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Petyr Baelish was unbelievably annoying.
More often than not, Tywin found himself wishing that Brandon Stark had finished the job when he scarred the little fucker stem to stern all those years ago. Occasionally—truly, on the rarest of days—Littlefinger had his uses.
Today was one such day.
“Forgive me, my Lord, for questioning you, as I’m sure you have an exceedingly good reason,” Baelish began and Twyin fought not to roll his eyes at the whimpering arse-kissing his grandson’s pathetic Master of Coin was indulging in. “But why is Arya Stark of Winterfell dressed as a boy and pretending to be your cupbearer?”
Today, Tywin Lannister thanked the old gods and the new gods and the bloody red gods and the fucking blue gods, if there were such a thing, for the fact that Brandon Stark hadn’t killed Petyr Baelish when he had the chance.
It was a rare thing for the Lord of Casterly Rock to be at a loss for words. Baelish seemed to know this and there was an uncharacteristic sort of nervousness creeping across his features the longer Tywin sat without speaking.
“My Lord—”
“Don’t.”
Baelish bowed his head but remained silent. Tywin raised a hand to his face and placed two fingers on either side of the bridge of his nose with a sigh, squeezing tightly.
“Do you mean to tell me, Lord Baelish, that the girl my guards nearly executed in the prisoner pens downstairs, the girl I know has been pretending to be a lowborn girl despite not being very convincing, is somehow also Ned Stark’s youngest daughter?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
"Which means the girl I've sitting in on war councils and looking at maps over my shoulder, who has been privy to a not insignificant amount of correspondence, is Robb Stark's sister."
"Yes, my Lord."
“Which means that somehow and without anyone informing me, one of our two most critical hostages in this war has been missing from King's Landing.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“For how long?”
Baelish hesitated and Tywin fought the urge to stab him.
“How long, Baelish?" If Littlefinger was half as smart as he claimed to be, he knew that there was only one way out of this room alive.
“Since Lord Stark was executed for treason, my Lord.”
The more news he received from King's Landing, the less Tywin cared that Joffrey was his blood. This boy king of theirs was vicious and stupid, a wretched combination. He’d already served one too many Mad Kings—he would not serve another. It was convenient that the needs of the realm and the needs of House Lannister were aligned.
“That was months ago,” he ground out. “Nearly half a year.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Tywin’s normally steadfast composure cracked. “Is that all you know how to say, Baelish?”
The corner of Baelish’s mouth ticked up in something almost resembling a smile. “No, my Lord.”
He's not half as clever as he thinks he is, Tywin considered for not the first or the last time.
“I knew she was too smart to be a bloody commoner,” he muttered.
“The Starks are not lacking in intelligence, my Lord. Only stealth.”
If he were anyone else, Tywin might’ve laughed. “This one would surprise you.”
Littlefinger practically perked up at this. “Not much of the North in her, I assume? A Riverlands girl through and through.”
“No,” Tywin said slowly. “No, I don’t think that’s what I would call her. I think this one is something else entirely.”
He hummed. “And now she’s yours to bargain at you please.”
Tywin narrowed his eyes at Littlefinger. “Don’t think yourself too familiar, Baelish. You will do well to remember exactly who I am and what my name means.”
Petyr Baelish only smiled that simpering, oily little expression and Tywin hated him. “Of course, my Lord.”
Before Tywin could say anything further, the door cracked open and the girl—Arya bloody fucking Stark of Winterfell—walked through with a tray of food and a pitcher of wine balanced in her hands.
“Dinner, m’Lord,” she murmured, using the pronunciation he’d corrected her on earlier.
“Very well, girl.” Tywin gestured her closer before turning to Littlefinger with a cold look. “That will be all, Lord Baelish.”
Littlefinger’s gaze lingered on the girl for a second longer than proper before he nodded at Tywin. “Yes, my Lord. I supposed it will.”