King's Landing – Silk Street
Night had fallen over the city, stripping away the daytime chaos and replacing it with something far more intimate and dangerous.
Glass lanterns along Silk Street bathed the alleys in a hazy golden glow. The air hung thick with cheap perfume, spilled wine, and that unmistakable scent of raw desire.
Walking beside King Robert, Pierce Celtigar could feel every pair of eyes on them—respect, greed, flattery, and a few that burned with deep, hidden hatred.
Robert was obviously a regular. His massive frame moved through the narrow streets like he owned them, heading straight for the most luxurious brothel under Littlefinger's control.
"Petyr!" Robert bellowed the moment they stepped inside, his voice so loud the crystal chandeliers rattled. "Bring me that little gem who sings those Summer Isles songs and plays the harp! I want the full show tonight!"
His rough laughter boomed through the hall of silk drapes and erotic murals, clashing with the refined decadence yet somehow fitting perfectly because of who he was.
Littlefinger appeared like a ghost from a side door, wearing that flawless, humble smile.
"Your Grace, Marei has been waiting for you."
He bowed gracefully, then turned to Pierce, the smile deepening with a knowing glint. "And of course, our brand-new Lord of Crackclaw Point, Lord Pierce. Welcome to our humble little playground."
Robert clapped Pierce hard on the shoulder—hard enough to stagger most men.
"Have fun, kid! Petyr, give my Golden Crab the absolute best. Put it on my tab!"
With that, the king shoved through a door. A moment later, a woman's sultry singing and Robert's booming laugh drifted out.
Littlefinger turned to Pierce, smile never wavering, and gestured politely. "Lord Pierce, please follow me. We have some… more specialized options that I think will suit your tastes perfectly."
He led Pierce down a thickly carpeted hallway into a private, lavishly decorated parlor.
Expensive, exotic incense filled the air. Littlefinger clapped once, and several stunning women filed in—scantily dressed, every one of them top-tier in looks and figure. Their poses ranged from seductive to shy; clearly all highly trained.
"These are our finest girls, skilled in every art, from every corner of the world…"
Littlefinger introduced them like merchandise while servants brought in golden cups of strong Dornish red and Arbor gold.
Pierce dropped casually onto a silk-cushioned chaise, eyes sweeping over the women without lingering.
He picked up a wine cup, swirled the dark red liquid, and finally spoke, cutting Littlefinger off mid-sentence.
"Lord Baelish, why don't we talk business first? Send them out."
A flicker of genuine surprise—and a hint of unease—crossed Littlefinger's eyes before the smile snapped back into place.
With a wave of his hand, the girls and servants quietly withdrew and closed the door. The room fell silent except for the crackle of the fireplace.
Pierce took a slow sip of wine, gaze settling on Littlefinger's hands still tucked into his sleeves.
"You can put away that cute little toy in your sleeve now, Lord Baelish. Trust me—it's not a threat to me."
Littlefinger's smile froze for half a second. Real embarrassment and wariness flashed in his eyes.
He gave a dry chuckle and slowly drew out a beautifully crafted miniature crossbow, setting it on the side table like it was nothing.
"Truly… nothing escapes Lord Pierce's notice."
"Just a small habit for safety in a place like this. Forgive me."
"No offense taken." Pierce leaned forward slightly, those pale violet eyes suddenly sharp and heavy under the lamplight. "I'm just curious, Lord Baelish. Why did you go out of your way to 'help' me in the throne room earlier today? We have no old grudge I'm aware of."
Littlefinger sighed, expression shifting into perfect regret. "Lord Pierce, it was all a misunderstanding. I'm truly sorry. Your father, Lord Adrian, fed me some… rather misleading information."
He shrugged off all blame with flawless sincerity.
Pierce watched the performance with a cold inner laugh, face completely neutral. "I see. So my 'dear' father caused you trouble. Well, now that the misunderstanding is cleared up…"
He paused just long enough for the pressure to build.
"…I won't hold that little unpleasantness against you."
Littlefinger visibly relaxed—completely unaware that across the eastern continent, plenty of men would rather face dragonfire than risk any "unpleasantness" with Pierce.
Then Pierce changed tone completely, voice smooth and tempting.
"Lord Baelish… would you like to make a lot more money? Far more than you're earning from these girls right now?"
"More money?" Littlefinger's eyes lit up like a shark smelling blood. Wealth and status were his greatest obsessions, and Pierce had just hit the bullseye.
"Lord Pierce, I'm very interested. What do you have in mind?"
Pierce smiled and began laying out ideas straight from another world.
"Your current model makes solid profit, but it's… limited in class. It mostly attracts guests like His Grace. The real power players—the nobles with real wealth and influence—they want something higher-end. Something unique. A place that screams status and taste."
He stood and paced slowly, voice hypnotic. "Imagine turning this from a simple brothel into the most exclusive, mysterious, and desirable social and entertainment center in King's Landing—no, in all of Westeros. We'll call it… the Garden of Eden."
"Garden of Eden?" Littlefinger repeated softly, clearly intrigued.
"Exactly. First: brand and scarcity. We stop taking walk-ins. Entry requires a sponsor and a very steep membership fee. That alone filters out everyone except the absolute top tier."
Littlefinger's eyes sparkled— he could already hear gold dragons clinking.
"Second: upgrade the product. We select girls with real potential—not just beauty, but talent in singing, dancing, instruments, even sharp opinions on current events. We hire the best tutors to train them into true rising stars, not common whores."
"Rising stars?" Littlefinger tasted the unfamiliar phrase, fascinated. "Sounds a bit like Braavosi courtesans… but different."
"Courtesans are too independent. Rising stars are something else entirely," Pierce explained. "They become the living brand of the Garden of Eden—living works of art."
Littlefinger was hooked now, breathing faster. As a master manipulator himself, he instantly saw the psychological control and massive profit potential.
Pierce went on, detailing the selection process, packaging, marketing, how to spark noble rivalries and spending frenzies, membership tiers, themed salons, new games, signature drinks—the whole modern playbook.
"In the end, the Garden of Eden won't just be a brothel. It'll be a place that can shape opinion across King's Landing and the entire Seven Kingdoms. And you, Lord Baelish, will be the one holding the reins."
Littlefinger was completely sold. He stared at Pierce with a complex mix of admiration, caution, and raw greed.
"Lord Pierce… your vision is astonishing. This 'rising stars' system is practically a custom-made trap for Westerosi lords—and they'll be fighting to jump in. Cooperation? Absolutely. We can hammer out the details slowly."
The two men talked for a long time, locking in the basic framework. The atmosphere had never been more "cordial."
Once business was settled, Pierce leaned back casually.
"Alright, that's enough shop talk. Lord Baelish, could you send in that slender girl from Lorath—the one I noticed earlier?"
Littlefinger blinked, then smiled. "Ah, you mean Shae? She's a lovely little thing. Only been here a short while, but she's got real spark."
He left and returned moments later.
A slender young woman entered with her head bowed. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, with delicate features and a faint exotic Lorathi touch. Her simple dress couldn't hide her beauty, and her lowered eyes carried a sharp ambition far beyond her years.
She was Shae—the first promising canon character Pierce had "encountered" and quietly recruited back in Lorath.
The moment the door closed, Shae's head snapped up. Her eyes burned with eager devotion. She rushed forward, dropped to one knee, and spoke in a soft, dependent tone.
"Master… you finally came."
Pierce didn't tell her to rise. He simply looked down at her, voice neutral.
"Settling in alright?"
"Everything is perfect, Master." Shae's voice carried a subtle note of flattery. "Serving you is my greatest honor."
She still believed she was his most trusted inner circle, hand-picked for big things, dreaming of the day she would rise far above her station.
Pierce's orders were simple: embed herself with Littlefinger, earn his trust, learn every detail of his spy network and operations, and prepare for the day they might replace him.
"Any updates?" he asked.
Shae straightened at once and delivered her report in a low voice—close noble contacts, scraps of financial intel, operational weaknesses she'd spotted in the brothel.
When she finished, a flash of ruthlessness crossed her face. She lowered her voice even more.
"Master, those three idiot Celtigars dared insult you in the throne room today. Shall I arrange for them to have a little… accident?"
Her tone was almost feverish—desperate to prove herself and ease her master's burden.
Pierce's brow creased. His voice turned ice-cold.
"Stand down, Shae."
She flinched, panic and resentment flickering across her face before she dropped her gaze.
"Yes, Master. I spoke out of turn. I just… couldn't stand the way they disrespected you."
Pierce's stare cut straight through her. "Keep your personal feelings out of the mission. I placed you here to learn and to infiltrate—not to misuse the tiny bit of power I gave you. Now tell me—what's the situation with that girl Lena?"
Shae's whole body jerked. Her face went deathly pale. She hadn't expected the news to reach him so fast.
"Master… I… she provoked me first, she—"
"Enough." Pierce's voice stayed quiet but carried absolute authority. "This is your first and last warning. Remember your place. If I ever catch you using resources for your own little grudges again, I'll show you pain far worse than death."
The cold threat hit Shae like a bucket of ice water. Her budding arrogance and ambition froze solid.
She pressed her forehead almost to the floor, voice trembling.
"Yes, Master! Shae was wrong. I won't dare again. I will obey you completely!"
Pierce watched her for a long moment before speaking again.
"Stand up."
Shae rose shakily, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Littlefinger trusts no one. Never forget that. The organization has exactly twelve Gem Lord seats, filled by people from every walk of life. I've always had high hopes for you—that's why I gave you the glass candle."
"Bring it out," Pierce ordered.
Shae carefully retrieved a small box from a hidden spot. When she opened it, a twisted crystal rod lay inside—roughly the length of a hand, looking like warped bone yet somehow not stone or jade. Its surface gleamed with an eerie, shifting luster under the lamplight.
Pierce stared at the candle, eyes deep and unreadable. He could feel the faint resonance between the strange power inside his body—the Shifter ability—and the artifact.
"Watch closely how I communicate with the other Lords. Tonight, I will help you awaken the Shifter power."