Chapter 2
The whoremonger lay on his bed of silk and satin, naked, his flesh pallid and sweating, every now and then his body gave a spasm of palsy like movement, but he never moved beyond this. His face was a picture of sheer terror, his mouth wide open and screaming, but no sound beyond the odd whimper emanated from it. Sweat plastered his hair to his scalp, and his eyes looked as if they would bulge from their sockets, staring wildly around, a desperate pleading painted on them, hopelessness and terror alternated flashing across them.
He sat in a chair a few feet away, calmly dissecting the mind of one Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin and also the master of quite few of the brothels in this city called Kings Landing. He was busily reading the pages of this greedy little shylocks mind, learning everything he could, while at the same time re-ordering the mind of this so called 'littlefinger'. This would be a work of purely mental thralldom, several of which he had created since he had found himself transported from Ploieşti during World War 2 to the middle of nowhere in the continent called Essos.
This little, ambitious man would be perfect for his plans, perfect to use to his purposes, and he certainly had enough coin to enable him to carry out what he had planned. Back on earth his kind had lived in the shadows, and even more so as the centuries has passed did longevity become synonymous with obscurity. But here? On a new world which did not seem to have any legends or myths of his kind? But where magic was still alive, albeit flickering and dim, but for his purposes, well it might as well have been a roaring bonfire. His powers, the gift of the changes that his symbiont could work on the whorls and folds of his brain, had become powerful beyond belief, all of the esoteric talents he had learned or found to be instinctive to him down the centuries of his un-life, were now so much stronger, so much more refined.
And what was power if it was not to be expended to gain more power, why hide away in dark corners, cowering from the light and from the sciences of mere men, when he had a whole world to take and command? Where his kind and the means of destroying his kind appeared to be unknown? Where his abilities could finally give him what he wanted, the power that he craved as much as he craved blood!
He was nearly finished with Littlefinger, finished sacking his mind and rebuilding it to severe his purposes, the man would be very busy over these next few months, or moons as they say, preparing the way for him to finally claim the power that was his by rights of the creature that he was.
He withdrew from Baelish's mind, ignoring him and standing up to go to the door and beckon a guard forward, he gave his instructions and closed the door again, resuming his seat.
Outside it was the depths of night, the room, Baelish's bedroom was only lit by two candles, more than enough illumination for him, indeed he could see perfectly well in the pitch-black conditions of a cave underground if required.
He waited patiently as Baelish recovered from his ordeal, it had been a matter of little effort to gain entrance to Baelish's brothel. It had taken several nights work suborning the guards with his mesmerism, which did not even require him to lock eyes with its intended victim anymore, and he was admitted easily enough into Baelish's presence and with sufficient assurances that he would not be disturbed.
Prior to this he had spent a good two weeks getting to know the lay of the land in the city of Kings Landing, using his powers to become intimately aware of the history and present realities of the city and the realm it was the capital of
He had selected a roost, a hideaway as close to the Red Keep as he could get and had let his mind wander ever night across its battlements and into the minds of its inhabitants, eagerly pilfering their unguarded thoughts.
He already knew from nigh on a decade spent in Essos about much of the history of this strange world, and he had come to the slow realization that even though Essos with its slave cities would be a comfortable existence for him, it was in Westeros that his destiny lay.
For in Westeros was a place where power was truly respected, where strength and will mattered, where you could take what you wanted if you were powerful enough.
Yes, Westeros worshipped tradition and great dynasties stretching back thousands of years, but he knew he had a way to corrupt that, to undermine it to his own purposes. Oh yes, that would not be an obstacle when the time came, and that time would be soon enough he knew.
But he had much work to do, and his kind were never ones to rest on their laurels, for the wamphyri were ever ones to strive for power and position, for what ever scrap of advantage they could attain over their rivals or their enemies, who oft were the same thing.