"Did you not meet with Lysa Tully?" Prince Oberyn asked as he helped his weary companion, Ellaria Sand, remove her travel cloak.
"No, I didn't," Ellaria replied, struggling to keep her voice steady despite her exhaustion. "That woman refused to meet me! Oberyn, you were right; Lysa Tully is definitely hiding something. Even when the King's Hand, Eddard Stark, personally went to bring her to King's Landing, she still refused! She wouldn't dare face trial under the eyes of the Seven. She has a guilty conscience!"
Prince Oberyn nodded thoughtfully, processing her words.
Ellaria took a long sip of wine, and after a brief pause, asked, "I also heard that the King got his stomach sliced open in the melee?"
"Yes," Oberyn said with a faint, cold smile. "If you ask me, he probably doesn't have many days left."
"Will that affect your trial?" Ellaria's voice trembled with concern. "I just feel something isn't right about the atmosphere here in King's Landing."
Prince Oberyn's expression turned grave. "You're not wrong. I sense a storm brewing. But it might not be such a bad thing for us."
Seeing the glint of intent in Oberyn's eyes, Ellaria grew alarmed. "Oberyn, you're not thinking of acting directly, are you?"
"Is there another way?" Prince Oberyn responded calmly.
Ellaria grabbed his arm in alarm. "Don't be reckless, Oberyn! The trial may not happen immediately. We still have time..."
At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted them.
"Come in."
"Your Grace," a servant said, entering. "Lord Renly Baratheon has just sent word. Your trial is scheduled to take place tomorrow morning in the throne room."
"I see," Prince Oberyn nodded, his expression unreadable.
Once the servant had left, Ellaria's grip on Oberyn's arm tightened. "Oberyn, you're not seriously planning to kill Petyr Baelish, are you?"
"No, I won't kill him." Prince Oberyn shrugged off her hand, striding toward the door. "I'll make him face justice!"
---
"Renly is holding the trial tomorrow?" Petyr's face paled when he received the news. "He's not waiting for Lady Lysa?"
The messenger, unsure how to respond, merely shrugged. "Lord Baelish, if you have questions, you could ask Lord Renly himself."
Petyr's expression shifted uneasily; he could sense a plot unfolding—a plot aimed at him.
Eddard Stark had already declared the trial would be postponed, yet here was Renly Baratheon, risking the King's Hand's displeasure to push ahead. It was clear that someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.
The recent slanderous rumors now made perfect sense. Someone was orchestrating events, setting a trap to force Oberyn Martell's hand against him. And facing that madman from Dorne was the last thing he wanted.
Quickly, Petyr rushed to the door, calling out, "Byran! Gather the guards; I need them to come with me!"
He waited, but no response came.
"By—"
Petyr turned, surprised to see that his knight had somehow appeared by his side without a sound.
"Seven hells! Walk like a normal person. You startled me!"
Petyr complained, but Bryan remained silent.
Perplexed, Petyr studied him. "Bryan, what's wrong with you today?"
Finally, "Bryan" spoke, his voice as icy as winter, utterly devoid of warmth. "The man has yet to settle his debt to the Red God."
Petyr froze. His entire body tensed as realization dawned. "You're not Bryan! You're a Faceless Man!"
"A debt owed to the Red God must be paid," the Faceless Man replied coldly.
"I haven't forgotten!" Petyr cursed silently, forcing a strained smile. "Jaqen H'ghar, yes? I remember. But rescuing someone from the black cells isn't easy..."
"The man owes the Red God a life," the Faceless Man said, eyes fixed on Petyr. "If he doesn't pay, the life will be taken."
Petyr shivered under the weight of his gaze, his forced smile faltering. "I have a plan. I know the Night's Watch recruits from the black cells each year, sending prisoners to the Wall. No one else wants to go to that frozen wasteland, and it's rare for criminals to be pardoned. So, I plan to arrange for Jaqen H'ghar to leave with them. It's the safest way."
The Faceless Man scrutinized him, finally giving a curt nod. "Good."
Petyr exhaled, relieved. "Then... where's my knight?"
"Until the man repays his debt, I am his knight."
Petyr frowned. "But someone might try to kill me soon. Will you protect me?"
"Until the debt is settled, I will not allow another to take your life."
Faceless Men were assassins, not bodyguards. Petyr knew better than to argue. He mentally prepared for the upcoming trial, his head throbbing with worry.
Realizing he needed extra protection, Petyr decided to visit the commander of the City Watch, Janos Slynt, whom he had already bribed.
As soon as his ten guards had gathered, Petyr led them out of his chambers. The Faceless Man followed closely, his footsteps silent.
First, they visited the City Watch headquarters, only to be informed that Janos was out.
"Do you know where he went?"
"Lord Janos didn't say."
Undeterred, Petyr guessed Janos's likely destination and led his men to a familiar brothel.
Petyr greeted the matron with a smile. "Is Janos Slynt here?"
"Yes, Lord Baelish," she said. "I'll take you to him."
Just as he reached to slap her on the backside, the Faceless Man grabbed his collar, yanking him back with startling strength.
Petyr was about to curse when a dark blur shot past his vision.
Boom!
A heavy spear smashed through the wood next to him, sharp enough to make his heart race. The leaf-shaped spearhead was dark, gleaming ominously.
"Run!"
The Faceless Man growled, and Petyr turned to see a tall figure in an orange robe charging at him with deadly speed.
"The Red Viper!" Petyr bolted, screaming, "Are you insane?!"
"Petyr Baelish!" Prince Oberyn yanked his spear from the wall. "I'll kill you!"
Panic spread through the brothel, patrons and women alike scrambling in every direction.
Oberyn stormed forward, swift as a hurricane, his movements as fierce and unstoppable as a tempest at sea.
Then, amid the chaos, a small, seemingly insignificant glint of light appeared before him.
Thud!
Oberyn swatted aside a tiny crossbow bolt aimed at his face, his body pausing momentarily.
"And who are you?" Oberyn finally noticed the mysterious, silent guard.
The Faceless Man didn't respond. Twin daggers flew from his hands toward Oberyn's eyes.
But Oberyn's spear swept through the air, knocking the daggers aside and hurtling toward his opponent.
Boom!
The floor splintered as Oberyn's spear smashed into it, but the Faceless Man had already rolled away.
Petyr's guards swarmed in, but Oberyn met them with unbridled ferocity. His spear cleaved through the air, a blur of red and orange, sending blood and limbs flying as his foes shrank back in terror.
Ignoring the guards, Oberyn seized the opening, charging toward Petyr with renewed purpose.
"Stop!" The clash and Petyr's desperate shouts had finally drawn the attention of Janos Slynt, who yelled for the Gold Cloaks to intervene.
Petyr's heart leaped with relief. But before he could relax, he saw Oberyn's spear still aimed at him, unrelenting.
"Help me!"
Suddenly, the Faceless Man materialized again, a knife streaking toward Oberyn's throat.
"Out of my way!" Oberyn roared, unfazed.
The knife sliced through his orange robe, leaving only a scratch on the armor beneath. With a fierce cry, Oberyn ignored the deadly assassin, his spear thrusting toward Petyr.
Shing!
Blood sprayed as a jagged wound split across Petyr's left arm. Pain wracked his body as he spun and crashed to the ground.
The Gold Cloaks finally closed in, surrounding Oberyn with drawn swords, while Petyr's guards reinforced the circle.
"Are you alright, Lord Baelish?" Janos rushed to his side.
Petyr groaned, his vision swimming as he struggled to rise, only to see his left arm drenched in blood, a dark liquid oozing from the wound.
Fear gripped him. "Quick! Cut off my left arm!"
Janos hesitated, looking bewildered.
"Do it!" The tingling numbness spreading through Petyr's arm left him desperate. Without further thought, he seized Janos's sword and, gritting his teeth, drove it toward his own arm.
Squelch!
The blade bit into the bone, though not deeply enough, leaving him howling in agony.
Janos still wavered, but the Faceless Man appeared again, his blade flashing.
Swish!
Petyr's severed arm fell to the floor, and he collapsed, writhing in pain.
Through his blurring vision, he saw the "Red Viper" standing proudly, with the spear in his hand pointing directly in his direction, shouting:
"Petyr Baelish! You plotted to poison Lord Jon Arryn! I want you to stand trial!"
The mental fear and physical pain surged up like a tide, Petyr's eyes rolled back and he fainted.
(End of this chapter)