The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

2.10

Varys looks at Ros with nothing less than pity, her eyes swollen with tears and the beatings of the king, "Littlefinger looks at you and sees a collection of profitable holes.  I see a potential partner."

"I'm afraid of him," Ros mutters back, not truly wishing to work against this man who has proven capable of hurting her.  Even when he was away.

"Oh, you should be," Varys responds, terse with caution at the lengths Littlefinger may go to get his way, "He's a dangerous man.  Just ask his daughter."

"Lady Baelish?"  Ros looks at Varys with wide blue eyes, mind running a mile-a-minute at this man's silent presumption.  If she ran from this dangerous man, why shouldn't Ros?  But she has to ask, "...If you know her as you imply you do, why do you need me?"

"I fear Lord Baelish has come to suspicion his daughter.  He no longer trusts her," Varys responds without an ache of regret at that, for certainly, Gabrielle had to deal with too much.  "Everyone has their weaknesses.  Your current employer hides his very well, but not as well as he thinks."

Through the ceiling and over a few rooms, Gabrielle Baelish shoves another of her dresses into a trunk, remarkably unprepared to leave this place.  But she had not known Littlefinger was back in the capital.  So it was a bit of a hasty flight in her return, and though there was much to gather--from dresses to supplies to her secret stash of money--Gabrielle was about finished and only now checking for possessions she forgot in her father's office.

She had been blatantly hoping to run into her father, and mentally berating herself for wanting as much, for near half an hour before Petyr Baelish enters.  Walking stiffer and more alert than usual, the man surveys the room before finally laying his eyes upon her, a growl escaping his lips as his glare burns into her skin.  But that, she cannot feel.

"After all I've done for you," Littlefinger begins with eyes ablaze, stepping forward and threateningly towards her, "you betray me and flee.  That's not how I raised you."

Her eyes do not reveal the utter loathing she holds for this man--having been hidden well for years but just now given the opportunity to escape.  But he will not trick her.  Wetting her lips with her sharp tongue, she brutally replies, "No, you raised me to roll over and open my legs—to make you money and act like the queen in your game of chess."

But he denies her with his spiteful reply, "You were never the queen."

"No, I wasn't," Gabrielle acquiesces, taking her own step forward with a dangerous tone to her voice.  "You taught me to pleasure you while you called out Cat's name, to spit out lies like children spit out the truth.  I was always your pawn—a pawn you only raised to bishop to do your bidding.  Tell me, what's it like for a father to fuck his daughter?"

Like a whip, the father's hand slaps across the daughter's face, leaving a scorching red mark, although she just bites her tongue to avoid the shock of pain as he growls, "You hateful slag.  I raised you as my own—"

"You raised me to make Catelyn Tully jealous!  How did that work, milord?" the woman mocks and again she finds herself in the face of his violence, shoved into the wall nearest her with no whim for protecting her back.  But again, she holds back a grimace as her father hisses, "She blames me for her husband's death, because of you!  I should kill you for this.  Your Hound is gone, your protector is gone—who would save you now?"

"No one that you respect or fear," her voice stiffly replies given the limited breath she now receives.  "But tell me, how would Sansa Stark react if I came up dead after telling her I was coming here?"

Her father's grasp momentarily weakens as he considers this fact--she knows his intentions but plays the girl as well--finally deciding it is best to bide his time in order to win over Sansa Stark.  So he drops his grasp, Gabrielle stumbling to her feet but staying upright with her greatest intention.  He growls at her, "I want you out of here.  You are not to come back—"