The Smuggler
He awoke to the gray light of dawn as it crept overeagerly through the sheer curtains in his chambers. His head was pounding but he had not drunk overmuch the night before. His loins ached in the good way that comes from a night abed with a skilled courtesan yet no such lady had been brought to bed by him the night before. By all his waking assessments, it seemed he had quite the raucous night, yet he knew he had not. Petyr rose and slipped on his robe, the stone floor icy on his feet. He tossed a log on the embers of last night's fire, not patient enough to await a servant. He was needed at the capitol again, but not by orders of the King. This time, it was best no one knew his business.
The fire was roaring again as Gerold, his attendant entered to draw a bath and set out his clothes.
"I'm taking my leave for a while, Gerold. I can't say how long I will be but pack a trunk of my necessities at least. Oswell will be up to fetch them shortly. And have Pia be sure the Lady's chambers are well outfitted and ready."
Gerold left to the adjoining room to do as he was bid. Harrenhal had such an abundance of rooms, Lord Petyr had allocated one chamber for his burgeoning wardrobe of finery. He was a man of elegant and extravagant tastes. He scrubbed and dressed in charcoal woolen trousers with a silk tunic in a bright plum and a brocade doublet in a similar though darker shade. He broke his fast on bacon and bread with honey and by time his appetite was sated, Oswell had joined him.
"Today is today the day, milord. Are you certain she wants to leave?"
Petyr smiled but it did not reach his eyes.
"Quite certain. My last visit, she begged me to take her away but it wasn't time yet."
She was Lady Sansa Stark. Daughter to Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. Traitors to the crown, their daughter was held as a hostage by the vicious boy king, Joffrey Baratheon. Petyr had been planning for months to smuggle her away but it had to be done just right. He was the King's Master of Coin, Harrenhal had been a gift for arranging the marriage between the King and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell. An act of treason such as he had planned would spoil everything if not cautiously carried out, least of all the head he carried proudly upon his shoulders. As he left the ruined castle's gates he muttered a futile command in jest to its ghost:
"Try not to murder too many of my servants and swords whilst I'm away this time."
~
He arrived in Maidenpool, a stranger. Taking a page from the Eunuch's book he had used a smudge of mummer's paint to conceal the silver in his hair and mussed it into close wiry curls. He removed his mockingbird and traded his usual demeanor and style of dress for something more foreign, distinctly Braavosi. It wasn't hard, the Secret City was in his blood.
In a once bustling but now beleaguered harbor town such as Maidenpool, a foreign stranger was noticed but not noted beyond a casual nod. He bought a tankard of foul wine he did not intend to drink at the Stinking Goose with Free Cities silver pieces and gave a false name when asked and waited and waited. The Stinking Goose is oft frequented by sailors and those who wish to pass through unnoticed onto ships and likewise, Lord Baelish went unnoticed. It was well past the noon hour when Ser Lothor arrived to retrieve him and bring him to the Merling King. His trunk and other belongings were loaded aboard the ship and by sunset they were departing for the Blackwater Bay.
The city was a flurry of activity, it was obvious even to the occupants of the Merling King as tucked away in the night as it was. Petyr imagined the Gold Cloaks were scouring the city of filth after the day's rioting. Rioting he had carefully planned. Rioting that should have culminated in Sansa and the King's disappearance and later, the latter's death. Petyr hoped it would be a slow and painful death but a shout from the water below woke him from his thoughts. Moments later, a frighted and disheveled Sansa Stark appeared at the top of the rope ladder. Petyr rushed to help her, arms embracing her comfortingly.
"Are you hurt, my lady?"
A timid response in the negative put him at ease and he wrapped his cloak around her. The man who rowed her to the ship was paid in crossbow bolts through the heart.