Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish's brothel stood right beside "Chataya's," another of King's Landing's more upscale "professional establishments." It was said to gather the most beautiful women from both continents, East and West—and it happened to be one of King Robert's favorite haunts.
In fact, after some investigation, Marco had learned that all the brothels in King's Landing were actually Littlefinger's property. Outwardly, he appeared to own just one, but in truth, he had used his position as Master of Coin to quietly take control of nearly every brothel in the city.
Many of the brothel owners were his subordinates, working to gather intelligence from all corners of the realm. In this world, the best places to collect information were brothels and taverns—places full of travelers, drifters, and loose tongues.
Littlefinger had long been exploiting these resources to amass both wealth and intelligence. Though his network was not quite as extensive as Varys's, it was more than sufficient for his purposes.
Marco and his four companions were seated in a lavish carriage—broad and comfortable, purchased at great expense. With five people inside, there was still plenty of space.
Under the driver's steady hand, the carriage moved slowly toward Littlefinger's "high-end establishment." Silk Street was the grandest den of indulgence in all of King's Landing, and it wasn't far from Cobbler's Square. After only about ten minutes, they arrived at the building's grand entrance.
After helping his four female companions alight one by one, Marco handed the invitation to the servant at the door. Within moments, the group was led to an opulent private room on the second floor—where they finally met the legendary Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish.
House Baelish was a minor noble family from the Vale, their lands located on the Fingers peninsula. That Littlefinger had managed to climb to his current station was thanks entirely to his former lover, Lady Lysa Arryn, and the patronage of the late Jon Arryn, the former Hand of the King. Without them, a landed knight's son like him would never have claimed the seat of Master of Coin—a position usually reserved for the realm's great lords.
Upon meeting him, Marco pulled back his hood and offered a half-formal bow—a somewhat exaggerated gesture of deference. "Greetings, Lord Baelish," he said lightly. "May I ask why a man such as yourself has summoned a humble merchant like me? I haven't conducted any business in King's Landing—surely I haven't offended you?"
Petyr Baelish was not tall, and his frame was lean. He carried an air of refinement, and his handsome features lent him an aura of calm intelligence and maturity. It was no wonder, Marco thought, that he had bewitched Lady Lysa so completely—enough that she'd poisoned her own husband for him.
Littlefinger accepted the compliment with visible satisfaction. After returning Marco's greeting, he gestured for him to sit.
When his eyes settled on Marco's strikingly handsome face, a flicker of appreciation crossed them. Beautiful things always inspired goodwill—and when his gaze drifted toward Marco's four female companions, surprise flashed in his eyes.
At once, Littlefinger waved off the serving girls who had been preparing to enter. A man who had seen as many women as he had knew well enough that none of his own could compare to the four beside Marco. Rather than embarrass himself, he simply smiled and began to converse naturally.
"Truth be told," Littlefinger began with a smooth smile, "I've long wanted to make the acquaintance of Lord Markol. I had heard, however, that you had no intention of doing business in King's Landing, so I did not wish to impose. But a friend of mine recently told me that you've taken quite an interest in collecting ancient books and Valyrian scrolls. That reminded me—I happen to own a few such volumes myself. So I thought I'd invite you here to have a look… and perhaps, to make a friend."
Littlefinger's words were full of guilt and self-blame. Listening to him, one might almost think he'd committed some grave crime. If Marco hadn't known what sort of man he truly was, even he might have believed it.
This man—whether from long practice or natural deceit—spoke such words without a flicker of emotion crossing his mind. Marco could sense no disturbance in his thoughts at all, and so couldn't glimpse even a shadow of his true intentions.
That was something Marco hadn't expected. After a brief moment of distraction, he quickly regained his composure and smiled at Littlefinger."It's merely a small personal interest of mine," he said lightly. "I never thought Lord Baelish would take it so much to heart. I'm just an ordinary merchant—there's no need for such courtesy."
"Hahaha! You're far too modest," Littlefinger replied, laughing. "Anyone who can so casually produce two peerless swords can hardly be called ordinary. If I'm not mistaken, you must be from Volantis—or perhaps Lys? As far as I know, only those two cities still have true Valyrian bloodlines among their nobles. But tell me—what made someone like you venture to the frozen North, and then end up here in King's Landing?"
Littlefinger voiced the doubts gnawing at his mind. In his view, for someone born to comfort and privilege to abandon all that for the hardship of the far North, there had to be some immense profit or secret treasure involved. If he could uncover that secret, he might save himself years of struggle and achieve his ambitions much sooner.
"Hahaha! Lord Baelish, you're truly impressive—so well-informed! I suppose there's no harm in telling you. But first, may I ask you two questions? Do you believe in gods? Or in the existence of magic?"
Marco's words caught Littlefinger off guard. For a moment, he recalled certain rumors. His intelligence network reported that Marco was a sorcerer. Some even said that the so-called "Dragonsteel" he wielded was none other than Valyrian steel forged by his own hand—lacking only dragonfire, which made it slightly heavier than the true thing.
On the continent of Essos, tales of magic had always lingered. But like most men of Westeros, Littlefinger had never taken them seriously. He believed, as they did, that real power lay in the bow and the blade. In his eyes, sorcery and curses were far less reliable than a vial of good poison.
Then Marco began recounting his "past."In this tale, he became a Valyrian noble from Volantis who had endured countless trials to study magic. During his travels beyond the Wall, he met the Children of the Forest and learned their ancient arts—along with part of the lost craft of forging Valyrian steel.
When he finished, Marco picked up a cluster of grapes from the fruit platter before him and handed it to Nymph, who had been eyeing the fruit ever since she sat down. After she accepted it, Marco plucked one grape from the bunch, peeled it deftly before them all, and placed the seed on the table.
Before Littlefinger's astonished eyes, the grape seed began to grow—first a sprout, then leaves, then blossoms, and finally a cluster of ripe grapes. Marco plucked the largest and finest bunch, handed it to Littlefinger, and said with a hint of mystery:
"Believe it or not, magic is real. It may not be as tangible as a sword, but at times it can yield results beyond imagination. Like a blade, it's simply a tool—just a more complicated one to wield."
Littlefinger weighed the grapes in his hand, then passed them to one of the courtesans beside him. The women crowded around curiously, examining the miraculous fruit—one of them bold enough to pop a grape straight into her mouth.
Watching it all, Littlefinger felt his understanding of the world shift. His excitement showed as he turned to Marco."Lord Marco! You are truly remarkable. I believe we could build a strong and lasting friendship—one that would benefit us both."
At his signal, several servants entered carrying three chests. Littlefinger opened one, revealing a collection of books and scrolls."These," he said, "were left from the reign of King Aenys I. I found that many of them concern magic and prophecy. It seems the so-called 'Bookish King' spent his life studying such things—perhaps even seeking, like others before him, to bring dragons back to life."
Aenys I Targaryen had indeed been called the "Bookish King" by the common folk of Westeros. His Hand at the time had been Brynden Rivers, known as Bloodraven. The realm had been beset by turmoil—plagues, rebellions, and the ever-watchful Blackfyres. Yet Aenys had secluded himself in the Red Keep, reading and studying magic until the day he died, leaving Bloodraven to shoulder the burdens of the realm alone.
Looking over the line of Targaryen kings, one could see a pattern: ever since the Dance of the Dragons, wise and capable rulers tended to die young, while the strange and unfit ones lived long reigns—"Baelor the Blessed," "Aegon the Unworthy," "Aenys the Bookish," and finally, "Aerys the Mad."
Marco leafed through one of the books, nodded in satisfaction, and said,"Lord Baelish, thank you for your generous gift. Allow me to return the favor. From now on, let us be friends."
He drew from his robes a necklace adorned with a gemstone like a blue glass orb, pulsing faintly with red light. It was a magic artifact of his own making—one that enhanced the wearer's strength, much like the armor-piercing enchantments forged into his Dragonsteel swords.
Catching Marco's subtle glance, Littlefinger dismissed everyone else from the room. Once they were alone, Marco briefly explained the necklace's properties. Littlefinger tested it by pushing against the stone table—and to his astonishment, it moved easily beneath his hand.
Staring at his palm, he exclaimed in excitement,"This is incredible! My friend, do you have more of these?"
Marco chuckled softly. "My dear Lord Baelish, do you think such things are trinkets? This is a magical artifact—on par with the Dragonsteel blades. Still, if you're truly interested, I could craft another. But… the price, of course…"
His words cooled Littlefinger's excitement at once. He smiled awkwardly."My apologies, Lord Marco! I let my enthusiasm get the better of me. It's just that—something like this is nearly divine! In the hands of someone like Jaime Lannister, it could let him slay the Mountain single-handedly."
Littlefinger's mind raced. Such an item could elevate a mere hedge knight to the rank of a Kingsguard. For mercenaries or wandering knights yearning to rise, it would be irresistible. Understanding that, he extended his hand eagerly."Thank you for your gift, my friend."
Marco smiled and clasped his hand. "You're welcome, my friend."
After chatting a while longer, Marco politely declined Littlefinger's invitation to stay for dinner and departed the brothel with Moonshadow and the others.
Before leaving, Marco told Littlefinger that if he ever managed to find a dragon egg, he would trade him two magical artifacts in exchange. The words thrilled Littlefinger. He immediately asked if Marco could truly resurrect a dragon.
Marco only gave him a vague answer, saying merely that with a dragon egg, many more things would become possible. That was enough to set Littlefinger's ambition aflame. The moment Marco left, he summoned his agents to begin hunting for dragon eggs across the realm.
On the way back, Dany wrapped her arms around Marco's neck and asked softly,"Darling, why work with Littlefinger? Wouldn't it be better to hand this over to the Spider instead? His network reaches all the way to Essos—he'd find it far faster."
Marco gently stroked her hair and said calmly,"Varys has powers behind him I'd rather not expose myself to. Littlefinger is different—his foundation is weak, his reach limited. Even if he suspects our aims, he can't touch us. And if he does talk… who would ever believe him?"
Hearing that, Dany kissed his cheek and laughed."You're amazing, my love."
"Hmph! Always taking advantage," another voice chimed in.
"What's that, you little golden bird? Looking for a fight?"
"Hmph! Do you think I'm afraid of you? All you do is cling to Marco all day instead of helping him!"
"Oh, please! You weren't complaining when you were the one moaning louder than me last time!"
"Enough, both of you," Moonshadow interrupted their squabble. She turned to Marco. "Should we return to Griffin's Roost now? The day of the Red Comet's arrival is drawing near—we'd better prepare."
"Yes," Marco nodded. "We leave tomorrow. Our work here is done—it's time to begin the next phase."
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