Flea Bottom was quiet that night. The city never slept usually, but tonight you could hear the cats yowling and the pitter patter of rats' feet as they scurried through the alleys. There were many reasons they found themselves so alone, first and foremost being that many of the residents were now dead. A siege often hit the lowest first, and even an unsuccessful siege had casualties. The lucky scum that survived the siege had not favored as well against the friendly fire from their king. Many buildings were still smoking, making it hard to breathe so far below the Red Keep.

Those who were unharmed knew to hide. It was only the fools now who wandered the streets. Those too brave or too stupid to worry about their self preservation. Nothing but the cockroaches, she thought to herself, glancing toward her companion with half a smile. He looked back at her, not returning it. It was rare to see a full smile cross his face. Smirks were more common, anything properly condescending. He'd been quiet that night and she was beginning to wonder if he was nervous. She knew of the boy King, of his reputation for being quick to anger and even quicker to violence. Was he less certain of his position with this boy than he'd been with the old Mad King? "What's in that evil little head of yours?"

"I was thinking about your mother," he admitted.

Her half smile became whole, though it somehow looked less genuine now. "Didn't know you'd taken such a fondness for her. You've done a shit job showing it."

"Oh, my fondness was always for her daughter," he murmured, leaning closer and letting his lips brush against her ears. At least for a moment, until she put a dirty palm against his face and shoved it away. Petyr did smile now as he stepped away, allowing her to put the distance between them that she wanted. "She was a vaguely attractive woman in her time, your mother." Ten years ago, perhaps, thought Rivka, before she had ever stepped foot in Westeros. Before clients had knocked half her teeth out. Before a broken arm went without treatment, leaving it permanently disfigured. Before Petyr Baelish had entered their lives. "You might be, as well, one day soon. The rest of you will grow into those eyes."

She cut him a dirty look with said eyes. They took up half her face, far too large for the rest of her features, giving her an alien look. She'd never been considered beautiful, but his opinion on her eyes seemed to change daily. Most days he thought they'd be quite useful for certain customers who preferred a younger stock. It gave her the innocent look that they liked, though he knew her to be far from it. "I am not your whore, Littlefucker," she answered, stepping away from his quickly.

Petyr wondered briefly, foolishly if she feared some sort of reprisal for the nickname until he heard the footsteps. She'd always had much better hearing than he thought anyone capable. Perhaps she just knew how to listen better than he did. What surprised him even more was that there was only one set of footsteps. The previous king wouldn't go to the bathroom without half his Kingsguard, but here stood Robert Baratheon, alone in the pits of Flea Bottom. "Your Grace," he greeted the boy, bowing deeply.

Robert eyed him for a moment before spotting the girl at least ten yards away, her head barely peeking around a building. "Lord Baelish," he responded, his eyes still on the girl. "I had not imagined your Master of Whisperers to be a child."

"They're called Little Birds for a reason," answered Baelish.

"Why is this little bird hiding from me?" he asked. "Come here, girl."

Rivka stepped into the dimly lit alley a bit further, but drew no closer to the two men. "Made the mistake of being within the Mad King's reach once," she answered, gesturing with dirty fingers at the mark along her neck that reached up across her jaw. Even from a distance, Robert recognized it as a poorly healed burn. "Once," she repeated.

"And how did you earn his wrath?" the boy king inquired, fighting off a smile. The list of imagined slights that might've earned her the scar was never-ending.

"Called him m'lord," she answered. "I was six."

"Even a dirty little street rat should know her courtesies," he said, though with a notable lack of sincerity. From the little she knew of Robert Baratheon, he was not a man bred for his current position. He preferred his place on the battlefield to a crown on his head and was likely going through a refresher course for his own courtesies. "Did you ever make the mistake again?" She shook her head. "Lord Baelish, you have served your purpose. Remain within my sight and see all favor you have curried with this introduction disappear."

Littlefinger did not need to be told twice. Rivka watched him leave before looking to the freshly crowned king. "Why did you come here alone?" she asked. Flea Bottom was a dangerous place for anyone, but especially for a king. Even a king so impossibly large. He towered over her and had well over a foot on Petyr, as well.

"It is not your place to question the mind of a king," he informed her curtly. "You've served a king since you were six and yet you are still in rags. The whispers you hear must not be worth as much as Littlefinger boasts."

Rivka almost smiled at that. Almost. "A dirty little street rat in silks gets noticed."

"Even shoes are too conspicuous?" he asked, gesturing to her bare feet.

She lifted one up, inspecting the bottom of her foot. It was as black as the night sky, caked in dirt, blood and much worse, but it didn't hurt. Her skin was thick and hard and she felt nothing when walking on the cobbled streets. "I've not got skin as delicate as yours, Your Grace."

Anger bubbled up in Robert's stomach at the insult. No, he realized, not an insult. Even in the dark he could see the impish twinkling in the green eyes that were far too large for her face. She was teasing him. The fucking audacity. "Come and see how delicate it is."

"Why d'you want me to come over there so bad?" she asked, "So you can kiss me?"

It took a moment for Robert to register that she had in fact asked him that question. That he hadn't made it up in his head. That he had to respond to the question before her smile grew any wider. "Why would I want to kiss an ugly little thing like you?" All the women in the realm were clamoring for the opportunity to marry him now, why would he waste a second glance on a child caked in blood and shit?

"S'not my place to question the mind of a king," she replied with a shrug, helping Robert to understand why Aerys had felt the need to harm her. He took a step toward her that she promptly mirrored with two steps back. "No," she said firmly, on the balls of her feet as if ready to make a break for it at any moment should he continue to pursue her. "Is your memory so short, Your Grace?" she inquired. "Mine, I fear, is much longer and the stories of Rhaegar's body have not been forgotten."

A smile tugged at the corner of Robert's lips. It was a fond memory for him, not a fortnight past, caving in the chest of the Targaryen cunt who'd stolen Lyanna away. "Littlefinger told me you do not go to the Red Keep," he said. "Did he lie?"

"I've never gone at King Aerys' command."

"And my command?"

"That I intend to heed even less," she assured him with a grin.

"You might find my consequences for disobedience more severe than his," warned Robert.

"Never doubted it, Your Grace," she replied. "Have you a need for me in the Red Keep?"

"I have no intention of coming to Flea Bottom whenever I do find need of you."

"You've forgotten Pet—"

"I've not forgotten anything. The fewer mouths involved the closer I will find myself to the truth. What need have I of Littlefinger when I have access to you?"

Rivka's eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening and becoming disturbingly larger. She was an odd looking creature and he found her strangely unsettling for being a third his size. What was that look? What was that smile? Did she expect him to bend before she did? "Petyr knows how to find me," she reminded him simply, and there was so much hidden in her words.

"You act as if that matters," he said, his voice darkening slightly, but still, she did not budge, nor flinch. "You are no longer Petyr Baelish's little bird, you're mine."

"I don't know if you have much experience with birds," she started, picking at something under her cracked nail but keeping one eye on the space between them. "But we don't do well in captivity."

"I have no intention of keeping you captive," he said. "I fully expect you to spread your little wings, like the flying rat you are, but you will come to the Red Keep," he informed her.

"I fear we've reached a terrible impasse. I don't go to the Red Keep … and if I am hearing you correctly, Your Grace," she stressed in a way his hand twitched and he longed for her to be closer so he could wrap his hands around her neck until her ugly little face turned blue. "You don't plan on visiting me in Flea Bottom … so is this the end of our relationship?"

"Hardly," he almost growled and she smiled again, but he relaxed ever so slightly when he noticed her tense, as if she were ready to take off at any moment. He felt his shoulders relax, at least as much as his temper allowed him. "I have expectations from you. The first of which is to find out how loyal the small council still is to their old King. I need to know about the Wildfire, where they got it, where they kept it, and if there is anymore."

"Plans for burning the rest of the city?" she asked but didn't wait for an answer. "That all?"

Robert wasn't sure he wanted her to flitter off just yet. He'd given her a task, he'd given her expectations, but he didn't know if she wasn't planning on returning to him with information, or more infuriatingly, if he would end up hearing it from Petyr and not her own lips, "I may not come to Flea Bottom to hear your secrets, but I have no qualms with taking your life in the sewers you crawl through should you disappoint me." He barely managed to see her look of disinterest before she was skittering off and out of sight.

A/N:

I know this is not the typical story on for Game of Thrones! It seems that they're all about Robb or Jaime or about being a secret Targaryen bound to rule Westeros from atop a dragon! As much as I love those stories, I prefer the lesser known characters or the characters who don't have quite as obvious of an effect on the story.

I chose to write about the early years of Robert's reign. We know so much about the rebellion itself and about the time after, but his actual rule was so lightly covered. I'm not a big fan of the "he was fat and drunk and useless" for his entire reign narrative, so I decided to try to make this period of Westeros history a bit more interesting. You'll be seeing lots of Robert, Jaime, and Ned and ... frankly, anyone else you're interested in. If there's someone from this time period you've always wanted to read more about, please don't be afraid to ask and I'll see if I can fit them in. :)

PS. Yes, I know Petyr is an anachronistic error. :P I needed his character exactly how he was in the main series. Please forgive me for not having him as a scrawny dweeb fighting for Cat's love at the Eyrie.