Game of Alchemy 6

“Lord Baelish, thank you for meeting with me,” I greeted the man as I walked into his office. “Has my gift served you well?”

“It has,” he said, his default smug, smarmy smirk firmly in place. “After such a gift, how could I say no to a request for a simple meeting?”

I smiled, reaching into the bag I’d brought with me, pulling out a pair of crystal and gold rimmed goblets and a bottle of wine. Pouring the wine into the goblets, I corked the bottle and placed a finger on the rims of both goblets and sent a tiny amount of energy into them. The circles along the inner rim gently glowed before fading.

Baelish raised an eyebrow, looking at me curiously, and I explained, “I missed having cold drinks, so I did something typically not recommended and transmuted these goblets with an alchemy circle engraved into them.”

“Why is it not recommended?” he asked, reaching forwards and taking the goblet that was ever so slightly closer to me. He held it up to his nose and breathed in before taking a small sip.

I chuckled as his eyes widened slightly, “Transmutation circles are activated by a flow of energy, and unless one is extremely careful then transmuting an object with a circle on it is liable to cause the new circle to activate. The safest way is to have the circle form last, but with these the circle is specifically designed to be small and have a minor effect.”

Picking up the remaining goblet, I took a long drink myself. I wasn’t much of a drinker, and most of the drinks from Westeros weren’t ones that I particularly cared for. Chilling them dulled the taste enough for me to find them palatable, though now I was considering making a bigger version of the goblets to make myself some slushies.

“What was it you wished to speak with me about?” Baelish asked, pulling me from my daydreams of cold, sweet drinks.

“I wished to ask your opinion of Lord Tyrion,” I answered, taking another sip.

Baelish chuckled, “He is quite a prolific customer of mine, he is also quite fond of his wines, though I am not sure he would approve of you making it this cold.”

“Give it a minute,” I quipped with a grin, “it grows on you.”

The next hour consisted of Baelish telling me a great many things about Tyrion Lannister and finishing only half the bottle. That was perfectly fine with me, after all the poison wasn’t in the wine. Developing a circle that could both convert some of the organic compounds in wine while also chilling the contents of the goblet was more annoying than I’d have liked. The most difficult part was in ensuring that the lightshow for the poisoning goblet was the same as the goblet that just chilled.

But, I’d ensured that there was enough ricin in his drink that in a few hours he’d be exploding out both ends. Dehydration would set in, his blood pressure would plummet, and his body would begin to shut down. It would take a few days at the most, but even if Pycelle managed to somehow save his life, unlikely, then the damage would have already been done. Joffrey wouldn’t be satisfied with a Master of Coin who he’d see so weak.

If Joffrey were exactly as he’d been in the show, then I’d say that he would probably have Baelish killed for some inane reason, but the blonde sitting on the throne had surprised me enough that I wasn’t sure. It was annoying, but something I just had to deal with.

As I stood to leave, Baelish gave me a sly smile. “I have to say, I’m impressed with your work. Perhaps we could work together on some projects.”

“I’ll consider it,” I said with a nod, and then I turned and left the office.

As I walked through the streets of King’s Landing, my mind was racing. I had just killed a man, not just pointing a psychopath in the direction and giving them a reason. It was necessary, but what bothered me wasn't that I had poisoned another human being. What bothered me the most was the fact that doing so didn't bother me.

The realization sent a chill down my spine, and I quickened my pace. I needed to get back to my quarters and sort out my thoughts. It wasn't like me to be so indifferent to taking a life, even one as treacherous as Petyr Baelish.

But as I walked, a new thought occurred to me. What if this was the person I truly was? What if I had been suppressing this part of myself all along? The idea was terrifying, but at the same time, it was liberating. If this was truly who I was, then I had the power to shape my own destiny.

When I arrived at my quarters, I locked the door behind me and collapsed onto my bed. I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, trying to sort through the conflicting emotions and thoughts that were swirling in my mind.

After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and sat up. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to embrace this, to become a schemer and manipulator. I’d already been doing it, aiming Joffrey at Varys and poisoning Baelish myself. I still had no desire to sit on the Iron Throne, the damn thing was too big a target, and I hadn’t lied when I said that I preferred colder weather, so with the chronic backstabber dying that left things moderately safe for me to propose betrothing me to Sansa.

It was Westeros, there was no such thing as being truly safe, so moderately safe would have to do.

[hr][/hr]

I knew I’d be presenting my requested reward to Joffrey by the end of the day, but I’d been expecting him to make a big spectacle out of it. Instead, he had me brough to his solar right after I returned to the Red Keep. Much like my meetings with his mother, there was food ready and waiting.

“Your Grace,” I greeted him with a bow as I entered the room. “I came as soon as I heard your summons.”

Joffrey waved my greetings away, glaring at the letter in front of him. I sat in the chair across from him, looking over the spread. A leg of some kind of meat, some cheeses, a loaf of bread, some sauces, and an assortment of fruits. While still glaring at the letter, he motioned for me to eat, and I did so, cutting a few slices of bread, spreading what looked like some kind of mustard on them, then loading up on cheese and meat. My assembling pulled Joffrey’s gaze from whatever news had so offended him, looking at my sandwich with a slightly befuddled expression.

“It is called a ‘sandwich’,” I answered the question before he asked. “The basic construction is two pieces of bread with a number of different fillings, but what those fillings are can be almost anything. Supposedly the name comes from a noble who ruled a territory called Sandwich who came up with it so he could eat a meal with one hand.”

“How bizarre,” he said with half a sneer, though I wouldn’t be surprised if at the next feast there ended up being some sandwiches among the menu. Turning his gaze to me, he snapped, “You have had three days, what do you want for finding the traitor?”

Clearly whatever had been in the letter had fouled his temper, so I was blunt and to the point, “I have thought long and hard about this matter, Your Grace. In addition to making sure that the reward benefits myself and my future prospects, it occurred to me that I could serve you and the Iron Throne at the same time. Your Grace, I would ask that you grant me Winterfell, to watch over and to rule in your service once the traitors are defeated by your grandfather.”

From the way that his eyes widened, I doubt that Joffrey was expecting that. Sure enough, incredulity in his voice, he asked, “Why would you possibly want Winterfell?”

“When the war ends, Your Grace will need someone to manage the North for you, and with all the Northern Houses having raised their swords in rebellion, they can hardly be trusted. No doubt thoughts would linger in the mind of whomever replaces the Starks that they’d only been defeated because the current Stark boy is young, if they had been in charge, then their poorly thought out rebellion would have succeeded,” I told him, getting the gears turning in his psychopathic little mind.

Once I could see that the seed had been properly planted, I continued, “With myself as Warden of the North, you need not be concerned with that, Your Grace. You have my loyalty, for giving me a chance to build a new life after I was washed ashore in your lands with nothing but the waterlogged clothes on my back,” I paused, seemingly hesitating. “Though, this relies on one piece of unpleasantness.”

Joffrey raised an eyebrow, his interest at someone suffering piqued. With a disappointed sigh, I said, “In order to keep the Northern Lords docile enough that killing each and every one of them won’t be necessary, I will have to have a Stark bride.”

“Sansa?” he asked, not bothering to hide the sadistic grin on his face.

“She is a stupid, naive fool of a girl, but at the very least if her mother is anything to go by she won’t have trouble birthing children,” I groused, prompting a chuckle from Joffrey.

He leaned back in his chair, considering my proposal. “You make a compelling argument, and I can see the benefits in granting you Winterfell. But a Stark bride? That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Your Grace, the North is a stubborn and proud place. By marrying a Stark, I would be showing that I am not here to conquer, but to rule in your name. It would go a long way in quelling any potential rebellions,” I explained, trying to make him see the bigger picture.

Joffrey tapped his fingers on the table, and then nodded. “Very well. You may have Winterfell, and I will make arrangements for the marriage. But know this, if you prove disloyal, I will take it all away and have you flayed.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” I said, bowing my head in gratitude.

With that, Joffrey dismissed me, and I left his solar feeling satisfied. I had secured my future, now I had to keep anyone from assassinating me. And the best part was I'd just had an idea that, even if I wasn't particularly skilled in fighting, would give me something to work with.

My next stop was the Street of Steel.

[hr][/hr]

“What sort of Smith blasted fever dream made you request something as daft as that?!” the seventh blacksmith I’d spoken to asked.

“I take it that’s a no?” I asked rhetorically.

“Of course it’s a no!” he shouted, before scoffing and turning away.

“Perhaps the eighth time’s the charm,” I muttered under my breath as I headed into the next smithy.

It was only after I entered and saw the man that I realized I’d walked into the shop of the man who’d trained the late King’s smith bastard (could never remember his name), and I hoped I’d be able to get something. The proprietor, Tobho Mott, gave the usual sort of sales pitch, and I could see just a hint of irritation and annoyance behind his salesman smile.

As he finished, I gave a smile and said, “I would like to request a custom order, the other smiths I have spoken to said that it would be impossible to make, but I would hear the opinion of the finest smith in King’s Landing before I give up on it.”

He eyed me, curiosity brimming in his gaze. “My work is expensive,” he warned.

“You get what you pay for,” I immediately returned with a grin. “I want a pair of gauntlets, both with specific designs that cover the back of the hands with articulated fingers. The right hand I want a piece of flint incorporated into it so that it creates a spark with the motion of snapping my fingers.”

“Quite the unusual design,” he mused. “Do you have the designs you want incorporated into the backs?”

I reached into a pocket I’d added to the inside of the tunic I was wearing and pulled out two pieces of parchment, both of which I’d traced one of my hands on and then laid the designed transmutation circle over top. The left hand’s design consisted entirely of circles and flowing lines, while the right hand’s design contained an inverted hexagram composed of two triangles, with a smaller one inside pointing towards a stylized flame.

If I was to find myself in a fight, I wanted something that would let me stay far away from anything sharp, pointy, heavy enough to break bones, or any combination of the above. Thus the tools to be the squishy mage: one gauntlet to let me create gouts of fire or explosions, and one gauntlet to let me manipulate water. DPS and Crowd Control, let the local meatheads worry about getting up close and personal in a fight, I was fond of living, thank you very much.

Tobho Mott let out a whistle as he looked over the designs, “These designs won’t be easy, should have come to me in the first place. Boy!”

The sound of a hammer ringing on metal that had been in the back ended, and a red haired apprentice came to the front. As the master smith handed the parchment with the designs to the younger man, I finalized the order, “I don’t know the proper terminology, but if possible I’d like the designs a different metal than the rest of the gauntlets.”

He hummed in consideration, before saying, “We don’t have many orders currently, should be able to start at the end of the week. Gauntlets this complex, it’ll take a bit longer than usual, maybe five days. Now let’s talk about the price.”

In the end, it was agreed that I’d be paying in valyrian steel ingots, half that evening and the half upon the job being finished.