wolfkissed| petyr baelish (littlefinger)

Twenty-Six

      Varys sat across from the rarely busy Petyr. He watched as the strangely stone faced man wrote in his books. His breakfast thrown aside.

"You know, Petyr, worrying yourself over a little girl is no way to better our financial circumstance. I would stick to your pillow maidens if I were you. Besides, she has more Ned in her than Catelyn anyway." Varys smiled as he watch his fellow council member snap his quil.

The aggravated Petyr looked to the eunuch with so much distain Varys some how manage to feel uncomfortable. A feat very few men could achieve.

"I have no interest in any Stark." He seethed.

"Oh really? My birds have told me otherwise. Were you not alone with her well into the night within the confines of the library? Touching her in a way that would give poor old Ned an excuse to slice your fingers off." Varys cocked an eyebrow as he watched Petyr breath in heavily.

Varys approached his desk, he bent down to meet his ear.

"A word of advice as someone who has more ears and eyes than any other man on the continent. Ned has already taken a notice. Her handmaidens have been reported to have been instructed to watch out for your presence. The younger one Sansa as well. Don't get ahead of yourself."

Petyr looked up to Varys. A smile plastered on his plump face. With a small sigh, the Lysene returned to his duties leaving an enraged Petyr.

The whore in the corner of the room stood from her position on the bed. Her genitals were covered by a large chastity belt that beads and jewels hung from. Her nipples covered by thin sheets of cloth. She was the new girl all the men of the North spoke of.

The brothel was quiet that morning. It was a chilly morning, repelling many of the southern men from the open windows of the building, but it did not faze her.

"What's your name again girl?" He asked as she sat upon his desk. She, like Catelyn, had a cool red auburn hair, big blue eyes and large breasts. He had spent many a night with her since her arrival.

"Ros, my Lord." She smiled as she ran her hand through his hair. She wanted to gain his favor.

She was an older whore about twenty-seven. He favored having younger girls in his institution but the stories he had heard of the great northern beauty was an investment he could not give up.

"Can you read Ros?" 

She nodded.

"Yes, my Lord. My father was a book-keeper for House Umber when I was a girl he taught me to read." She mused as she started untying her hair wraps.

He smirked as he began to plot.