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Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
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When Ser Addam Marbrand walked into the Hall of Order, the chatter in the room dropped noticeably.
These were merchants who made their living in King's Landing. They carried a deep, instinctive fear of the City Watch.
Especially since the Commander wasn't wearing fine clothes for the occasion. He was still in dark-red armor, a brilliant gold cloak billowing behind him. No extra ornaments—just a fine longsword at his hip.
He walked at an unhurried pace, seven officers following in formation.
Petyr's eyes flicked across the group. As a former Master of Coin, he immediately recognized five of them—captains who controlled the gates and districts of the city.
Damn it.
Addam Marbrand hadn't come alone to offer congratulations. He'd brought half the City Watch command structure with him.
"Ser Corleone." Addam stopped in the center of the hall, voice quiet but carrying to every corner. "Congratulations."
"I was also knighted personally by Lord Tywin. From now on we share that honor."
"Of course, Ser Addam," Corleone said with a warm smile, stepping forward. "The improvement in Flea Bottom's security is entirely thanks to you and the Gold Cloaks. The Black Hand will give the City Watch our full support from now on."
"Mutual support," Addam replied with a nod. His gaze swept the hall, pausing briefly on Lord Leek and Lady Falyse before settling on Petyr.
That look made Petyr's heart skip.
No… surely not.
He glanced at Lord Leek and Lady Falyse, unease growing. None of the people he had cheated in the past included Addam Marbrand.
The man had only been appointed Commander after the Battle of the Blackwater. He'd barely spent time in King's Landing before that. They had almost no dealings at all.
"Convenient that you're here too, Lord Baelish."
Addam spoke before Petyr could respond. "Saves me a trip to your manse tomorrow."
Petyr forced a smile and asked carefully, "Is there something I can help you with, Ser Addam?"
Addam didn't answer right away. He pulled a small black ledger from his coat, flipped it open, and ran his finger down a page.
"Last month we received a report. Several moneylenders submitted mortgage applications to the City Watch quartermaster's office. They used your seven brothels on the Street of Silk, three gambling houses, and two warehouses as collateral. Total borrowed… four thousand five hundred gold dragons."
"That… that loan was properly documented, Ser Addam," Petyr said quickly, throat suddenly dry. "The collateral was worth far more than the loan. Everything was above board."
"Correct," Addam said. He turned another page. "But we later discovered you used those same properties as collateral in multiple places. You mortgaged them several times over. The total borrowed comes to…"
He pretended to search the page while the room watched in silence, then looked up with mock surprise.
"Thirty-two thousand gold dragons."
The hall went dead silent.
Even the servers stopped pouring drinks.
Thirty-two thousand gold dragons. That was enough to buy half the Street of Silk.
So Petyr Baelish really was a piece of work. He'd been double-mortgaging his assets, clearly planning to run.
Petyr felt cold sweat running down his back under the weight of every stare.
"This… I can explain, Ser—"
"The repayment deadline was ten days ago."
Addam cut him off and looked straight at him. "According to the agreement, if the loan isn't repaid on time, ownership of the collateral transfers automatically to the lenders. Of course, those properties were never worth that much to begin with."
"So I suggest you start thinking about how you're going to repay this debt, Lord Baelish."
He closed the ledger and slipped it back into his coat.
Petyr opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mind was racing.
Those three properties were exactly the ones listed on the parchment he had just given to Corleone.
His original plan had been perfect. Gift the soon-to-be-seized assets to Corleone as a "generous" gesture, win favor, and dump the debt crisis on someone else. Once Corleone took ownership, the creditors would come after him instead. Petyr would already be long gone, safely married to Lysa Tully in the Vale.
With the Eyrie's defenses and Lysa's obsessive love for him, no one would be able to collect there.
But he had never expected Addam Marbrand to show up here—especially right after Petyr had "gifted" the assets away.
Too perfect.
It didn't feel like coincidence.
Petyr's head snapped toward Corleone.
The man was watching him calmly, black eyes empty of surprise, anger, or mockery. Only quiet certainty.
…He already knew.
The realization hit Petyr like a hammer.
Corleone had known about the debt all along. He had known Addam would come to collect. That was why he had accepted the gift so easily.
Petyr's fingertips felt cold. He looked down and saw his hands trembling. He quickly clasped them behind his back, nails digging into his palms.
"Ser Addam," he said after a deep breath, forcing his voice to stay steady. "The loan… I was delayed by some business, but I assure you I'll arrange—"
"Arrange what?"
A tall, lean officer stepped forward from behind Addam.
Captain Humphrey Waters.
Petyr knew him well. One of Addam's most trusted men—sharp, and famously vindictive.
When Petyr had been Master of Coin, he had thrown one of Humphrey's distant cousins into prison during an investigation into the previous commander, Janos Slynt. The man had later "committed suicide" in his cell.
"Plan to keep stalling?" Humphrey asked, voice dripping with malice. "You're not Master of Coin anymore, Lord Baelish. Everyone in King's Landing knows you're heading to Harrenhal to claim your lands. Once you're gone, should the creditors chase you all the way to the Riverlands?"
Petyr's face went cold. Before he could find another excuse, a new voice cut in.
"I believe him."
Everyone turned. Corleone had stepped forward, placing himself between Petyr and Addam like a peacemaker.
His expression hadn't changed, but inside he was laughing so hard he could barely keep a straight face.
He could swear to the Seven that he had known nothing about Petyr trying to screw him over with these assets.
But even if he had known, he still would have taken them without hesitation.
After all, the debt belonged to Petyr Baelish. What did it have to do with Vito Corleone?
And with the Black Hand growing stronger every day, Corleone doubted anyone in King's Landing would dare pressure him into paying someone else's debts.
"I believe Lord Baelish is an honorable man," Corleone said loudly and seriously, so everyone could hear. "He just generously gifted me a number of properties—including the exact ones Ser Addam mentioned."
"I'm sure Lord Baelish intended to clear all his debts before leaving King's Landing. That's why he transferred everything to me. Isn't that right?"
He turned to Petyr, eyes narrowing slightly. "After all, if there were any problems with those assets, Lord Baelish would never have given them to me. That would be… dishonorable. A betrayal of a knight."
Dishonorable. Betrayal of a knight.
The words were light, but for nobles who valued honor and reputation above almost everything, they were devastating.
Petyr had two choices. Admit he had tried to cheat Corleone—and be branded a lying, honorless scoundrel in front of everyone. Or play along.
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes! Yes, exactly!" He nodded rapidly, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Ser Corleone is right! Those properties do have mortgages, but I was always planning to… uh, settle everything after tonight's feast. Truly!"
He agreed so quickly and cheerfully that it almost looked genuine.
Addam Marbrand stared at him for three long seconds, then gave a slow nod. "Very well."
He turned to Humphrey. "Captain Waters."
"Sir!"
"Starting tonight, you and a squad will guard Lord Baelish's manse. You stay there until he repays every one of those thirty-two thousand gold dragons."
"Remember—see the money with your own eyes. Not a single copper less. We can't let the honest merchants of King's Landing lose faith in justice."
Humphrey Waters grinned, teeth bared in open malice. "Yes, sir. I'll… keep a very close eye on him."
Petyr felt his cheek twitch as he looked into those cold eyes.
He knew Humphrey Waters far too well.
When he had thrown the man's cousin into prison, Humphrey had come to him privately, begging for mercy. Petyr had been busy closing a big deal at the time and brushed him off with a few empty words.
Now that same man was going to post Gold Cloaks outside his door day and night.
Officially to "supervise repayment." In reality…
Petyr didn't want to think about it.
He suddenly remembered something else.
During his years as Master of Coin, he had regularly shorted the Gold Cloaks' wages—sometimes a month, sometimes two, once an entire quarter.
He hadn't had a choice. Robert Baratheon spent money like water. One tourney could cost over a hundred thousand gold dragons. Even Petyr Baelish's legendary ability to raise funds couldn't keep up.
If he hadn't skimmed a little from the Gold Cloaks, how was he supposed to make money? And if he didn't make money, how was the king supposed to make money? How was he supposed to stay Master of Coin?
But thinking about it now was pointless.
Under the weight of every gaze, Petyr could only force another painful smile. "Ser Addam, I… I'll repay it as quickly as possible."
"You'd better."
Addam nodded and turned back to Corleone, his tone noticeably warmer. "Ser Corleone, I've heard the drinks here are quite special."
"Some new experiments," Corleone replied with a smile. "What would you like, Ser Addam?"
"Something strong. It's a bit chilly tonight."
The two men walked toward the bar chatting like nothing had happened.
But everyone knew something had.
Petyr Baelish—the sharpest, most successful businessman in King's Landing—had just been publicly forced to repay thirty-two thousand gold dragons while being watched day and night by a squad of Gold Cloaks who hated him.
And it had all happened right after he "gifted" those exact assets to Vito Corleone.
Coincidence?
No one believed it was coincidence.
Lord Leek swirled his wine, a faint smile on his lips.
Lady Falyse covered her mouth with a handkerchief, but her eyes sparkled with glee.
The merchants exchanged glances and began whispering.
Petyr stood frozen, feeling every stare like needles.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm.
It's only thirty-two thousand gold dragons, he told himself. He had made far more during his years in King's Landing. Losing that much wouldn't ruin him.
He still had money. He still had his plans in the Vale. He still had Lysa Tully wrapped around his finger.
Once he reached the Eyrie, none of this would matter.
He just needed to leave. Right now. Before anything else went wrong.
But as he turned toward the doors, that same damned noseless brute appeared again.
Rorge shoved through the crowd, panting, his ugly face flushed with excitement.
He pushed past two servers and bellowed at the top of his lungs:
"Ser Corleone! Lord Tyrion Lannister, Lady Margaery Tyrell, and the Queen Regent have all arrived!"
The entire hall went completely silent, staring at him in disbelief.
But Rorge wasn't finished.
"And… the Hand of the King himself—Lord Tywin Lannister—and Lady Olenna Redwyne are here too!"