caring, and others that do the opposite. He leaves them unspoken, however, leaving them for her to pry out should she so care to. ]

[wont]

[ More lies, she thinks and then— pauses. Her father is Petyr Baelish, the one they call Littlefinger, Highlord of the Riverlands and Protector of the Vale. He is, by her estimation, not afraid of anything and yet here and now, caught in the shadow of what will come to pass, he says the words 'I worry' and she does not find them false.

(It worries her; and it frightens her. But she tries, tries hard, to make sure her does not see.)

At length: ]

I thought you incapable of such things, father. Was it wrong of me to think so?

[spyderweb]

Oh, dear. Has someone accused you of something criminal? [ His exaggerated look of surprise melts into a sedate smile. ] Clearly, they must not be as well-acquainted with your upright and noble character as I.

[seem]

And how unfortunate it is, [ he continues, without a moment's pause, ] that I cannot call upon you to vouch for me.

[ A beat, as his expression smooths out into something of a mirror image. He has no reason, not on this front at least, to be secretive. ] I have yet to be called into question, but it seems that the voyage may prove rocky nevertheless.

[spyderweb]

Ah. [ He makes a short gesture to signify relief, the press of four fingers flat against his breast bone. But between them, at least, it an unnecessary affectation, and Varys does not persist in it for very long. ]

How wonderful it is, then, for you to have this opportunity to clarify your emotional innocence before it can be impugned. I do hope no one mistakes this for the sign of a guilty conscience. Since we both know nothing could be further from the truth.

[seem]

[ Were he the sort of man given to laughter, he might have allowed himself some small sign of amusement, but there is nothing about him that is not contained, from the way he holds his frame to the words that he chooses to speak. So, as it is, he bows his head, half an acknowledgment of what goes unspoken and half mock gratitude. ]

And the truth will out, in the end. [ A lie (they both know it). ]

[spyderweb]

Mmm, will it? [ Varys asks, the tilt of his head rhetorical since he knows well how little this question truly needs to be asked. ]

Truth has a strange habit of only rarely doing what is expected of it. I would suggest you could speak to Lord Stark about that, but, well. [ He casts his gaze innocently up toward the ceiling. The truth can change everything or change nothing; it can be safely hidden for centuries or revealed in a moment. The only thing it rarely does is behave. ]

[comeliness]

Quite meager, Lord Baelish, yes, [ Margaery says with one of her bright smiles. His hands are clean but the roses of Highgarden know that smelling like a rose does not make a harmless man make. ] Surprisingly so, if I may speak freely, given that you keep counsel in the Red Keep.

[seem]

[ He bows his head (a concession), his smile easy to his features. ]

I have no stomach for conflict, [ he tells her, though the tone of his voice (and the implication: and so I endeavor to avoid it) is nothing short of knowing. (He won't make the mistake of underestimating her if he can help it.) ]

[comeliness]

And yet you held a seat upon the Small Counsel for how many years? [ There is no venom in her question. No, if anything, her tone remains as light as the ringing of a small sliver bell. ] What an enemy you must have made of your poor stomach, my lord.

[seem]

[ Similarly, his voice is clean, scrubbed free of everything save the appearance of subservience. ] A small price to pay, in the service of the realm.

[comeliness]

Serve her you did, exceedingly so. And reward you she did in turn, with equal excess. [ By rights, he should be lord of nothing and hold true dominion over nowhere. But instead, Petyr Baelish — born of the Fingers and ignobility — now held one of the greatest seats in the realm. Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. A peacock's plume in the mockingbird's cap. ]

[serless]

If the use of a blade is frequent, it grows dull. You've seen -- ( silently conducted it, more like ) -- enough bloodshed to grow bored by the sight. Not a surprising notion.

[seem]

[ It isn't a point that he can necessarily argue, though his lack of eagerness stems from a different root. As if in recognition of the fact, he does away with his usual polite smile, keeping his expression carefully blank instead. ]

I would wager that the whole of the kingdom has reached a similar state. War only sets the blood running for so long.

[fearcutsdeeperthanswords]

There aren't sorts of deaths. There's only death.

[seem]

Perhaps. [ A yes, an acquiescence, wrapped up as a different word. ] Regardless, I have little reason to be glad of it.

[fearcutsdeeperthanswords]

[Pretty words are so far out of reach for her, still. Perhaps sounds like maybe to her ears.] Whose death? [There are several she'd be glad of, she knows that much.]