Gerold III

Right, foot, step. Downward slash to his left. Feint. He saw his opponent fall for it and immediately capitalised on it by kicking the man’s chest causing him to tumble. He leapt like a lion at his downed adversary but was disappointed when the man rolled away and nimbly came back to his feet. Frustration bubbled inside him as he charged and tried to slice through his neck but his opponent dodged causing his training sword to clang on his gorget. The older man parried Gerold’s sword away as he went for the offensive. Gerold tried to dodge and attack back but was outplayed. The man tapped Gerold’s wrist causing him to wince and drop his sword. Now unarmed, Gerold yielded. He couldn’t help pout. After years of being trained in the ways of the sword by his father and Oldman Rydan; the humiliation of getting beaten was quickly tiring him out.

His adversary removed his kettle helm and out emerged golden locks. “That was the closest you’ve ever come to beating me. We’ve been duelling for… More than a week now? You’ve improved, Gerry! As expected of Marq’s son.”

“I still lost, Ser Deran. Don’t patronise me with meaningless flattery. Tell me what to improve on.” His father always told him a great leader must be able to fight for himself. That’s why he asked for the service of Ser Deran. One of his father’s friends and member of house Parne who loyally served Graftons for generations. The treason and betrayal of house Shett and from Arwen, who he personally called a friend, stung him. Knowing their betrayal, his paranoia started to inflame and consume him whole. He recalled the nightmares he endured – the betrayal, voices sowing doubt and self-loathing.

He wanted to lash out and order a stringent vetting process for all his knights and nobility who swore fealty to him. To strike at hidden traitors to prevent future betrayal. But he had no one to turn to. Stephas was a traitor. The Oldman is now in the pockets of Petyr. And Petyr…

‘A great leader must be able to have good counsel. To do that, you must have an intelligent, competent and capable man.’ Gerold remembered what his father said. Petyr was all three traits of what his father wanted. But it’s clear he hasn’t truly met someone with all three characteristics. Nowhere close to Petyr. Someone that capable would have great ambitions, someone that competent would have plans to pursue those ambitions, and someone that intelligent would succeed. A truly dangerous combination.

But what gnawed on Gerold is that Petyr always gave him sound advice. He’s so sincere and with no hint of ulterior motives. So, Gerold decided to test him. He went to Petyr and asked for more advice. Advice on how to control his paranoia. It wasn’t by accident that Petyr and Deran would butt heads. It was intentional, Gerold needed something to contain Petyr’s rising power.

So, Gerold asked him and he responded by rationalising his fear. Think of the reasons why he’s feeling that and determine how to address it. ‘If you know your fear, you can conquer it. Don’t rely on compulsions – the most obvious act. Try to moderate your actions. Never go too far.’ That was it. It was so vague. He didn’t suggest killing the knights who gave him nightmares. His advice was vague but it worked. He started to see his knights as people with individual interests and ambitions and took their loyalty not for granted. Gerold now knew he had to win them over, not through his birthright, but by showing his courage, valour and honour. He conquered his fear. This made him want to trust Petyr.

“- whenever you go for the feint, you slow down your sword’s acceleration making you lose momentum. To prevent that you should slightly change the direction of the sword so you can capitalise whenever they fall for a feint.” Ser Deran wiped his forehead. “Lad, we’re you even listening? I realised you were deep in thinking, but I just assumed you were taking in what I said.”

Gerold was about to respond but a messenger with a scarlet surcoat interrupted them. “Sorry for interruptin’ yer duel, milords, but Lord Baelish requests for a War Council.”

Deran’s forehead started to pulsate. “How dare he?! That’s a lord’s prerogative. You hear that, Gerold. That snake already thinks he’s a lord. You best watch out.”

The messenger looked affronted. “That’s why, ser, he’s requested. Not ordered.”

“You dare talk back to me?!”

“Just correctin’ ye, ser. Lord Baelish is a good man. And simply talking is not against the law.”

That’s what Gerold realised for the past week. Giving out copper and silver stags was all well and good, but it will never build lasting loyalty. Petyr was turning people over to his camp not just by buying their loyalty. He personally met the people who were visibly supporting Petyr and they say his ideals and principles were worth fighting for. The messenger was clearly one of those people willing to fight for Petyr’s vision and was willing to anger and potentially be injured by Deran. Gerold couldn’t help but respect that.

Ser Deran’s face started to glow red as he picked up the wooden sword and menacingly walked toward the insolent messenger. Before he could do anything that he would regret, Gerold ran and stood in front of the knight. “It’s not worth it, Ser Deran. You ought to calm down.” He then glared at the messenger. “And you! I’ll not have my loyal retinue needlessly provoked. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, milord.” The messenger turned his back to them. “If you follow me, milords.”

“I thought the snake requested, not ordered.” Deran snarked back.

“Enough, Deran. Petyr must’ve good reason to call for a meeting.”

“I feel like he’s pulling the strings on you.” He silently mumbled but Gerold was able to hear it.

Gerold sighed. It was constant back and forth between the two though he was clearly favouring Petyr. Deran had the muscle and the fighting ability but lacked everything Petyr had. He thought it was a good idea to bring Deran into this army and to hear his counsel but hours of listening to him just made him think Deran was… Wholly inadequate. He was starting to suspect why his father, despite being good friends with him, kept him away from Gerold when he was young.

Every time Gerold asked the knight for advice, he would often repeat himself – honour, chivalry etc. When he saw Gerold reading, the knight laughed and called it unlordly. The duty of the lord is to collect taxes from people who live on their land and in return they would protect them. Not to read, such a task was beneath them, and he says it ought to be delegated to the maester.

Petyr’s lectures were more stimulating and less stringent. Petyr encouraged Gerold to challenge him. They would often debate back and forth. Which was different to Deran’s inflexible, dogmatic and uncompromising view of the world.

Gerold kept rationalising why he brought Deran along. It was to placate his nobles who saw Deran as their leader and to counteract Petyr. He’s fulfilling his purpose already therefore Gerold wouldn’t personally seek his advice anymore.

They entered the tent catching the attention of Rydan and Petyr as they stood up and bowed to him. They took their seats, and it wasn’t long till Deran took a jab at Petyr.

“This better be good, Littlefinger.”

“I try to never disappoint. It was my troops that captured Isembard. No?”

“You got lucky.” The blonde man huffed.

“Enough, both of you.” Gerold interrupted them. “Now. Petyr, what seems to be the issue that requires my attention?”

“I have a plan to capture Timberton.”

Gerold and Rydan jerked back as they straightened themselves whilst leaning forward in anticipation. Deran rolled his eyes as he looked gobsmacked. “Does it involve hundreds of your ‘Redcoats’ dying? If not, then you’re lying.” The knight took a swig from his chalice and then carried on. “The city is heavily fortified with fifty-foot walls. Your navy can’t touch it either, as the sea wall stretches across the bay with a chain connecting the wall with the lighthouse.”

“That’s why we’re not going to be taking it from the outside but from the inside,” Petyr smirked and annoyingly paused. He seriously needs to stop doing that. “I’m good friends with the mayor of Timberton – Master Braeden. He’s a man of integrity and morals. Efric Grafton was preparing for war and stockpiled food for months. He protested and petitioned for your cousin,” he pointed at Gerold. “To give some of the food to the smallfolk but was declined. That’s where he asked for my help, and I sent cargoes of grain. Braeden has the loyalty of the people of Timberton and he can make them fight for him.”

“And how do we make sure he’ll revolt in favour of me?” Gerold inquired.

“After Efric noticed he got food from me, it was immediately confiscated but my good friend tried to stop it. His mayorship was terminated, and he was banished as a result.”

“This is Lord Efric’s right. That Braeden fellow undermined his lord. I’m surprised the punishment was that lenient.”

Petyr clicked his tongue in response as he waved his head from left to right. “I think it’s obvious we disagree with the fundamentals of governance, Ser Deran. I would love to debate with you on this but now’s not the time. Braeden lived in disguise and didn’t leave the town. Our spies were able to figure this out and Naerys should’ve given him the weapons and the… other weapons to make their rebellion succeed.”

“Naerys?”

“Yes. She’s the one commanding the fleet.” Petyr happily replied as he tapped his fingers on the oak table.

Deran’s face turned red. “A woman! You would entrust important matters of war – to a woman?! What is wrong with you?! A spymistress I can tolerate but… This I cannot.” The knight pleadingly looked at Gerold. “Surely, you don’t agree with this. The plan will fail. It’s best we starve them out instead.”

“A coward’s solution. I say we let Naerys do her thing!” Petyr giggled and grinned at the fuming knight. Prompting him to aggressively stand up and walk towards Petyr as he started to draw his sword.

Gerold, momentarily distracted by Petyr’s childishness, panicked as he couldn’t stop Deran in time.

Before the knight could fully draw his sword, the Redcoats streamed into the tent and bared their steel at Deran. “Your nothing but up jumped peasants. I can easily gut you all.” The blonde man sneered.

“Oh… Then why’s your sword still in your sheath?” Petyr gasped exaggeratingly and covered his mouth. “Is it… Don’t tell me your sword is limp?!” This provoked the guards to giggle which only incited Deran’s temper.

As if the final hay has been pulled, Deran completely drew his sword, causing Petyr’s redcoats to tense up as they readied to battle. “Derrick and his men are better fighters than you, Deran. They may not be knights – not yet, but they have the heart and brain to be one. Not like you.”

Gerold had enough. “Everyone! This is enough! Sheath your swords!”

The redcoats obeyed but Deran still lethally brandished his longsword. “Insubordination for choking me. Treason for disobeying your lord. You’re racking up many crimes today, Ser Deran.”

Deran charged and took a swipe toward the leading redcoat. Derrick quickly drew his steel and blocked. The redcoat ordered his men to stand back as he defensively fought the berserk knight. Steel clashed with steel leaving the men in the tent dumbfounded by the levels of violence.

Gerold seethed and glared at Petyr. “Why did you have to provoke him?!”

“So, you can pick someone better to counteract me.” The boy lord widened his mouth in surprise then felt a burning sensation as Petyr flicked him in the forehead. “Come on, now! I’m a little hurt that you thought so little of me.”

I was found out! I thought disguising it as him being my martial instructor worked. Gerold squinted his eyes and pouted. “Now, now. Don’t be like that. Just choose someone better than Deran. He’s against everything you’ve done in Gulltown. Better get rid of him cus he’ll cause you a headache once we return.”

The two zoned out the fight. “Won’t you be upset with me?”

Petyr smiled and ruffled his brown hair. “Not at all. I welcome the challenge. He’ll most likely work with me anyway considering I’m heading a politically neutral institution.”

“Again, with that nonsense.”

“What! It’ll happen… In an indefinite period of time.”

“Do you mean never?”

Petyr waved his finger around and clicked his tongue. “Don’t be a pessimist – “ He looked towards the fight and was worried as Derrick was slowly losing his momentum. “Now. Gerold. Close your eyes and cover your ears.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“What in seven hells-,“ Petyr covered his mouth as he climbed the table and used his dagger to cut open a hole through the roof of the tent. Then he pulled out a clay pot and scratched it into the table causing the cord to combust in flames.

“Derrick! Remember the drill!”

What drill. What’s Petyr planning. Gerold couldn’t help but shake with excitement.

Petyr threw the pot in the air, carefully aimed at the hole, and in an instant, Gerold saw green. Is-Is that wildfire?

Then an earth-shattering boom resounded as the tent flew away by the sudden impact. Deran was momentarily stunned as his ears rang and his vision tainted with a disgusting green hue. Derrick, unaffected by the blast, saw his opportunity and disarmed the knight and kicked him down to the floor. The dazed knight looked for his sword but stopped when Derrick held his sword at his neck. “I yield.” Deran huffed.

“Insubordination. Treason. And resistance to arrest. These are your crimes, Ser Deran.” Derrick gestured for his men to come back to the tent, and then they tied his hands behind his back and propped him to stand up. “The Judicial Tribune shall decide your fate.”

“No need! I declare a trial by combat!”

“No. That barbaric practice is outlawed here.” Petyr chipped in, triumphantly.

He planned this all out. Everything. He predicted Deran’s temper and lapse of judgement. He conveniently placed his redcoats out of sight from the tent causing a false sense of security. He must’ve signalled for them to enter the tent. Gerold suddenly stopped his ruminations as he noticed Rydan collapsing to the ground and ran towards him. He cradled the Oldman’s head silently as he couldn’t think of anything to say. A lot happened within a span of a few minutes and his head couldn’t discern what happened to Rydan. Gerold trembled listlessly.

“Nothin’ to worry about, lad. Just shock is all. Blimey. That blast took me out.” Rydan reached out to Gerold’s face. “Stop it. I’m not dyin’ anytime soon.”

Petyr saw the commotion and quickly became serious. “Just in case, you need to see a physician. One of the alchemists should be able to check on you.”

“Yer trying to kill me, Petyr?! I’m not standing near that insane woman.”

“That woman your talking about is Laenera. She has her moments, and she was the one who made that grenade.”

Gerold calmed himself. “Oldman! What in Seven hells was that?!

“I told ye, lad. Just the explosion took me by surprise. Nothin’ to worry about.”

He was about to retort but Petyr stopped him by ruffling his hair. He saw Petyr lean down to him. “Leave him be. It’s best not to stress him out.”

“What does –.“

Petyr placed his finger to his mouth and ‘shushed’. “Not too loudly.” He pointed at Rydan. Gerold noticed his eyes were closed and if it weren’t for Petyr, he would’ve panicked. “He’s breathing. He’s sleeping, that’s all.” Petyr motioned for the redcoats to take Rydan away. “Make sure he’s comfortable. Take off his armour and lay him on his cot. Get the wisdom’s acolytes and nurses to treat him.”

“Petyr… Do you think he’ll be fine?”

“Of course. The School of Medicine may not be fully finished but it will be soon. Their campus has already been renovated and now it’s time for them to argue about the curriculum. It’s best to let the professionals fight it out for themselves? The Wisdoms should be enough to treat Rydan.”

“Wait… Your making new schools?”

“Of course. You remember when I told you of my plan of rescuing the alchemists in King’s Landing?” Gerold nodded. “I remember you vehemently disagreeing with the idea.”

“Well, of course! They burn people!”

“They do more than that. They’re scholars and learned people. Full of expertise that Gulltown can harness. One being childbearing and medicine. They specialise in alchemy to make these potions that cure certain ailments.”

“Aren’t they just scams. Nothing but a fraud.”

“Maybe. But what have I told you about information and hearsay?”

“You’re proving my point, Petyr!” Gerold puffed his chest out. “Every information gained from hearsay has a grain of truth!”

“Good. Very good. Now you shall learn another lesson. Every information gained from hearsay has a grain of untruth.”

“I swear to the Seven, that you’re making this up as you go.” He got a flick on his forehead from that. “Ouch!”

“Can you tell me any reason why the alchemists have a bad reputation?”

“They’re scammers and fraudsters.”

“Who benefits from those conceptions?” Gerold was confused by this and responded by shaking his head. “What are the centres of learning in Westeros?” Petyr gave a following-up question.

Gerold tilted his head, not sure where Petyr was going. “The Faith and the Citadel?” Suddenly Gerold widened his eyes and raised his hands up. “Is it them?! Are they slandering the Alchemist Guild?”

Petyr smiled and clapped his hands causing Gerold to preen. “Correct. You catch on quick. But it is more complicated than that. The Faith has always been wary of the Guild as they often proclaim sorcery and magic –.”

“Do you believe it?” Gerold energetically raised his hands up.

He shook his head. “I doubt magic is involved. It’s nothing but superstition. The Guild probably admitted to magic to confuse and mislead their rivals. They hold their secrets quite tightly. Wildfire, medicines, salves and techniques relating to childbirth. Now, who’s more likely to be rivals to the Guild. The Faith or the Citadel?”

Gerold was aghast. Is he accusing the Archmaesters of the Citadel of misinformation and slander? “You’re treading on dangerous grounds, Petyr.”

He clapped his hands again which managed to reduce the tension building up in his ruined tent. “That’s why the Guild is being rebranded into the School of Medicine. Sounds less threatening, don’t you think?”

“Let me guess, that school will be under the purview of the Civil Service.”

“Of course! More specifically the Department of Healthcare. That department will be responsible for containing and pre-empting diseases. And to work with the Regulations and Enforcement to crackdown on snake-oil merchants. Finally, to eventually provide healthcare free at the point of use!”

“Very ambitious, as all ways. Very expensive too. Are you sure you can afford it?”

“If my investments have proved fruitful, it will be possible soon. However, that’s putting the cart before the horse. We must have an educated workforce before providing any medicines. The school provides that.”

Gerold had something in the back of his mind. “You said the alchemists have many closely guarded secrets. What makes you think they can cough them up.”

“Well… I’ll simply order them to.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“I’ve rescued them from Robert’s wrath. They’ve agreed to relinquish their autonomy to me and become part of the Civil Service. Well… Laenera and her cabal had. Most refused my generous terms.”

Lord Grafton levelled an accusatory stare at Petyr. “What did you do to the ones who refused?”

“Me?” He comically pointed to himself. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. How unfortunate of them because the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, seem to hunt and kill them on sight. A grudge maybe?”

“I probably said this already, but I’m glad you’re on my side.” Gerold shakily laughed. “Now. What in the gods was that! It destroyed my tent!”

“That was a grenade. Made by Wisdom Laenera. It’s a powdered version of wildfire.”

“I knew it was wildfire! What made you think it was alright to throw that near us!”

“We’ve tested the weapon extensively.”

“Still an insane lapse of judgement on your part. And that’s saying something as you’ve rehearsed that dangerous stunt like a mummer’s troupe!”

Petyr looked abashed. “You noticed, huh?” He scratched his head and he coughed. “Well... That wasn’t the only thing the Wisdoms are experimenting with. Weapons that you cannot imagine.”

“You ought to stop pausing for suspension. It’s annoying. Quickly tell me about these weapons!” The boy lord practically leapt to his feet.

“Something that would revolutionise warfare. Imagine the power you saw moments ago, being used to catapult iron balls, straight through castle walls.”

Gerold’s body shuddered as he breathed at a faster rate. His eyes widened as he grinned from ear to ear. “That’s… Is that possible? The castle would stand no chance!”

“It is. We’ve managed to puncture through a seven-foot stone wall.”

“That thick!” Such weaponry will propel Gulltown to prominence!

“That’s what she said.” Petyr silently mumbled and chuckled. “Anyway… Such power is too destructive. They’re still trying to find the perfect blast power, enough to lob the iron balls to destructive speeds, and not wreck the cannon.”

“Cannon, huh? Like the Faith’s Canon Laws? It’s fitting! Like delivering divine judgement!”

“I didn’t think of that, but I guess that’s a good reasoning for the name.” Petyr then angrily pinched his forehead. “Unfortunately, the base of the cannon gets destroyed most of the time. Iron and steel aren’t cutting it. The Wisdoms and their acolytes are experimenting on different materials.”

“Make sure they do so! House Grafton shall contribute to this!”

“I’m glad I have your support… Gerry.”

He said my nickname!

Suddenly, specks of green flashes started to emerge from Timberton. Seconds later, claps of thunder woke everyone in the camp. Gerold sprinted to his sleeping tent and fished out his spyglass and aimed it at the town. He looked on in shock as the gatehouse was being bathed with green flashes, as the steel-supported gate was blasted into pieces along with the portcullis.

“Naerys has done her job! Derrick! Order the charge! No pillaging! No rape!” Petyr eagerly gave the order.

“Yes, my lord!”

Petyr VIII

He dismounted his horse as he witnessed some of his redcoats being prepared to be executed.

“You have broken into Marris’ the seamstress house and raped her.” Lightning of accusations was thrown around at every man standing on the gallows. “You have been found guilty, the Wartime Judicial Tribune, as ordered by the jury and witnessed by Lord Petyr sentences you to be hanged from the neck until dead.”

The executor stared at Petyr to which he gave an approving gesture. A black clothe covered the man’s head as he pulled the lever quickly causing the men to fall to their death. The executor grunted in satisfaction as the criminals instantly died. Wow. He managed the hangman’s fracture in all five men. He beat the odds. Petyr mentally filed the executor’s name for another time.

“You satisfied, Lord-Mayor Braeden?”

“Extremely so. Thank you, Petyr. Justice has been done.”

“Any time, my friend. Now that you’re the Lord-Mayor, will you be copying the Gulltown standard?”

He adjusted his eyepatch as he burst out laughing. “Always straight to the point! But yes! The people of Timberton want to emulate the success in Gulltown.”

“You need more than that…” Petyr smirked. Much more than that. So much more. And you need my help.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s not mince words.” He strode to Braeden and poked his chest with his finger. “I’ve given you a title. A very new title. A title that doesn’t have much reputation and prestige. Without the two, you don’t have legitimacy in the eyes of the lords. How on earth are you going to negotiate with them?”

The black-haired man scratched his head. “I’ll be honest I didn’t thank that far. Surely, we’ll be fine if we did the same things as you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yes. I had Gerry’s permission to carry out the reforms in Gulltown. I had the legitimacy. Strengthened by house Grafton’s reputation and prestige. This allowed me to negotiate with local lords in a position of power. Sometimes overriding their ability to call levies.”

Braeden was amazed by this. “You took their manpower?”

“Yes. I sent ravens to the village chiefs and mayors north of Gulltown. To which they gathered the levies in my name. Pissed off the noble lords who governed the area… It’s fortunate most sided with Isembard. Now I control those lands.”

“Ahh. You seek control of Timberton, right?”

“Yes. And Silverbridge too.” This feudalistic nonsense of decentralising lands and giving out to incompetent and uninterested lords was a limiting factor in progress! It’s mathematically inefficient too! The village chiefs give twenty per cent of their tax to the lord and that lord gives its twenty per cent to House Grafton. By the time the taxes from the village got to house Grafton, the tax would be reduced to four per cent. I need to centralise in a way the tax from villages goes directly to me – I mean House Grafton. It’ll be easy to persuade Gerry.

He hollered and whistled at Petyr. “Ambitious as ever.”

“Well, of course. Might as well capitalise on something in this wasteful war.”

“Wasteful? I’ll hardly call that. Timberton and Silverbridge has been liberated.”

“Asherville is going to be a headache. Most of the cadet Graftons fled there.” Petyr groaned. Even if you have a flamethrower, you won’t be able to incinerate all the moths. Some will fly away to another light source.

“Soo. Care to share your plan. I trust ye. But I need to know it so I can inform my people.”

“I’ll start by giving you autonomy on setting the Welfare, Regulations and Enforcement, Imports and Exports, and Medicine departments. But not Marketing.”

Petyr was pleased when his friend caught on. “Of course.”

“Gulltown merchants have preferential treatment and monopoly on the oak, redwood and mahogany. In return, you can choose which products you want from Gulltown. We have an assortment of silk, spices and other luxuries!”

“A bit unfair. I don’t have my ledgers to decide accurately on what Timberton needs.”

Petyr slapped him in the back and giggled. “I’m not going to scam a friend! You wound me for implying otherwise! I’m just saying in a general sense. Your clerks can help you later when finalising the agreement.”

“Blasted paperwork!”

“You’ll be doing more of that, Braeden. I predict, at the very least, ten years of stability. The Grafton cousins: Efric, Marrick and Bryan as well as Isembard have chosen to take the black. My carracks are taking them to East-Watch-By-The-Sea as we speak. Our opposition has been devastated but their families have chosen to cower in Asherville.”

“I can work with ten years. Now… This seems overly advantageous to Gulltown.”

“Overly?! I’m not even done yet.” Petyr paused and chuckled when he saw Braeden sag in despair. “The hamlets, villages and other settlements in Efric’s domain have to pay taxes directly to Gulltown. Timberton too.”

“Outrageous! Those taxes belong to Timberton! You may be a friend, Petyr. But don’t push it.” Braeden raised his eyebrows as he thought of something. “I’ll agree to that if we were given a city’s charter. Timberton needs to expand its harbour with the ability to set tariffs by itself.”

Okay. That’s extremely unreasonable. I’m not willing for Gulltown’s profits to decrease due to competition. And Gerry won’t either. “A full city charter requires a petition to the King. That’s going to take a long time to get to the Small Council. Let alone, the King! But, it’s well within the laws that the overlord can give the right to expand a town’s ports. Though, tariffs will be set by the Department of Imports and Exports.”

“Which you control,” Braeden growled.

“I can’t have Timberton compete with Gulltown! It doesn’t have any unique resources to be exploited and be reliably exported with a profit. Most of the ores we take in come from adjacent settlements and Runestone. I’m glad the other part of the peninsula is made of cliffs with no suitable areas to build a port. Otherwise, Runestone may outcompete Gulltown. Gulltown relies too much on trade that competition will kill it.”

“I missed the part where this is my problem.”

“You have timber to export! Many types of wood. Our furniture industries are hungry for those. If we preferentially buy those wood from you, would that be enough?”

“Come now. It’s not enough. I want those Braavosi clockwork engineering. I would love to have some sawmills built across river Gull.”

“Deal. I’ll relay Aleqqo to you. He’s the ambassador to Braavos.”

Braeden held out his hands which were gripped firmly by Petyr. “To a prosperous future!” Petyr said. To climb a ladder!

“Hear! Hear!”

“Well. Gulltown needs me. My betroth probably misses me… I think?”

“Leaving so soon? Not going to supervise on the contract signing?”

Petyr gave a goofy grin. “No thanks. I got people in this town I can delegate to do that.”

The Lord-Mayor just sighed. “I can see why we’ve won in just under two weeks.”

Petyr said his goodbyes and wished his friend luck. Braeden doesn’t need luck. He has me to copy from and Gerry’s legitimacy to rule Timberton. In my name – I mean Lord Grafton’s name.

He stepped on the ship and was instantly suspicious. The surprised look the crew gave him caused him to take a quick scan of his surroundings. Searching for hidden assassins. “Derrick! What’s going on? Why’s everyone staring at me like this?”

“I have no idea, my lord. Shall I request for Lady Naerys?”

“No need. I’m here.” The valyrian lady came to Petyr and, to everyone’s surprise, pinched his ear and dragged him to the captain’s room

“Ow! Naerys! I’m not a boy anymore!”

Naerys ignored his pleas and carried on. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young man!”

“About what.”

“About what you’ve done to Little Lysa.” Naerys pushed him inside the room.

An auburn-haired teenager sat wistfully on the bed. She saw Petyr and immediately sobbed and ran to hug him. “H-he killed our baby! M-my papa killed him! Made me drink it! Killed our sweet Robin!”

What. The. Fuck?