⊰ aredrighthand ⊱

Her admission did not bring about any smug satisfaction nor rude observations that would have been so easily made. He merely gave a brief nod of his head, as though feigning polite interest in the very subject he brought up. It was enough that his theory was confirmed. Knowing that Baelish had a bastard could prove valuable indeed. But there was no need to punish her for it. She’d done nothing to incite his ill-will.

“Come on then.” Turning with the assurance of one who was used to being followed, he led her to his back room of the Garrison, not wanting any agent of Baelish’s, daughter or no, to know the official base of his operations. Taking his customary seat, he beckoned she do the same in a place of her choosing around the table with a mild, “Sit, please.”

“So you don’t want to commit? Fine. Listen then.” There was no undue firmness in his voice. He did not have to yell and threaten to get what he wanted. His tone remained even and low, a reasonable, easy sound. “Shipments are something I’ve a particular expertise and jurisdiction of.  I’ve the means of meeting your father’s demands, but my services are not free.” As well she likely knew.

If not, she did now.

          From the beginning of their ruse Alayne had shown a notable sensitivity to the reactions of others over parentage unknown. In pitying looks and fluttering hands she saw her own aversion, that haughty self-assurance rooted once in a birthright believed to be incontrovertible, now erased without a thought. Baelish’s associates cared very little, not like the mothers and sons with whom he hoped to ingratiate her. Lurking along the edges of polite society, slithering through its underbelly, news of bastardy failed to bring forth more than a disinterested shrug from such men. 

             Perhaps it should have endeared them to her, their nonchalance. Yet wariness remained, an understanding of Petyr’s own menace and his penchant for dealing with those of similar ilk. Men like Shelby, no doubt; chin tilted to one side, a bird whose feathers ruffled at being given commands so blithely, Sansa nonetheless trailed after him. Deliberating for a moment she settled on a seat just beside him, worried that distance might imply a fear to be taken advantage of. Petyr trusted her. She had no cause to worry that any harm would come from a simple conversation.

             “Please, don’t misunderstand me. My father has no intention to bandy about; no doubt wasted time would cost the both of you valuable income. I only meant that I’ve been sent as a messenger,” she emphasized, smiling with an underling’s chagrin, “rather than a proxy.” And what a vague message it was — make sure he gets the shipment through. What and even when Sansa knew not, only that the cargo carried enough significance for both men to apparently know of it with a single mention. “Though I have not known him as long as some, Mr. Shelby, I can already assure you that he’s most generous to those with whom he works. Nor is he one to let a debt go unpaid.”