Bolton Rising Part 73 - Petyr

"Petyr… My sweet Petyr…"

Littlefinger heard someone rousing him from a deep sleep. For a moment, he hoped it was Alayne’s naked body curling up next to him, running her hand over his bare chest, tracing the faint birthmark pattern. Baelish had always teased her that it was an old scar from his days as a knight. A chivalrous fool for the love of an unreachable princess. How he despised such fairytales, for even now they mocked his grand ambitions. There was no honor to be had when one played fair.

"My sleepy Petyr… I know how to wake you up."

Petyr felt the shift in the bed's mattress as the persistent female moved and straddled his hips, her hand curling around his flaccid penis, stroking enough firmness into the shaft so she could penetrate herself. She gave a sultry cry and rode him eagerly, while he laid there with feigned interest, barely acknowledging her presence, only reaching up to squeeze her breast. The woman cried louder and louder, her shrieks of delight tormenting his ears, the pitched decibel likely to set her pampered toy dogs barking in the hallway and awaken the whole household staff. 

He groaned softly as he came, mostly from relief that the act was over and he could get away again. The Mockingbird rolled the satisfied woman off of him and sat up on the edge of the bed. "I should go. I have business to deal with." Petyr spoke with his face averted, shielding his irritated expression as the woman draped herself over his bare back, whispering nonsense about her undying love and need to see him more. Littlefinger gave no reply and only shrugged her off once more.

"You promised we would be married by now. But you’re going back to HER! Aren’t you?" she screamed like the jealous child she had always been.

He rose from the bed and took several steps away before the distressed woman became violent. Petyr turned to face her, dressing while his grey-green eyes assessed Lysa Tully’s sudden accusation. He had nurtured her false hopes for years, stringing her along to do his bidding, whispering words of influence into her husband’s ear. The devoted old fool was desperate to please his unhappy younger wife, for Lysa was quite dangerous when she became hysterical, especially after the loss of several pregnancies that left her mentally unstable. 

While the Mockingbird's secret benefactor had served him well, once Petyr had laid eyes upon Alayne and unintentionally fallen in love with the girl, he felt increasingly imprisoned by Lysa’s obsession. He would delay these visits as much as possible, but eventually he would have to fulfill his obligations and keep the game in motion. But he had been foolish last night. With his heart torn raw and his pride shredded from Alayne’s revelations, Petyr came to Lysa with his guard down, drinking whatever she offered till he was rendered helpless. Even now, he still felt the lingering effects of whatever she had drugged him with. The rape came after she was done questioning him about his relationship with Alayne, and Petyr knew by the demented look in Lysa’s eyes that he must have spoken more than he should have.

"I must have told you she left me. Betrayed me," Baelish replied, moving back closer to cup Lysa’s tear stained cheek. "Will you do the same to me… my dearest Lysa?" He let the sweet words spill from his devious lips before he choked on them.

"Oh Petyr! I could never. I love you more than she does!" Lysa grasped his hand, kissing his fingers, unwilling to ever let him go. "I want to kill the little bitch for hurting my precious Petyr." She glared into his eyes with determined purpose.

"There’s no need for that, Turtledove. Soon everything will be as I promised." The Mockingbird yanked his hand away as gentlemanly as he could, giving Lysa a charming smile, before fetching his suit jacket. "Now be a good girl or I shall spank you upon my return." He closed the bedroom door on her awful acted girlish giggling, sighing with relief as he walked further away from the scene of their indiscretion. 

The secluded mansion was still quiet in the early morning and instead of sneaking out some back door, Petyr Baelish strode through the spacious elegant interior like he owned the property, which in his mind he did. There were only a few strings to cut free before it was all legal. He stopped by another bedroom and opened the door, startling the attending nurse awake as life support machines beeped inside. "Mr. Baelish. Forgive me. I… I didn’t mean to doze off."

Petyr smiled and pressed a finger to his lips, before speaking softly. "How’s Mr. Arryn doing?"

"Fine, sir. He’s very stable," the flustered nurse replied in a hushed tone as well. "But the stroke was very severe, as you know. He’ll never recover."

"Alas, it's a shame such a great man has fallen. Please continue your excellent care." Littlefinger rested his hand on the nurse’s shoulder. "He should stay with us for as long as possible, if only to keep his wife’s hopes alive."  Petyr smirked softly, excusing himself as the nurse watched him leave with a puzzled expression.

At the front door, Baelish took several moments to speak with the head of the household and security force, going over detailed instructions once again and making sure everything was up to date. Unbeknownst to Lysa, the entire staff was now under his employment and payroll. The Mockingbird had ensured secrecy and loyalty with generous salaries and was effectively rendering the woman a prisoner in her own home. 

"Where to now, Sir?" the driver asked as Petyr slid into the car, pulling out his vibrating cell phone.

"Yes? I don’t care how good he is. Raise the bounty if you have to. I want the news to reach The Mountain. The prize should peak his interests." Baelish terminated the call, tossing the cell aside, before addressing his driver’s lingering question.

"Take me home… and then find out where she is. I want to see My Little Bird."