The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

1.05

Lady Stark cannot leave soon enough, but Gabrielle's father sees it fit that Lady Catelyn stay with them for the sake of security and subterfuge. All she can pray for is the avoidance of the woman's constant warpath, taking a rather sideways route to her father's office in avoidance of the possible paths of the Lady. It's surely one of the few times Gabrielle's been grateful to live in the whorehouse: Lady Stark will seldom leave her room, and if she does, they'll likely not meet up.

Knocking softly on her father's door, Gabrielle does not hesitate before entering Littlefinger's office, the night sky shining in through the sheer drapes and candles strewn about. She is not surprised to see a lack of whores in the office, as that is surprisingly not her father's style of satisfaction. And she is even less surprised to find him behind his desk instead, the man standing as she closes the one door behind her lean form.

"Father, you called?"

Petyr Baelish grins at his only daughter with nothing uncharacteristic in his expression. Indeed, the grin is true to its intention, revealing his pleasure at her presence and humour at her innocent act. His shorter steps echo about the room as he comes to stand in front of her, his grey eyes beaming into her green as his words slither forth, "I'm curious, young one...what have you done to acquire Lady Catelyn's hate?"

"Nothing was done by myself, Father," Gabrielle responds, ensuring her eyes drop to the floor before rising again to meet his: a false pretense of shame and embarrassment. If anything, his smirk grows. "It seems she's come to hate me because I took a liking to the bastard of Ned Stark."

"Jon Snow?"

Gabrielle nods at him, her shoulders rolling back slightly to reaffirm the confidence of an innocent woman, "He's gone to join the Night's Watch, and those of Stark-blood often rise to the position of Lord Commander. I thought it a logical relationship to be made, though Lady Stark's hatred I could never ask for."

"Yes, my daughter, that was reasonable of you." Petyr Baelish's smarmy grin shines through, perhaps the most real she's seen him in days. And though it should not hinder their game, Gabrielle reveals her true mischief for a moment--a spark of intelligence shining into her eyes before dimming again into a new character. Her father brushes her bare arm, "Do not worry your little heart, I will see to it that the Starks keep our favor. Now, I think the Hound is waiting for you."

Littlefinger waves her off in a casual matter, but she does not fall for the trap, curtsying like the proper lady she could have been if not for her whore mother. Striding off, Petyr looks after her until the door closes behind her back, proud at how far she's come and how well he's trained her.

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Tyrion Lannister does not hide his humoured smirk as he looks upon the fully shamed Jon Snow and the cause of the boy's humiliation, Alliser Thorne. Remarking rightly in his sarcastic manner, the dwarf adds, "A charming man."

"I don't need him to be charming," Jeor Mormont, ever predictable from his heritage, replies, "I need him to turn this bunch of thieves and runaways into men of the Night's Watch."

"And how's that going, Commander Mormont?"

The Mormont shuffles slightly between his two feet, his uncertainty evident in his body language, "Slowly. A raven came for Ned Stark's son."

"Good news or bad?" Tyrion curiously asks.

"Both."

At that moment, as if hailed by the news of other mail, a loud screech sounds about the courtyard, likely not aided by the ice block that echoes it back. Tyrion watches as most of the men--including himself--jump back in surprise, the silent threat sending their heads around like owls. And Tyrion just about loses his mind, looking and searching, when a parcel drops to his feet, head rising quickly to see a falcon--Valyrion--bullet past his head to grip onto Jon Snow's shoulders across the courtyard. Stunned and literally struck, the Stark bastard stumbles back but catches himself as the bird drops a parcel into his opened hands.