Game of Thrones Imagines

Mockingbird - Petyr x Reader

I know I have a few imagines going at the moment, but I can't resist trying to give you guys something new and different, and this is a special request for TrashMonarch. I know that I have made Petyr sweet again😊, but I like to think that maybe, just maybe, even our gorgeous Machiavellian Master of Coin might just have a hidden softer side. I hope you all enjoy😄

There was a reason that Petyr had changed his sigil from the old family one of a grey stone head with fiery eyes, to the black mockingbird that everyone knew so well. And that reason was her.

The little black mockingbird had been with him for as long as he could remember. She was a constant companion, there when he had been through some of the most significant, and worst times of his life. She had been with him when he was taken in by Holster Tully, journeying with him to Riverrun when he was little more than eight. She had watched as Petyr had fought his duel with Brandon Stark for the hand of Catelyn, the mockingbird almost screaming at the larger man as they fought, pecking at him as Catelyn begged Brandon not to kill Petyr when he had lost. She had been with him when he had been forced to leave Riverrun and return to the Vale, and she was there when he had finally journeyed to Kings Landing with Jon Arryn. And despite everything he had done and everything he had become; she had remained with him.

Petyr smiled as he heard a familiar sound. He always knew when she was close, for even though she was perfectly able to mimic the song of any other bird, there was a song that she seemed to sing just for him.

"Good morning, little one. And how are you today?" Petyr asked quietly, hoping not to attract the attention of others, as he greeted his little songbird, the small feathered creature coming to rest on his balcony.

There was something about the bird that brought out a different side to Petyr's nature, the side that he had when he was young. The side before Catelyn had broken his heart, and his ambitions for the Iron Throne had overridden everything else.

He wouldn't want any of his rivals or enemies to know that the feathered creature was his weakness, or that underneath his ruthless, unpredictable and deceitful exterior, was a man that could be hurt; but Petyr knew that if anyone ever harmed his mockingbird, then they would pay.

"Well, my friend. Do you have anything for me today?" Petyr asked with a chuckle, watching as the feathered bundle flew off, only to return moments later with a letter clasped firmly in her beak.

Ever since he had come to Kings Landing, ever since he had begun to play the great game, the little bird had become his greatest spy, intercepting the Raven's letters between Maesters, and even those between nobles, always bringing her prize to her human friend.

Petyr could never work out how she did it. The ravens were so much bigger than the mockingbird, and the large black birds were no fools; but however she did it, Petyr knew that she was the only one that he could truly trust, the only one that could not be bought off by his rivals, the only one that would never betray him.

"Why thank you." Petyr cooed softly, as he took the letter from the mockingbird's beak, the little bird hopping up onto his finger as he took her inside, setting her on the table as he moved to his seat.

"I swear that I need no one but you, little one. You are the greatest asset I have, and unlike all the others, you never cost me a penny." Petyr said, pushing a piece of bread in front of the bird as he sat down and read the letter.

"Well, well. How interesting." Petyr hummed, folding the letter back up, and looking at the black bird that seemed to be watching him.

"As always, my friend, you bring me only the best of information. Now what do you say to you and I taking a trip to see Varys?" Petyr asked the little creature, chuckling softly as the bird flew over and perched itself on his shoulder.

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Petyr was growing concerned. He was yet to see or even hear his small feathered friend that day, and even though he had no care for the wellbeing of others around him, the mockingbird was very different, and Petyr was finding that he could only think the worst.

As he tried to busy himself with paperwork, a heavy thud, and a painful screech rang out from the balcony, Petyr jumping to his feet so that he could see what had caused such a commotion.

As he threw open the doors to the balcony, he watched in horror, as there on the floor, twitching and screeching in pain, lay his little mocking bird, its wing obviously broken, and a large deep scar across its chest. Petyr could do nothing but watch as the tiny creature convulsed, his eyes widening in disbelief as slowly and painfully, feathers, claws and beak were replaced by hair and skin, his faithful little feathered companion gone as instead there lay a woman, a few black feathers that still clung to her hair the only remnants of the bird that once was.

"Petyr.........I......" The woman softly whimpered, before her head fell back, her unconscious form slumping against the wall.

Petyr looked at the naked woman, her pale form blooded and broken. He had never seen anything like this before, never would believe that this was possible. Never could he have imagined that his faithful little friend was in fact a beautiful woman.

Quickly, Petyr scooped her form up into his arms, carrying the poor creature to his bed, still not able to fully comprehend what he had just witnessed; but if this truly was his friends true form, then he knew that it was time to repay her.

Petyr rushed to open the doors of his rooms, his hand catching the arm of a young man as he scurried past.

"Send for Maestre Pycelle. I have someone that requires his attention." Petyr told the young man, fear evident in the normally calm man's voice as he pushed the young servant on his way.

Slowly, Petyr made his way over to the bed, sitting by the side of the unconscious woman. Carefully he pulled out the few black feathers that littered her long dark hair. His eyes taking in every last soft delicate piece of her flesh, before he reluctantly covered her body.

As much as he didn't like the idea of the old lech Pycelle touching the woman, he knew that there was nothing else he could do. All he could hope for now, was that the woman in his bed would survive, and she would be able to tell him what was going on.