Fields of Gold - (Jaime SI)

[Daario]

JAIME | PETYR​

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"You are leaving again? Jaime? Catelyn?"

Edmure's slightly hoarse voice was heard. The young man sat leaning back on one of the sofas in the corner of the room, beside his uncle, Brynden Blackfish. His face was dim, he seemed quite tired from everything that had happened.

This room still hadn't changed from when Jaime first came here with Hoster Tully and also Uncle Tygett. Its layout was still exactly the same, as was its atmosphere. The large stone fireplace burned warmly, chasing away the cold Riverlands air seeping in from the window, while several large sofas were arranged in a semicircle in the center of the room.

Catelyn smiled sadly responding to her brother's question. She shifted her body carefully on the sofa she shared with Jaime, trying to find a more comfortable position for her back and her beginning-to-grow stomach. Seeing his wife struggling a little, Jaime immediately leaned his body, helping to hold Catelyn's waist and support her back very gently until the woman sat comfortably.

On the sofa opposite them, Lysa and Brandon Stark sat side by side, listening to the conversation in silence.

"Yes, Edmure. We are going to Casterly Rock," answered Catelyn. "Lord Tywin has sent an order and we must go. Besides, as we said since we first came here, we indeed cannot stay long here."

"But what if that assassin comes again?" Edmure leaned his body forward. "The road from here to Casterly Rock is very dangerous right now, isn't it? You said yourselves there is an assassin guild targeting Jaime!"

Jaime tried to reassure. "We have many experienced guards, Edmure, you do not need to worry about that. We have also made double anticipations for those things. Everything is under control, and we will also be very careful."

It had been about three weeks since the incident in the courtyard. And the assassin never woke up. The man died in a coma two days ago without uttering a single word.

Because medical science and technology in Westeros had not developed, it was highly impossible for the Maester to keep him alive longer, especially since the man also had a severe skull fracture. The secret of who gave him the order, buried with him in this earth.

The death of that assassin made Jaime think far ahead. He needed to note down later, that he must make advancements in the medical field when he returned to Casterly Rock.

Especially with Catelyn being pregnant. Frankly, Jaime was very worried and often woke up at night thinking about what if his wife didn't survive the childbirth process. The maternal mortality rate in this medieval world was too high. What if that bad thing happened to Cat? Jaime knew nothing about real medical science from his past life; he was not a doctor, he only knew basic concepts like sterilization with boiling water or alcohol. Because of that, he was determined to hand over and fund that research to the most experienced maesters and healers once he arrived at Casterly Rock.

Jaime's reverie was cut short when Brandon nodded in agreement from the opposite sofa. "Jaime is right, Edmure, You had better not think too much about bad scenarios. It will only burden your brain and make your health decline. As a Lord, you must not let fear control you."

Brandon leaned back more relaxed into the sofa cushions. "Now, just focus on what is in front of your eyes. We all have our respective affairs to handle, and so do you..."

"Brandon," said Lysa sharply, touching her husband's arm, warning the young man not to sound too patronizing to her brother who was still grieving.

"What I mean is, we all must keep moving forward, Lysa. Your father would not like to see us wailing continuously," Brandon smiled broadly, trying to break the ice in a blunt way. He then turned to Jaime. "By the way, from all the stories you told about Casterly Rock... it all sounds beautiful. I hope someday you will let us visit and see it with our own eyes."

"You are welcome to come whenever you want, Lord Brandon," Jaime replied with a grin. "Even now, if you really want to, we can depart together later. Pack your things, Lady Lysa."

Brandon laughed. "Impossible. I have so much work at home that I cannot leave any longer. My father will be very angry if I do that instead of returning to the North to help him, he is actually quite scary."

"Actually he is quite kind and quiet," said Lysa with a soft voice. "It's just that you are sometimes very wild and make his blood boil."

"Well, our personalities are very different. He is ice, I am a bonfire, and because of that sometimes we do not really understand each other without shouting first," Brandon chuckled, embracing Lysa's shoulder affectionately.

"Very understandable," said Catelyn, smiling gently. "Jaime and Lord Tywin also seemed like that. Always opposite at first."

"Well, we are not too different then, Jaime," Brandon grinned. "Both sons who often make their fathers frown. At least that is one of the reasons why we can now understand each other as brothers connected in marriage."

The conversation continued touching on topics about the journey back to Winterfell, provision supplies, and the weather conditions slowly warming up. The atmosphere that was initially heavy due to parting began to feel lighter and friendlier among those sitting on those sofas.

However, Jaime could not let this last family gathering end with just pleasantries. There was one important thing he had to finish before his carriage left Riverrun.

Jaime looked towards Brynden who sat quietly beside Edmure. Edmure himself was staring blankly at the fireplace fire, seeming lost in his own thoughts, not paying attention to the flow of conversation at all anymore.

"Speaking of leaving, I have a question. Will you follow up on the wardship of Lord Petyr Baelish, Ser Brynden?"

That question made Catelyn immediately turn to look at Jaime. His wife's face radiated clear confusion, her eyes wondering why her husband suddenly brought up the topic of Petyr.

Brynden stroked his chin covered with a thin beard, He leaned back on his sofa, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm still thinking about that, Lord Jaime. Honestly, Hoster's plan was indeed to send him home to The Fingers in a few more months. The boy is old enough, and his wardship period will technically end soon. But..."

Brynden sighed, his arms crossed over his chest. "Seeing the state of Riverrun now, with a heavy transition period, I might still desperately need Petyr's help to manage documents. Petyr is an expert with ledgers."

Jaime kept his face calm, controlling every muscle so as not to show any strangeness. "Not meaning to offend the way you manage the administration of this household, Ser Brynden, but I think you in Riverrun have Maesters who are very capable of handling those administrative matters."

He leaned his body forward. "And furthermore. Lord Baelish is indeed an adult by Westeros standards, he is a full Lord of his own land. We have talked a few times before, and he very clearly said that he wants to return and build The Fingers to become a prosperous region."

Jaime could not let Petyr be here. That was a risk, he would try to get rid of that boy as far as possible from Riverrun, then he would think of a way and send someone to get rid of him for good. This was very difficult for his morals, truly. But he couldn't keep staying quiet and making his head uneasy because he had to always be vigilant watching that boy.

"Jaime has a point, Uncle," said Catelyn. "Petyr is indeed very smart, and his talents will be wasted if he just stays here as an assistant to check our reports. If he returns to The Fingers, he can start building his own name and raising his family's status."

Brynden was silent for quite a long time. He weighed every argument thrown. The old man stared at the fire, then shifted to stare at Jaime, and finally stared at Catelyn. x "Both of your arguments make a lot of sense," Brynden finally sighed a long breath, a small nod appearing on his head. "Perhaps keeping him here because I am too lazy to find a new scribe is a selfish act. That boy must return to his land and learn to be a ruler, not just a Riverrun servant."

Brynden looked at Jaime with a firm gaze. "Alright. I will send Petyr home. I will speak with him tomorrow and prepare an escort for him to return to the Vale."

Hearing that decision, Jaime smiled sincerely. "That is a very wise decision for all parties, Ser Brynden."

...

Petyr Baelish stood silently behind the shadow of a stone pillar on the second-floor balcony, letting the cold morning Riverlands wind hit his face. His grey-green eyes stared straight down, towards the busy main courtyard of Riverrun.

Down there, a large carriage decorated with a golden lion sigil slowly began to move forward. Its wooden wheels creaked loudly rolling over the stones. Dozens of Lannister soldiers surrounded the carriage like an impenetrable wall of steel.

When that carriage finally disappeared behind the arch of the main gate, leaving Riverrun, Petyr gripped the stone balustrade of the balcony until his knuckles turned white.

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow the bitter taste welling up in his throat. He then turned, stepped back inside the castle, and walked down the long hallway towards his small bedroom.

His mind drifted back to last night's conversation. The conversation that had destroyed the foundation of his future.

Last night, he was summoned by Ser Brynden to his solar. Petyr entered with the polite smile and humble demeanor he had always honed to perfection. However, the first sentence that came out of the knight's mouth instantly slashed his hopes.

Brynden said that because Lord Hoster was gone, and because technically Petyr's wardship period in Riverrun would end soon in a few months. Brynden decided to speed up that process. The old man told Petyr to go home. Told him to return and manage his land in The Fingers, 'as you have told us a lot, Petyr,' said Brynden at that time, mimicking the fake ambition Petyr often voiced just to look like a dutiful young man.

Petyr closed his bedroom door tightly. He leaned against that wooden door and exhaled a long trembling breath.

He had lived in Riverrun for years. This house was the center of the world for him. It was true, he had once said he wanted to advance The Fingers. But in his deepest mind, his original plan was far grander than just managing stones and sheep dung on poor land.

When Lord Hoster died, Petyr saw a golden opportunity. A loophole. He planned to become closer to Edmure. The young man was naive, fragile, and very easily directed. Petyr knew that he could be the shadow behind the seat of power of the Riverlands. He was sure Edmure and Ser Brynden would accommodate him, let him manage the finances, record taxes, and hold control over valuable affairs.

In that position, Petyr would be freer to get more money, and create his own connections. He would gather power from behind the scenes. But now? Everything was destroyed just like that. He was subtly expelled. Returned to his meaningless land.

Petyr stepped towards the small table in the corner of his room, poured a cup of cold water, and drank it. The water tasted bland.

His mind shifted to Hoster Tully's death.

Hoster died because of an infection. Petyr was not sure why the infection could move so aggressively. Petyr himself was the one who cared for the old man in the camp. He did not poison him. He did not sprinkle dirt on his wound. He had ensured everything was according to procedure, and the responsible maester also said that he did it very correctly.

But everything then became chaotic when Hoster was suddenly struck by a very severe fever at night. His body temperature burned his own skin, and in a short time, the Lord's life could not be saved.

It was something that quite shook him; the camp became very chaotic at that time. The commanders and vassal lords lost their common sense. They were just sure that all this must be the fault of the incompetent maester. Without a proper trial, they dragged the maester and executed him shortly after.

When Petyr returned home to Riverrun, his mind was already a little shaken. He lost his main safety net, although he was a little annoyed with the man for keeping him away from Catelyn, but the man's presence provided stability.

Then, he heard that Jaime and Catelyn would come to Riverrun for the funeral.

Hearing that Lannister name, Petyr's chest always felt as if splashed with hot water. That man always had everything he dreamed of. Jaime had a handsome face as well as wealth, then the honor as a hero who brought progress, and the most painful of all... he had Catelyn. Jaime had an intact family with the woman who had always been the center of every breath Petyr took.

While himself? He was weak. His body was small, thin, and had no power to win a sword duel. His father had died years ago, and all he inherited was an empty title and poor land only overgrown with weeds. This world was so unfair.

Deep pain gripped his chest as he imagined the arrival of those two in the hall. Imagining Catelyn's smile given to Jaime made his sanity crack a little.

And that night, Petyr decided on a quite crazy idea.

If I cannot be happy, if I am cursed to suffer in the shadows... then let them feel it too.

Petyr knew he could not use his own hands. So, one night, he disguised himself using a cloak covering his face. He sneaked out of Riverrun, rode a horse to a remote village teeming with refugees and former mercenaries, then searched in dingy taverns.

He found a man who had enough fighting skills and knew how to sneak around. Petyr hired him using a few gold pieces, he ordered the man to wait in the camp and kill Jaime Lannister later when he came.

Petyr knew that this was a very, very big risk. If he was caught, his head would be spiked on a spear, but it was worth a try.

He was a sharp observer. Petyr knew that the trade conflict between Westeros and Essos had heated up to the point where there was no turning back. All that was needed was one small spark to blow up the entire continent. So, Petyr gave one specific instruction to the assassin: imitate the style of The Sorrowful Men. "Right before you stab him," whispered Petyr to the man. "you must whisper these words: I am so sorry."

That way, even if the man ultimately failed to kill Jaime, people would jump to the conclusion that the assassin was sent by the Triarchy from across the sea.

Petyr knew Tywin Lannister's reputation. The old man was a barbaric and merciless person. Petyr knew for sure that there was no way that man would let an assassination attempt on his heir just pass by. Letting it go meant showing weakness to the world.

So, exactly as he suspected. Even though Jaime survived, even though the assassin failed, that war would still erupt. Fleets would sail, cities would burn.

Then, fate also seemed to side with him: the battered assassin died in his coma. It was lucky that happened. Because even though Petyr felt his disguise that night was perfect, he was quite worried that the man would be tortured and somehow could reveal his true physical characteristics. But now, that secret had died with the man.

Now, everything in Westeros had become chaotic.

Chaos is a ladder. And Petyr intended to use it. He had created a war that would divert the attention of all the great lords, while he himself would climb the rungs of that ladder slowly from behind.

But... who would have thought that right when his plan was already running, he was instead ordered to 'go home'? Damn it!

Petyr had begged very subtly to Brynden last night to stay and help with administration. For a moment, Petyr could see the old knight considering his offer. Brynden looked like he would say 'yes', his face had softened. But then, Brynden suddenly hesitated and quickly hardened his heart again, turning him away subtly.

Someone had spoken to Brynden beforehand. Someone who had greater influence. Petyr knew exactly who that person was.

Jaime.

That name crossed his mind again. Petyr stared at the wall, not only did that man have Catelyn, but he had also ruined Petyr in Riverrun before he even had a chance to move. Jaime had seen through him and got rid of him without needing to draw a sword.

Petyr gripped the edge of his table. Jaime's name felt increasingly bitter and poisonous in his mouth.