Chapter 111 — Littlefinger's Public Trial
As the words fell, a figure stepped out from behind Rorge.
He looked to be in his fifties.
His hair was graying, but meticulously combed. He wore a deep blue velvet coat, with a crossed warhammer sigil pinned to his chest.
He had brought only a single young squire.
Yet the calm authority he carried instantly shifted the atmosphere of the entire hall.
The commoners stepped aside instinctively.
They might not recognize the face of the Lord of Duskendale, but they recognized the clothes—
and more importantly, the way he walked.
Petyr Baelish's smile stiffened—just for a moment.
It vanished quickly.
But Odin saw it.
With [Insight Lv.3], such details were impossible to miss.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he stepped forward.
"Welcome, Lord Rykker."
"Good evening, Ser Odin."
Lord Reveray Rykker studied him for a moment, his gaze lingering briefly on the black hand sigil on Odin's chest before nodding.
"Thank you for the invitation. To be honest… I hadn't intended to come."
"You understand—places like Flea Bottom are not somewhere nobles usually set foot."
"Indeed, Lord Rykker…"
At that moment, Baelish stepped forward as well, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation.
"I must say, I'm quite surprised to see you here."
"I recall the last time we met on Silk Street, you said places like this would dirty your boots."
His tone was light, almost teasing.
But Lord Rykker didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he took a glass of wine from his squire and gently swirled it.
"People change, Lord Baelish."
After a pause, he finally looked up at Odin.
"My son, Lake—two months ago, he was a reckless fool who would draw his sword over a prostitute on Silk Street."
"But now? He trains with the sword every morning, studies account books in the afternoon, and reads The Genealogies of the Seven Kingdoms at night."
"I asked him what caused this sudden change."
"He said, 'Father, I met a man in the dungeon. He told me a man can act foolish until twenty-five—but after that, it's no longer youth… it's stupidity.'"
As he spoke, Lord Rykker actually inclined his head slightly toward Odin.
"Thank you for your guidance, Ser Odin."
Odin returned a small nod.
"Ser Lake was always intelligent. He only needed direction."
"I believe he will achieve great things in time—and uphold the honor of House Rykker."
"Haha!"
That clearly struck a chord.
Lord Rykker laughed heartily.
"Your 'direction' works well enough—at least now he doesn't duel over whores anymore. That's progress!"
---
This level of warmth stunned Baelish.
House Rykker might not rival the likes of the House Lannister or House Tyrell, but they were well-connected, wealthy, and—most importantly—neutral.
They didn't take sides.
They didn't involve themselves in factional struggles.
And yet now—
he was openly acknowledging a knight of common birth.
It made no sense.
"Ser Odin does seem quite adept at… guidance."
Baelish smoothly picked up the thread again, smiling.
"When I served as Master of Coin, I often advised young nobles as well."
"For example, the eldest son of House Thorne—I recommended he study at the Citadel. He's now an assistant maester."
It sounded casual.
But in truth, he was reminding everyone—
I am the one who cultivates talent.
Yet the remark fell flat.
House Thorne was obscure.
And most people present were commoners—they had never even heard of it.
Still, Baelish showed no embarrassment, smiling to himself as if nothing had happened.
---
"Speaking of advice…"
Lord Rykker finally turned to face him properly.
"Do you remember a certain deal three years ago, Lord Baelish?"
"The shipment of Myrish lace."
The hall grew noticeably quieter.
Most of those present were merchants—they knew exactly how valuable Myrish lace was.
Light as air.
Brightly dyed.
One of the most sought-after luxury goods in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Of course I remember," Baelish replied calmly.
"It was a tragedy. I invested five hundred gold dragons—and lost it all."
"Is that so?"
Lord Rykker took a sip of wine, then spoke slowly:
"Because I heard… that shipment never even left port."
"Lord Rykker does enjoy his jokes."
Baelish smiled as gently as ever.
"The ship was attacked near the Stepstones. The captain and crew later washed ashore on Tarth. There are records of it."
"You mustn't take it too hard. Trade at sea is always risky."
"One day a ship sinks, the next day a cargo vanishes—who can predict it?"
"Heh…"
Lord Rykker let out a cold laugh and set his glass down with a sharp clink.
"At least my five thousand gold dragons sank very precisely, Baelish."
"But your five hundred…"
"I'm curious how they miraculously returned—and even multiplied several times over."
The accusation was blunt.
Blunt enough to border on public indictment.
You set the trap. You took my money.
Baelish inhaled slowly.
He could feel all eyes on him.
He couldn't lose his temper.
Couldn't argue.
The more he argued, the worse it would look.
"In business… things are never so clear-cut."
He forced out a thin smile.
"Perhaps I was lucky. Or perhaps… the Seven blessed me."
"The Seven do bless certain people."
Lord Rykker snorted, then turned to Odin.
"So, Ser Odin—when doing business, choose your partners carefully."
"Make sure you don't end up dealing with… thieves and liars."
Odin nodded seriously.
"There are indeed many thieves and liars in King's Landing these days."
"I'll be cautious. Thank you for the reminder, my lord."
---
Watching the two converse so naturally, Baelish felt heat rising to his face.
Fortunately, his skin was thick enough that it didn't show.
Damn it…
Since when did Odin get so close to Reveray Rykker?
Why?
Just because he shared a dungeon with that useless son and spouted some nonsense about responsibility?
Baelish couldn't understand it.
---
Just then—
another commotion arose at the entrance.
Rorge's bulky frame pushed his way in again.
Every time he appeared, it was like a bear barging into a beehive—everyone's attention shifted instantly.
He shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Ser Odin!"
"Lady Falyse Stokeworth and Ser Balman Byrch have arrived!"
As his voice fell, two figures entered.
Leading was Ser Balman Byrch.
Recently recommended by Odin to Tywin, he was now responsible for maintaining order in Flea Bottom.
He wore a brand-new dark yellow coat today.
Though somewhat plump, he walked briskly, his face full of eager smiles.
Behind him came his wife—
Falyse Stokeworth.
Baelish knew her well.
The eldest daughter of House Stokeworth.
Heir to Lady Tanda.
Known throughout King's Landing for her sharp tongue, jealousy, and volatile temper.
Tonight, she wore a dark red velvet gown, with a collar lined in expensive pearls.
Flashy.
Deliberately so.
But Baelish noticed something else.
The moment she entered—
her gaze locked onto Odin.
And that look…
was very wrong.
"Congratulations, Ser Odin!"
Ser Balman hurried forward, grasping Odin's hand enthusiastically—almost obsequiously.
"You're truly incredible!"
"From commoner to knight in less than two months—this is nothing short of a miracle!"
"Your praise is too generous, Ser," Odin said with a smile, exchanging pleasantries.
"The security improvements in Flea Bottom are truly remarkable. I heard crime dropped another thirty percent just last week."
"That's only because of the solid foundation you built!"
"Nonsense—it's clearly your exceptional ability!"
The two of them continued their mutual flattery back and forth, so exaggerated that even Baelish began to feel slightly nauseated listening to it.
Only then did Falyse step forward, offering Odin a perfectly executed lady's curtsy.
"Ser Odin~~~"
Her voice was astonishingly gentle.
Gentle enough to make Baelish's skin crawl.
He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating.
Was this really Falyse Stokeworth?
The same woman who could scold a maid for an entire afternoon over a broken cup?
The same woman who once threatened to jump off the roof because her husband glanced at another woman?
What kind of joke is this?
But whether Baelish accepted it or not—
this was reality.
After her curtsy, Falyse looked at Odin with tender eyes.
"My mother is unwell and couldn't attend in person to offer her congratulations. She asked me to convey her apologies."
"Lady Tanda is too courteous."
Odin bowed slightly in return.
"Please let her know I will visit personally in the coming days to examine her condition."
"I've recently developed a new remedy—quite effective for joint pain in the elderly."
Falyse's eyes lit up instantly.
"Really?" she asked eagerly.
"My mother's rheumatism has troubled her for years. Even the maesters have been helpless… If—if you can cure her, House Stokeworth will owe you a great debt!"
"I'll do my best, my lady," Odin replied with a nod.
Impressive.
Watching the scene unfold, Baelish couldn't help but admit it.
Healing the sick and saving lives—
it was the most direct, most irresistible way to win people over.
At that moment, Falyse finally seemed to notice Baelish.
She turned her head—
and the warmth on her face vanished instantly.
In its place appeared the sharp, cold expression Baelish knew all too well.
"Good evening, Lord Baelish. You're here too? How… coincidental. One seems to run into you everywhere."
She had clearly wanted to say "how unfortunate," but managed to hold back.
Baelish responded with what he believed to be a charming smile—one that usually worked wonders on the noble ladies of King's Landing.
"Good evening, Lady Stokeworth. You look radiant tonight—your complexion is positively glowing."
"Is that so?"
Falyse touched her cheek lightly and smiled.
"Perhaps it's because I haven't done business with you lately. I've been sleeping much better."
That was vicious.
Baelish's smile froze instantly.
But Falyse wasn't done.
"Do you remember that shipment of Lyseni perfume last year, my lord?"
"You guaranteed it would be profitable and persuaded me to invest a thousand gold dragons. And what happened?"
"The ship just happened to encounter a storm… and sank."
Baelish opened his mouth to respond—
but she didn't give him the chance. Her words came rapid-fire.
"When it comes to business, one must choose partners of good character."
She turned back to Odin, her expression once again soft and warm.
"Wouldn't you agree, Ser Odin?"
"Some people act respectful to your face, but behind your back they're planning to swindle every last copper from your household!"
"Of course, my lady."
Odin nodded solemnly, barely suppressing a smile.
It took considerable effort not to laugh outright.
He could already tell—
up on the second-floor balcony, Jaime was probably doubled over in silent laughter.
"I'll take your words to heart," Odin continued seriously.
"I won't let certain people take advantage of me."
Baelish felt his face twitch.
Not metaphorically.
Actually twitching.
Damn it… how does Odin even know this shrew from House Stokeworth?!
Back when he first arrived in King's Landing, he had tricked a few people for startup capital.
But by the Seven, only a few!
How had it become such a coincidence that two of those victims were connected to Odin?
Fortunately, Odin hadn't been in King's Landing long.
Surely this was the limit of his network.
Otherwise, if a few more showed up—
this celebration might as well turn into a public trial of Petyr Baelish.
Baelish quickly lifted his glass, pretending to drink in an attempt to mask the situation.
But just then—
from the corner of his eye, he saw movement at the entrance.
That noseless brute had returned.
Baelish's heart skipped a beat.
He watched as Rorge pushed through the crowd, his already hideous face looking even more grotesque with excitement.
The man opened his tooth-missing mouth and shouted:
"Ser!"
"The Commander of the City Watch—Ser Addam Marbrand—has arrived!"
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