Bonus Chapter
…..
Erwin woke the next morning in that same comfortable bed.
After breakfast, he set out with Willem, two other men, and a handful of servants.
Two of the servants loaded a small chest onto the wagon, not large, but heavy enough to need both of them.
Willem kept glancing at it, tense as a drawn bowstring, having seen for himself that morning just how full of gold it was.
Two thousand coins in there, maybe three.
More wealth than Willem had ever laid eyes on in his life.
The sight of it had very nearly stolen his breath the first time he saw it.
Even now, walking beside the wagon, he couldn’t quite settle, eyes cutting toward every stranger who passed too close, one hand resting on his sword hilt, ready to draw at the first wrong move.
“Ease up.
This is King’s Landing.” Erwin, riding easy atop his white courser, saw no reason for the tension.
Today’s business was the royal mint.
Yesterday, a hundred of his own gold coins had bought him better than thirty thousand silver stags, and he’d spent nearly twenty thousand of those on a buying spree that filled several wagons and drew half the city out to gawk.
The rest he’d fed straight back into his own bag once he got home, and the system had converted every stack of it back into his own gold at roughly the same rate as before, a hundred and fifty stags to the coin.
Which meant the hundred coins he’d spent yesterday had effectively found their way home again.
Everything he’d bought with them had cost him nothing at all in the end.
So today, Erwin meant to go straight to the mint and change three thousand coins at once.
Not that he wanted to change more than that.
Coin sitting in a strongbox felt a good deal less safe to him than coin sitting in his own bag.
A small crowd was already waiting when they reached the mint.
“Welcome, Ser Erwin.
Lord Petyr Baelish, of House Baelish.
Master of Coin, at your service.”
The man at the front of the group stepped forward as they approached, an easy smile on his face, introducing himself with the kind of poise that came from long practice.
Erwin swung down and looked him over properly.
Shorter than himself by a fair margin, unremarkable build, but handsome enough, grey-green eyes, a thin beard trimmed close along the jaw, dark hair going grey at the edges.
A small silver mockingbird was pinned to his chest.
Petyr Baelish.
Littlefinger.
One of the most important men in this whole story, and arguably the one who’d set the War of the Five Kings in motion single-handed.
In his own words, once things fell apart, the man patient enough to climb through the wreckage came out on top of everyone left standing.
He’d spent years lying and scheming to drag Westeros out of the peace Robert’s reign had bought and straight into betrayal and open war, all so a nobody lord from a minor house on the Fingers could fish the chaos for exactly the position he’d always wanted.
Dangerous, clever, and not a man worth trusting an inch.
Everyone who did ended up played for a fool sooner or later.
“Ser Erwin?
Is there something on my face?”
Littlefinger caught him staring and couldn’t help but ask.
“No, forgive me.
You put me in mind of a relative back home, that’s all.”
The excuse came easily enough.
Truth was, Littlefinger was the first face from the show Erwin had actually run into here, and he’d wanted a closer look to see how well it matched.
Close, but not exact.
The resemblance was there without being perfect.
Maybe he hadn’t landed in the show itself after all, Erwin thought.
He’d only ever watched it, never read the books it came from, and adaptations always changed things.
His grip on how events would unfold might not be as solid as he’d assumed.
Then again, who really understood how any of this worked?
No sense chewing on it now.
He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
Clearing his throat, he made his introduction properly.
“Allow me.
Erwin Augustus Prestor, out of the Holy Empire, far to the east.
My father is a Great Lord of House Augustus.
I’m his second son, with no claim on his title or his lands, which is why I crossed an ocean to find my own way in the world.”
“A pleasure, Lord Petyr.
I’ve heard something of your story already, how you climbed from a minor house to Master of Coin through wit and hard work alone.
It’s the kind of thing I admire.”
“My father always told me true worth finds the light eventually.
I believe that.”
Littlefinger’s mood had soured briefly at the mention of his minor house, but Erwin’s next words turned it sweet again fast.
Someone who actually understood him, for once.
“Ser Erwin flatters me.
There are men in the Seven Kingdoms with twice my ability.
I only do what I can for the King and the realm.” Littlefinger kept the smile in place, and found a moment to compliment Erwin’s entirely invented father in return.
“A wise man himself, clearly, to raise a young man as promising as you.
I’d be glad of the chance to meet him someday.”
Flattery ran both ways, and everyone in the room knew it.
Erwin only smiled to himself.
Good luck finding Augustus.
Once the pleasantries ran their course, Petyr led the group inside to get down to business.
After the inspection and the weighing, all three thousand of Erwin’s coins came back as clean silver stag.
Erwin could hardly keep the satisfaction off his face.
Another fortune made from nothing.
Littlefinger worked the conversation the whole time they waited, probing gently for what had brought Erwin to Westeros, and what exactly this Holy Empire of his looked like.
Erwin gave him a polished, half-true account, glossing wherever the details got thin.
As for why he’d come to Westeros at all, the story held together well enough.
A Great Lord’s spoiled second son, no claim on the family seat, chasing the kind of adventure bards sang about, sent off by his father with soldiers and treasure to find his own road.
A storm at sea had scattered his fleet and left him stranded here instead.
He’d had time to think since then, and decided a man was better off building something steady than chasing dreams across the world forever.
Once his audience with the King was done, he meant to settle in Westeros for good.
Their first meeting ended there, warm enough on the surface.
…
Word of every last bit of it reached the Tower of the Hand before the day was out.
“Good.
You did well, Lord Petyr.” Jon nodded at the man he’d raised up himself.
“Serving you and the King is all the reward I need.” Petyr gave a small bow, the smile never once slipping.
“That gold of his, melt it down and strike it into dragons.
Shame to lose the craftsmanship, but the law only allows one coin in circulation across the realm.”
“Your word is my purpose.”
Petyr bowed again, and behind the angle of it, his mouth curved into something a good deal more satisfied than the words let on.
…
Full refund, no questions asked.