⊰ aredrighthand ⊱

Baelish. Yes, that name was quite familiar to him. A powerful man, the sort who looked polished and respectable in appearance, but dealt in all manner of businesses on the sly. Thomas admired him. But, his admiration rarely boded well for those with power. Admiration oft turned to jealousy. And he was the sort of man to take what he wanted, even if it belonged to someone else.

“You know, it’s funny? I didn’t know Baelish had a daughter. –Or any children, now that I think on it.” He spoke with deceptive politeness, like an old friend merely mentioning a new bit of mildly interesting news.

He let the words sit a moment, allowing the pause to stretch on as the world bustled on around them. After a time, he cleared his throat and spoke again, the words low. “If you want to talk business, I think we’d best go somewhere more private. Don’t you think?” Again, he appeared to be the very soul of courtesy with words alone, but his tone and demeanor brooked no argument. If she wanted to deal, she’d do as he asked. 

          Smile thinned, embarrassment seeping beyond the edges of gentility; though Baelish would handle such statements with greater panache, his daughter had been raised in more demure environs, inclined to discuss matters of parentage with a blush, rather than a chuckle. “Nor did he, I fear, until recently.” Alayne coughed, a muted expulsion of discomfort as the truth came to light. “My mother…was never his wife, nor did they remain in touch for very long. We only had occasion to speak with one another recently.” Even now, self-made men scrabbling about the city like vultures, swooping in to feast on the carrion of old, dead names, the right birth made all the difference. Baelish’s daughter understood that, how she must always look the part, quietly disregarding such unsavory facts. 

             Petyr said nothing about negotiation. Indeed, she doubted he would have ever considered sending her on such an errand if it necessitate more than the delivery of a message and the carriage of a reply. She could hardly return, however, not lacking any assurance whatsoever that this concern of his lay well-addressed. Father would be proud, she thought, to hear how well I’ve handled myself. “Of course,” the girl agreed. “Only…I cannot promise to commit to any course of action in his stead. My father sent me to convey his wishes, nothing more, sir.”