Game of Thrones Imagines Book Two

The Bloody Rose - Part 1 - Petry x Reader

For jasper_0 and anyone else that, like me,  loves our wonderfully, gloriously awful Baelish. I hope that you enjoy.

Of all the girls, why did it have to be the Rose? Why his Rose? Petyr questioned in his own mind, as he raced down the stairs. The young girl that had informed him of the incident, hot on his heels, as he made his way to the rooms at the back of his establishment.

The Rose, or (Y/n) as she was known by Petyr and the other girls, was the best lady that Petyr had. She was incredibly intelligent, quick and cunning, able to get the deepest darkest secrets from her customers. Information that the other girls could only ever dream of. And for her services, Petyr had made her the mistress of his establishment. The one that would deal with all the issues if he were detained at the Red Keep on business. The one that all the other girls would go to if they had any problems. But now, if the young woman was to be believed, it was (Y/n) that had the problem.

"(Y/n)!" Petyr exclaimed, as he pushed his way passed some of the girls, and made his way through the door to the room. His eyes growing wide as he saw the Rose covered in blood. A crimson soaked blade in her hand and a dead body on the floor.

"(Y/n)? Can you hear me?" Petyr continued. His tone now soft, as he made his way over to the woman that seemed to be struggling to breath. Each intake of air, ragged and raspy.

"Rose!" The woman's eyes shooting up at the sound of her moniker. Petyr not failing to notice the look of sheer terror in the woman's eyes.

"He.........he tried to kill me." (Y/n) struggled to explain. Her hand reaching out to show the whoremonger the bloodied blade, that was sticking to her palm.

"He said that I was the only one that knew. The only one that they had told. That he had been sent to kill me. That because of me.............." The Rose tried to say. Tears rolling down her cheeks, as Petyr stepped slowly forward, and carefully took the dagger from her hand. The Master of Coin finally able to see the deep wounds on her throat.

"Alis." Petyr almost whispered, as he turned to look at the stunned young woman behind him.

"Y-y-yes, milord?"

"Go to the Red Keep. Find Maestre Pycelle. Tell him that he is needed here urgently. But keep all this quite. Do you understand?" Petyr asked, as he grabbed hold of the young woman's arm and shook her. The sudden movement seeming to shake her from her stunned state.

"Yes, milord. Maestre Pycelle. I'll go right away." Alis replied, before turning and quickly disappearing.

"And the rest of you, go and keep those other fools out there, busy. And no one say a word, or I promise that you will regret it." Petyr continued. His harsh words sending the others scurrying.

"(Y/n). Look at me." Petyr said softly, as he turned his attention back to the shaking, terrified Rose. Her wide eyes slowly moving to look up at him.

"I am going to take care of all of this. I am going to make all this go away." Petyr assured, as he carefully helped (Y/n) from the floor. Pulling the sash from around his robes and wrapping it around her neck, as the blood suddenly began to flow from her wounds. The whoremonger reaching for the only bedsheet that was not covered in blood. The Lord placing it around (Y/n)'s body, and carefully escorting her from the room. Petyr locking the door securely, before slowly moving (Y/n) up to his rooms. The whoremonger just hoping that the other customers were too busy to notice that anything had happened.

Normally, the whoremonger wouldn't care. Normally, he would make the girl fend for herself is she hit or hurt a customer. He had even made one or two disappear, when they done something like this before. The Master of Coin more concerned with the reputation of his business, than with the wellbeing of the girls. Girls that he knew he could replace at the drop of a hat. But the Rose was different. She had been loyal to him for a very long time. She was his greatest supporter. Someone he could truly rely on. And since he had made her the mistress of his establishment, she had no longer taken clients unless Petyr needed someone that he knew could get the information he needed. The only one now lucky enough to bed her, being the whoremonger himself. So how she had managed to find herself in one of the back rooms with the man that had tried to kill her, Petyr didn't know. But now was not the time to ask. A question such as that, could wait until his Rose had recovered. If she did recover.

Petry pushed opened the door to his rooms. The whoremonger removing the cover from the woman and sitting her down on the bed. The Lord shocked that his Rose looked even worse than she had done a few moments before. Her skin drained of all its colour, and clammy. Her eyes wide and vacant. Tears rolling steadily down her cheeks.

Quickly, Petyr made his way over to a small table, upon which sat a large bowl and a jug of water. The lord sploshing the cool liquid into the bowl and soaking a soft cloth in it. Petyr making his way back to the bed, and as carefully as possible, trying to clean the drying, congealed blood from his lover's flesh and matted hair.

"Rose. Look at me." Petyr said, as he carefully took hold of her chin, and turned her head so that she was looking at him.

"I have sent for Pycelle. He will fix you up, and I will take care of everything else, once the place is quiet." Petyr explained. His brows furrowing, as (Y/n) tried to shake her head.

"Not........not that old pervert. I don't........I don't trust him." (Y/n) croaked. Petyr holding her up as she suddenly went limp.

"We have no other choice. And the old man wouldn't dare touch you. Because if he did, he might find that some of his own secrets make their way into the light." Petyr assured, as he carefully laid her back onto the bed. The sheets beneath her reddening with her blood.

                                                        >>----------------------------------<<

"Well?" Petyr enquired harshly, as Pycelle finally appeared from the room. The old man wiping his bloodied hands on a cloth.

"I-I-I have administered Essence of Nightshade, m-m-my lord. The wounds on mistress Roses throat were deep, b-b-but I have managed to stop the bleeding. I will have some M-M-Milk of the poppy brought here for her, to ease the p-p-pain of the wounds......."

"So, she will live?" Petyr interrupted angrily. The whoremonger sick of the maester's feigned stutter and pretences of being a clumsy, senile old man.

"She has lost much blood, and she will be scarred. But the lady will live. Yes." Pycelle explained, his tone now different as he and the whoremonger looked at one another.

"If you don't mind me asking, my Lord. How did the beautiful Roses come across these injuries? They are not................"

"I do mind you asking. And it is none of your business, Grand Maestre Pycelle. I sent for you to stop my Rose from dying. And you have done that. Something for which I will be forever grateful. Now, if you would like to wait in one of the free rooms. I will have one of the girls come and show you just how thankful I am." Petyr interrupted. Now more interested in checking on his Rose, than continuing to converse with the old man.

"Oh, and Pycelle." Petyr called out, stopping the maestre as he made his way down the stairs.

"If anyone finds out about this. I will know where it came from." Petyr warned, before making his way into his rooms. His eyes falling onto the woman in the bed who was now calm and quiet. Her skin still drained of all its colour.

"(Y/n). My Rose." Petyr hummed softly, as he knelt next to the bed, and took her hand.

"I promise you my flower, that I will find out who sent that man. And when I do, I will have them killed in the worst way possible for what has happened to you. I swear." Petyr whispered, before kissing her hand. The whoremonger knowing that even if she couldn't hear his oath, his Rose was the one person that was worth keeping it for.