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.”
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.”
Intelligent, icy eyes swept over her in an analytical appraisal that missed nothing. It was imperative in his line of work to see people for what they were, as opposed to what they pretended to be. He did not know this girl woman, though something did seem familiar about her. Her accent perhaps, it was distinct. Even without being familiar, he knew much about her from that first impression alone. That accent, again, it was proper, educated. So she was from good stock, even if she tried to appear otherwise. And then her hair. The skin beneath the locks at her temples and forehead showed a fading brown stain, easily missed. Still, that didn’t tell him who she was exactly, only that she was hiding.
“I am Thomas. And I might have a moment. Depends on who’s this father of yours?”
Alayne had tried to learn the dialect of others like her — clipped, lazy, letters and entire syllables left out in the interest of expediency —but her father hated the sound, authenticity be damned. Fished from an orphanage in her teens, she ought not know even half of what the society girls did. Any daughter of mine would be so clever, Petyr assured. Most certainly after I had found her. She swallowed her fears and trusted him, incapable of anything else. Baelish’s associates tended toward the gruff, after all, clever when it came to counting their payments but little else beyond. With so much of her time spent cloistered inside, locked away from the grime and disease of what streets lay below, Alayne risked little. Until now. Only her father’s confidence lifted a porcelain chin, tongue chirping out once more those well-bred syllables.
“Petyr Baelish. He has concerns about a shipment — ” Its contents a mystery to her. “ — and the delay in its delivery. He would have come himself, but…” Vaguely, she trailed off, allowing implications of the man’s demanding existence to blossom. “I was told you could remedy these problems.”
Head down. Don’tmake waves. Baelish dealt with all kinds of unsavory sorts, yet as his successes grew, so too did his duties; it felt inevitable, asking her to venture out on his behalf, yet she had never felt more frightened. Anonymity did not suit crimson hair — muddy dye smothered it as soon as they settled in. Alayne knew better than to show such trepidation — will they know me? could they guess? — yet even she could not cease the faint tremor in her fingers, extended with bold greeting.
“You must be Thomas. Father said I was to speak with you, should you have a moment.”
should an exclusive partner go inactive for 1+ month, then i will become tentatively open to interactions with duplicates. when/if they return then exclusivity may resume.
