"Come to the docks of Gulltown and welcome our good Lord Petyr home," Lord Gerold Grafton announced in Gulltown, especially to the city's wealthy merchants, customs officials, Harbormaster, and the like. There was no need to bring relatives, nor any need to bring guards.
Among the three great noble powers of Gulltown, the Graftons and the Arryns of Gulltown had always maintained good relations with Petyr. House Shett, however, was closer to House Royce.
Everyone knew Gulltown was the foundation from which Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, had made his fortune. Petyr had long maintained an ambiguous relationship with Lysa Tully, even after she married Jon Arryn. In the beginning, it had been Lysa who persuaded Great Lord Jon to appoint Petyr as Gulltown's tax collector. After he increased local tax revenues tenfold, Great Lord Jon promoted him again and again, until he eventually became King Robert Baratheon's Master of Coin.
Many in Gulltown were puzzled. It was not only that they had been told not to bring relatives or guards, but that the welcome for Petyr had become such a grand affair that the whole city had been stirred into motion. In their memory, Petyr was a man of sweet words, but also modest, quiet, and amiable.
Later, these people came to understand. War had not yet reached the Vale, and the Vale was still peaceful and prosperous. Besides, the Vale was its own isolated land, protected by the natural barrier of the Mountains of the Moon. Lord Petyr's return this time could be considered a triumphant homecoming. He needed not only to appear glorious, but more likely to display his strength in preparation for his plans involving Lady Lysa of The Eyrie.
And so the wealthy merchants and customs officials of Gulltown cheered with even greater enthusiasm. If Littlefinger climbed another step higher, they too could rise along with him.
The next morning, the sky was clear, and the chill was not severe. Long, fine sunlight fell over Gulltown, making the city seem even more splendid. Gulltown was a city of white marble, southeast of The Eyrie, on the Bay of Crabs, south of Runestone, with a naturally sheltered harbor.
Gulltown was about the same size as White Harbor and smaller than the three largest cities, but its beauty, cleanliness, and quiet had a charm all their own. It was more compact, but everything was orderly and very livable.
Like most commercial ports, Gulltown had a smaller farming population. More of its people made their living from the harbor as fishermen, sailors, merchants, craftsmen, and petty traders. Gulltown's farmland lay on the flat, fertile plains beyond the harbor. Like Runestone's lands, Gulltown had both docks and rich soil, making it exceptionally valuable. This was why House Royce and House Grafton were both so powerful. Those fertile lands not only fed many people, but were also scattered with estates devoted to horse breeding.
Soldiers of House Grafton, House Arryn, and House Shett guarded the area around the docks. Sentries stood everywhere, spears sharp, and there were tall, proud Vale cavalrymen in silver-plated armor, gleaming like newly forged swords. There were lances as well, the weapons of knights and heavy horsemen. Ten feet long, carved from ash wood, and grooved to keep them from splitting, their sharp steel points usually dulled after a single charge in fierce battle.
Even the small traders by the docks selling fashionable clothes, oysters, incense, and other Vale goods understood that an important man was coming.
"Are they here?"
"Has the ship docked?"
"It should be soon, shouldn't it?"
The docks of Gulltown were crowded with people. The city's lords, nobles, wealthy merchants, customs officers, even granary owners and brothel keepers had all come to the harbor.
Yet people were still divided by rank, and even the welcoming party had clear lines. First stood the three great powers of Gulltown, then the knights and nobles, and only after them came the customs officials and wealthy merchants.
Lord Gerold, standing at the front, had thick arms and broad shoulders, though he was not tall. His hair was a messy golden mop, and his voice was loud. He was courteous and smiling.
"Isembard " Isembard was tall, like a smiling hawk. Though he also wore a blue cloak, the sigil upon it showed a golden falcon soaring over a white moon on a sky-blue field. House Arryn had many branches. This one was not powerful, but it knew how to marry wealthy merchants. As a result, it had made a great fortune without attracting too much attention, and had gradually prospered. Their other kinsmen, however, considered them vulgar and rarely associated with them.
Ser Uther Shett, a knight of middling height, stood beside the two men. House Shett had always been at odds with Littlefinger, so many people grew suspicious when they saw him here today. But after a second thought, it seemed normal enough. Though House Shett and Littlefinger had long been unfriendly, House Shett was not so rigid as to ignore appearances.
House Grafton guards in black armor stood not far from where the ship would come in, forming a faint semicircle. Because they were welcoming Petyr, the docks seemed solemn, and with the war, the number of ships had dwindled greatly.
The blue sea was very calm. Only the slow, steady beat of drums and the soft stroke of oars could be heard. The merchant ship Titan of Braavos groaned as thick tow ropes pulled taut, while its sails hung limply from the mast, utterly still.
Everyone watched the Titan of Braavos grow larger and larger, which meant the ship was drawing closer.
"Welcome, Lord Petyr, pride of the Vale." Many had already prepared their greetings. All they needed was for the man himself to appear.
Lothor Brune was the first to step off the ship. He had an ordinary face, gray hair, a flat nose, and a square jaw, with a large and powerful build. On his chest he wore a beautiful badge: a dragon, a stag, a slave breaking his chains, and a wolf pack.
Behind Lothor came a beautiful young girl, her gaze sweeping over everyone. She had House Tully's delicate cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and thick auburn hair. Though only twelve or thirteen, she was already tall and graceful.
"What is going on?"
"Yes, that isn't Lord Petyr. That's the Storm."
"Did Lord Petyr's own men betray him?"
"What is happening?"
They looked toward the Vale nobles and lords standing at the front. This was not simple.
The mood on the docks froze at once. Many people were already trembling. The quartered banner represented the Storm, not the lion and stag of King Joffrey on the Iron Throne in King's Landing. There was something very wrong with this welcoming ceremony. Many wanted to slip away, only to find that the house troops of House Grafton, House Arryn, and House Shett had already begun tightening the circle. These were not hired Sellswords, but their own family soldiers.
Then Petyr made his entrance in a ridiculous fashion. He did not walk. He was carried.
The man who cared so much for dignity and elegance had lost both. His plum-colored cloak had been stripped from him, and the Mockingbird sigil hung limp and dispirited. Petyr had clearly been beaten and abused. His legs were too weak to walk, and his clothes were marked with dust and blood. His face was swollen red, blood dripped from his mouth, and cloth had been stuffed inside to keep him from killing himself.
Two Sellsword guards coldly threw Petyr onto the dock, leaving him half-kneeling on the ground. Then the sailors carefully brought down the cedar chests Petyr had secretly carried with him, placing them all on the dock as well. The Sellswords stood behind Lothor and silently watched Littlefinger's fate unfold.
Lord Gerold waved a hand, and someone boarded the ship to reward the sailors. Though these sailors had escorted Petyr back to the Vale, they had barely been involved in his affairs and had little value. After receiving two portions of golden dragons, the ship would leave the Vale for Braavos and continue seeking its next patron.
Lothor, Sansa, and Petyr were all in place. The curtain had risen on a fine show.
Petyr mumbled and struggled to speak, but with something stuffed in his mouth before the crowd, he could not say a word.
"My lords, I forgot to mention something. The man we are welcoming today is not our good Lord Petyr, but Petyr the traitor," Lord Gerold said, turning back with a cheerful smile toward the crowd behind him.
"Who? Who issued this decree?" a wealthy merchant asked, his face pale.
"I did."
The soldiers of House Grafton opened a path. First came two gold-cloaked knights holding banners before Gendry, quartered golden banners with a dragon and stag dancing across a field of gold, splendid and imposing.
Then three knights on tall horses appeared in everyone's sight. At their head, a towering figure in black armor slowly rode out from behind the welcoming crowd, like a bright sun.
"He's so tall." Sansa felt her breath catch. She was looking at the most handsome young man she had ever seen. He was very tall, but not thin. His body had a warrior's strength and beauty, and amid the crowd he stood like a high tower. At first glance, Sansa thought he was Renly, but then she saw that his bearing was entirely different. Renly did not have this current of steel and courage. Renly was more like a graceful young nobleman.
Anguy and the white knight, Ser Barristan, rode at Gendry's left and right, escorting him like stars around the moon. Ser Barristan's armor was gilded, finely forged, hard as ice and bright as snow. A dagger hung at his hip, and his longsword on the other side, both fixed to a white leather belt with golden buckles. A white cloak hung from his shoulders.
Anguy's armor was simple chainmail, convenient for bending a bow and loosing arrows. He carried a longbow on his back, his red hair blazing like fire.
But the most striking figure was the Storm Knight. Gendry wore black scale armor forged of fine steel, black as endless night. Upon his helm were a leaping red dragon and a stag, like magnificent forked antlers of a god. He was tall and powerfully built, his short coal-black hair like black jade against his clean-shaven face. His smiling blue eyes held not only warmth, but a flowing heroic spirit. Two weapons were fastened to Gendry's horse, one a strange long blade, the other the Falcon's Blade.
"Everyone, former Master of Coin Petyr Baelish is accused of many crimes, including plotting the murder of Great Lord Jon and provoking chaos across the Seven Kingdoms," Isembard Arryn said loudly, turning back to address the crowd. The news exploded like thunder, sending sparks through the air.
The Vale lords, knights, and nobles beside the three great lords, who had either already understood or been quietly informed beforehand, all turned to look coldly at Littlefinger's followers behind them. For so many years, had Littlefinger truly thought himself the master of Gulltown? For every person who loved Littlefinger, there was another noble or knight who hated him just as much, held back only by the favor of Great Lord Arryn and Lady Lysa. But now, the great tree had fallen.
"I hope you will cooperate, gentlemen," Lord Gerold said, turning as well to look at the frightened crowd. Most of the Vale lords, nobles, and knights stood relaxed at his side, watching the clearly separated faction before them.
"What is going on?"
"How could Lord Petyr be a traitor?"
Gendry looked at the trembling wealthy merchants, brothel owners, dock merchants, grain merchants, and customs officials. These were Littlefinger's true base.
The Vale lords and knights had maintained decent relations with Littlefinger, but only for the sake of golden dragons. Deep down, few of them thought much of the man. Littlefinger knew this too, which was why he bribed and flattered the nobles, but never trusted them. Now Littlefinger was beyond saving.
"Some of you are Petyr's friends. Some of you are his subordinates. But now, regarding Petyr's role in harming Lord Arryn and embezzling the realm's assets together with him, I expect everything to be made clear," Gendry said. His voice was like steel.
Some of the Vale's wealthy merchants, brothel owners, and most of the customs officials dropped to their knees in unison, trembling all over and not daring to meet his eyes. Most of them had murky ties with Littlefinger, but it was only money. As long as they were not tied to treason, there was still a road to survival.
"Lord Gerold, how dare you do this to us?" A bearded customs official, seeing how badly things had turned, shouted in fury. Others might still beg for life, but as men from Littlefinger's old base, they were likely facing death. The customs official tried to rush forward and grab Gerold's clothing, only to find a layer of chainmail beneath it. His face changed at once.
"And you, Ser Isembard Arryn. You were Lord Petyr's friend."
"I was. Not anymore, not since the day I learned he had incited that fool Lysa to poison Lord Jon. The Arryns of Gulltown are Arryns too." Isembard gave a cold snort, fury burning in his eyes.
"Get away." Lord Gerold shoved the raving customs official aside and looked at him with disgust.
"Your father was killed by the King!" the man shouted.
"My father died for honor, and I am willing to live for honor. As for you, your time has come," Gerold replied. The guards around him moved in and quickly dragged the shouting official away. Then came the ring of steel, steel against steel, armor striking weapons, crisp and cold, as the household soldiers of the three families pressed forward swiftly.
The blue-cloaked golden falcon soldiers of the Arryns of Gulltown, the seagull-cloaked soldiers of House Shett, and the black-and-red-cloaked soldiers of House Grafton were mostly clad in bright armor, showing excellent equipment. They also looked well-fed, broad-shouldered and strong. Gulltown was, after all, a wealthy place.
Gendry, Barristan, and the others rode forward, ignoring everything around them. The game of thrones was a struggle of life and death.
"We're innocent!"
"Save us, Lord Petyr!"
"Save us, Lady Lysa! Lord Petyr!"
Gulltown's soldiers raised spears, greatswords, spiked maces, and heavy flails, then began dealing with Littlefinger's followers. Sword sheaths and spear shafts struck flesh, bringing waves of screams. Only now did these pampered men learn the power of fists.
The entire dock of Gulltown was shrouded in violence.
Petyr watched it all helplessly, unable to say a word. Everything he had struggled for was no more than a castle in the air, sand slipping through his fingers. He had not been invincible. He had only been hidden in the shadows, unnoticed by true power.
Littlefinger had always tried to conceal himself, but now the truth had come to light. He was still only Littlefinger. A schemer was still a schemer, and his strength was still not enough.
"Seize them all!" Lord Gerold shouted. The encirclement tightened swiftly, steel, shouts, heavy blows, soldiers dragging captives from within the circle. "Take them all away according to my list."
Littlefinger's followers felt even more miserable because Lord Gerold, as one of Littlefinger's allies, had been involved in many matters, which was why he could move so smoothly. But Gerold's dealings had been commercial. He was not involved in Littlefinger's rot.
The arrests moved quickly. The soldiers took control of those pampered customs officials, wealthy merchants, and brothel owners. Shield lines and spear lines pressed forward together, sweeping everything before them.
Yet there were desperate moments too. Gulltown's customs office was where Littlefinger had begun, and the brothels served as his intelligence network. These people were too deeply involved, and some knew death was near. A few customs officers and brothel owners even tried to seize weapons, showing no small amount of martial nerve.
The resisters fought furiously with the soldiers pressing the formation, trying to drag others down with them. They were only a small minority. The most die-hard among them tried to block Gendry, Barristan, and the others, charging toward the three knights. Others resisted arrest like cornered dogs, hoping to fight their way out. After all, everyone could see that Grafton was leading the matter, but Gendry was the truly honored one.
"Stop them!" Lord Gerold roared.
Most of those men were clumsy fighters, and they received an even harsher beating as the soldiers formed a long spear wall and rolled forward. But there were incidents, and unexpected surprises.
Thud!
Gendry saw a fat brothel owner in lavish clothes slip smoothly through a gap and roll out from the soldiers' spear formation.
The man was plain-looking, a plump male brothel owner with gaudy blue-purple hair. But it seemed he had once had some skill, perhaps enough to count as a first- or second-rate fighter. Perhaps, like Varys or the fat Magister, he was a former Sellsword who had changed trades, now making a last desperate strike.
The fat owner roared and rushed forward, pulling out a dagger to stab Lord Gerold. Gendry caught the path of the fat man's movement. The man was still striding ahead, and Gendry had already judged where he would be.
"Slow. Too slow."
Gendry urged his horse forward, sweeping past a blue-cloaked soldier and snatching up the lance in his hand. Then he used both hands and hurled it from horseback. The lance was sharp. Let it sing with blood.
The ten-foot lance flew like lightning, passing through the rebel's chest as if cutting silk. The tip pierced clothing, skin, flesh, and bone, its force undiminished. After bursting through his body, the long spear continued forward, pinning the man who had tried to assassinate Grafton diagonally to the ground through the chest. Torn flesh, blood, body tissue, fragments of bone, and scraps of clothing all sprayed outward.
In the surging mist of blood, the white lance tore violently through the man's body and slammed into a gap between the white paving stones. Its shadow moved too fast to stop, and it stood fixed in the ground.
It was a bloody sight. The long spear was like a sky-piercing blade, slanting through flesh into the earth. The fat man stared in disbelief at the lance in his chest, but had no strength to struggle. His rebellious life flickered like a candle in the wind, until he died miserably, blood flowing out beneath him.
The smell of blood spread. This was the first death, and crimson began to cover Gulltown.
"The first!" Gendry gave the fool no further attention and continued riding forward.
Every Vale knight saw that miraculous strike. After a moment of silence, thunderous cheers rose on every side.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
"Gendry!"
"Gendry!"
The few remaining bold resisters saw the bloody scene and lost all courage. They had only been taking a desperate gamble, and now they fell to their knees, wailing.
"Traitors," Ser Barristan said, looking at them. The wailing men had been the boldest, and their end was the worst.
Gulltown's guards were angered now. They thrust with spears, hacked with longswords, and fired crossbows one after another. Those diehard Littlefinger followers who had dared to resist and grapple with them were knocked down one by one and executed on the spot.
The dead fell to the ground, staining their splendid clothes. Blood became little streams, running crookedly across the ground. Gulltown began to bleed without stopping, and red covered the docks.
Was this a death knell? A death knell for himself.
Littlefinger watched the bloody scene. He could only convulse, unable to shed a single tear.
***
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on p-@-treon.
[email protected]/PinkSnake (50 Chapters Ahead).
You can also follow as a free member to read a few advanced chapters.
***