Note: Cross posted to my AO3. This is more cracky than my usual stories. This is more cracky than my usual stories.

"Uncle Petyr!"

The cry was shrill, high pitched and strung with excitement.

"Robin, you look well today," Petyr smiled easily down at the little lord. The boy was short and scrawny for his age, brown eyes stared up at him as the little boy, pale from exertion, held aloft a toy. "What have you there?"

"A falcon! Squire Hugh gave it to me!"

It was crude, truly, simple wood with only a spot of colored stone to denote the birds eyes. He took the toy in hand as the boy continued to thrust it upon him, lifting it up to inspect it. The craftsmanship was cheap, it was but a generic bird, but held enough of a form to allow a child's imagination to warp it any which way. "Lovely," he said softly, handing it back to questing fingers, "that was very nice of the boy."

Robin beamed up at him, a gap toothed smile splitting pale pink lips.

"Are Lord or Lady Arryn here?" Petyr cast a glance around the room.

The boy's nurse maid, Agytha was standing off to the side, watching their interaction quietly, eyes focused more on the tiled floor near their feet than on anything else. A slip of a thing, brown waves pulled back in a simple style favored by the castle's servants. Her eyes were as dark a brown as Lord Arryn's and the boy's. A cousin, distantly, but still related to House Arryn. One of the few household servants Lysa had let her husband dictate.

"Lord and Lady Arryn are sharing the midday meal with his grace," Agytha's voice was soft and melodic, "they are due back within the half hour."

"I see." Petyr nodded and glanced towards the window. It was early yet, but still well past the usual time the king spent glutting himself with meat, wine, and whores. "If it is not too much of an imposition," he turned his gaze back towards her and their eyes finally met, "I would not mind spending time with my favorite nephew."

"It would not be an imposition at all, my lord." She paused, smiling as Robin wandered about them, making his figurine fly. "I was about to provide Lord Robert with a small meal. There is more than enough to share. Would care for some fresh fruit?"

"That would be quite kind of you," he said, nodding as he followed her deeper into the chambers, Robin's bear feet padding along behind them.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" Agytha asked once she set a platter of cut fruits, buttered bread, and an array of vegetables upon the central table. "Lady Lysa opened a bottle of Arbor gold last night, there is still some remaining."

"That's very fancy for one such as me." Petyr raised an eyebrow. Arbor gold was not her Lysa's favorite and Jon Arryn was not one to indulge often in his cups. The Hand's vitality for his age was well known and an attribute Petyr found both admirable and vexing in turn.

"I would be thanking you for it," Agytha said, bringing over the pitcher to the table. "They offered the remainder to me this morning, but I find it not to be to my taste."

"Craaaaawr!" Robin pulled himself onto the chair, swooping his toy into the air above table, causing Agytha to lean back and drop the empty goblet in her hand onto the wood. Petyr reached out and caught the pitcher itself before it tipped its contents out.

"Robin!" her startled yelped caused the boy to drop his bird and apologize, catching the goblet before it could roll of the table.

"Thank you, my lord," the girl's face flushed pink, it's color surprisingly bright and unkind to her complexion, as she took the pitcher back to pour.

Were it not for those eyes . . . the flush could be trained out of her though.

Robin apologized himself, face paler from the rush of the momentary excitement. His hand shook a little as he set the goblet down and leaned over it to grab his crude toy from the other side of the table. "Sorry, Agytha," he mumbled, pushing the goblet closer to her before settling back against the curved back of his chair.

"You should eat, SweetRobin," Agytha said softly, ruffling his hair. "How much did the master say?"

He looked up at her from beneath long, brown locks and then held up his hands curled into fists. The toy within his right. "This much."

"At the very least," she confirmed with a nod.

"I hear Maester Hybalts' diet has been helping the little lord," Petyr murmured when she handed him the goblet.

She nodded, casting a quick glance at the boy. "It has. More so than anything Maester Pycelle ever attempted." She lowered her voice and leaned in next to his ear. "He's not had a shaking spell in a fortnight at least, either."

"That is very good to hear." The wine was sweet, an excellent vintage. When the girl wandered off to retrieve a glass of goats milk for the boy, he took a slice of tart apple and speckled it with a pinch of salt.

Robin's pale skin was warming and his breaths calming down as he tasted one of each of the fruits slowly. "Is it good, Uncle Petyr?"

"Very," Petyr smiled, "would you like to try a sip?"

"No!" The boy paled again and then bit his lip as Petyr blinked. "Mother—the Maester—I'm not to have any!"

"Lord Robert?" Agytha frowned, glancing between them as she returned, cup in hand.

"I'm not to have wine," Robin stared up at her, "am I?"

"Of course not! You are a little boy," she said, setting the milk before him. "The maester said such things would do more harm than good!"

He wrapped stick hands about the cup and pulled it closer, towards the edge of the table, staring down into it. A frown appeared on his face and he leaned down to sniff the contents before sticking his tongue in it.

Petyr cringed at the sight. Though it was better than watching the child suck his mother's teat, he supposed, the future Lord Paramount lacked much in the way of manners for his station. He hid his face behind his cup, swallowing a good portion of the contents. If the gods were good, Lysa and Lord Arryn would return swiftly so he could discuss business and return to more important matters swiftly. Cultivating young Robin's affection was important, but many small moments were just as good as prolonged interaction.

He drew back in surprise as goat's milk splattered the table top.

"Ew! No!" Robin crowed, tears welling at the edges of his eyes, mouth quivering as he glared up at his nurse maid. "I won't!"

"Robin!" Agytha swallowed the words that may have followed, taking in a deep breath. She had taken much of the splatter, though some had made it all the way across to paint Petyr's jerkin. She glanced his way as she grabbed for a clean cloth to pad the table dry, "I'm sorry, my lord."

Petyr downed the remainder of the wine and set the goblet down, standing. "Perhaps it would be best if I come back another time," he said, his words near drowned out as the boy began to wail for his mother's milk.

She nodded slightly, dabbing at the mess. The carved bird sat in a puddle of milk, droplets painting it, one dark eye missing from its head.

"Shall I inform Lord Arryn you wish to speak with him?"

"Yes, please," Petyr nodded, as he stepped around the wailing child, "I will be free most of the morning tomorrow. Have him send for me if he has time."

"I will do so, my lord."

He walked swiftly to the main hall, deciding to forego further business in the keep in favor of returning home to change. Dried goats milk upon his clothes would do him no favors in scent or look in any endeavors he wished to partake in today.

It was faint, but he heard the boy finally stop crying as he made his way out into the hall, passing a Valeman standing guard. He did not envy the task Jon Arryn had in raising the boy. Not one bit.

It was warm in King's Landing, even for a late summer afternoon. By the time Petyr reached his home, a light sweat painted his skin. He wasn't alone, either, in an hour or so work shops would close and brothels and taverns would make more coin. Many business would suspend their work until the sun traveled further across the sky.

"Milord," one of his whore's greeted him, her belly swollen with child. It wasn't often that moon tea and other options were ignored by his girls, but when they were he found them work in his own home as maids or servants until they healed from the birth. She frowned at him, green eyes staring at him as he removed his outer clothes. "Are you well?"

"A little warm," he admitted, waving off her concern. "Lord Robert Arryn had an accident with some goats milk. My clothes caught some of it and will need washed."

"Of course, milord." She paused taking one abortive step after him as he made his way towards his personal chambers.

"Yes?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Is there anything else I can get you, my lord? Some water, perhaps?"

"Have Jenore bring me some lemon water and have a bath prepared," he paused, resting a hand on the wall. "Shaena?"

Her footsteps stopped.

"No need to warm the water."

The lemon water arrived swiftly and was cool on his tongue, wetting his palate. Petyr swallowed swiftly, suddenly very thirsty. The sour sweet citrus fruit burned against the back of his throat, causing him to cough, splutter water over letters on his desk.

Cursing, he grabbed at a cloth and stared when his hand missed it by inches. He fumbled for it, and then pitched forward as his world spun around him. He fell, knocking over the chair and crashed to the blessedly cool tile floor.

"Lady Stark?"

Catelyn turned, a bit startled by Maester Luwin's arrival. "Maester?"

He stepped forward, towards her. They were on the walkway, overlooking the training grounds below. The clash of training swords was fierce as Lord Stark sparred with Jon Snow, Robb standing aside, Bran on his shoulder, cheering for them.

"A raven came for you, my lady, from your sister." He held it out to her, the seal of House Arryn prominently embossed in wax.

She paled and her hand visibly shook as she took it from him. "Thank you, Maester Luwin."

He nodded and turned, pausing for but a moment to stare down at the spectacle in the yard. "Jon Snow's swordsmanship is getting better."

"They all are doing better," Catelyn looked away, back towards her husband and their children.

"He hasn't mentioned the Wall in the past few moons."

Her hand clenched around the letter and she shifted on her feet, stepping forward to lean against the railing. "Thank you, Maester. I will bring a response to my sister on the morrow."

"My lady."

There was a moment where she felt as if she couldn't breathe, but it passed as his steps faded into the distance. It was no business of his where Jon Snow, or any of her own children, planned to live the rest of their lives. There was too much to take into consideration in any case. Too many facts to consider and options to weigh. Splitting up their family was not an option, not at this point. Not even Jon Snow.

When her breathing finally calmed, Catelyn slit open the letter with her dagger and unfurled it. The writing was familiar, her sisters careful scrawl. It spoke of little Robert Arryn, under the care of the new Grand Maester, and how much better he was doing. She frowned, trying to remember any mention of Pycelle's replacement or even that the man had been replaced. Nothing came to her, but then he hadn't exactly been an import figure in the tale any of them had told.

It wasn't until the last paragraph, almost an afterthought, that the true news revealed itself. A change they hadn't considered, hadn't dreamed of making.

A gasp left her throat; the letter fluttered to the ground.

Little Petyr Baelish was dead.

Note: Bran wove some spell with the Weirwoods and blood. His blood, Jon's blood, and Sansa's blood. His goal? To send his immediate family (and Jon) back in time to before Jon Arryn's death to prevent the war that destroyed Westeros chance to survive a ten plus year long winter.

The result?

House Stark isn't the only group related to them by blood and Robin Arryn knows what Petyr did.

Thank you for reading! 3